21. Dancing Amid Sin
21
DANCING AMID SIN
A trio of bodies writhed on a red velvet settee.
Two females, in various states of undress, anchored on either side of some red-haired male, his face obscured from sight and his hands wrapped tightly around each of the female’s shoulders. The one on the right—a raven-haired, willowy female whose dress was hanging off of one shoulder, nearly exposing the entirety of her chest—trailed her hand along his abdomen before snaking it under the waistband of his breeches, while the female on his left stroked along his torso with claw-tipped, black nails.
Cheeks flaming, Luella choked on a gasp and looked away from the sight, only to meet familiar eyes already trained on her, belonging to another male lounging on the same settee.
Bastian reclined on the outer reaches, not quite with the trio but obviously watching. The laces of his black and red blouse were undone wantonly, as one of his arms stretched out on the back of the chair, the very tips of his fingers brushing against the male’s red hair.
The chain keeping Luella tied to Graves grew taut as she stumbled to a stop, digging her heels into the ground to stop herself from being pulled forward. If she were to look down at the low cut of her gown, would her heart be visibly pounding against the cage of her ribs? In this den of beasts, shifters, and wild things, their hearing would be able to pick up on every little hitch in her breath, every cadence of her heart.
Curious heads turned toward her as the chatter grew dim. The harpist continued playing a haunting melody, echoed with a soft symphony of sin from the violinist—a female with hair the shade of lavender flowers who wore a gown of completely see-through mesh, wrapping around her curves and ending at her mid-thigh, feeding into her pulchritudinous persona.
The trio on the settee disentangled, one of the females slowly drew her hand from the male’s pants, cutting a red slash through his chest as she roughly cut the tip of her nail into the sweat-slicked muscles of his tanned skin. Her raven hair fell over her bare shoulder as she reclined on his shoulder, eyes roving over every inch of Luella’s skin. A red tongue flicked out, the end forked, as she licked over her equally red lips.
Depravity made the trio’s eyes half-lidded, looking as though they wanted to devour Luella where she stood; a shiver wracked through her, and she tore her gaze away, undone by the overt display of desire.
A tug on the chain, her wrist aching from the harshness…
"Come," Graves ordered impatiently, beckoning her onward with the golden chain, his fist clenched as he tugged.
Stupified, Luella followed Graves. The male wove through the room, forcing her to hurry lest she fell and be dragged behind him. The notion made anger spark inside her gut.
The room appeared wholly different than the time she had first seen it. The throne at the far end was illuminated with moonlight filtering in through the glass dome above. The seat was empty, with no sign of King Vale. Lounge areas had been added, as well as little tables clustered around the outskirts of the wide open space in the middle, filled with dancing bodies, all with skin gleaming with sweat and glittering dust. The ornate chandelier above held many flickering candles, enchanted to burn bright and hot, and flecks of shimmery sparkles fell from the embers, coating the floor of the room—and the occupants—with a thin layer of iridescent dust.
She held out her free hand as she walked, some of the dust collecting in her palm. A light coating of the shimmers dusted her upturned palm, making her look glistening with sweat just like the others, as though she had been partaking in the many… vigorous activities going on in the dimly lit alcoves of the room. The blush upon her cheeks was ever-present, and she feared it wouldn’t leave her all evening—not with the unconcealed eroticism within the room. The air was thick with concupiscence.
Bodies danced and reveled in all the lechery that could only be found in such a serpentine den. The occasional wolf shifter passed by, and they were even more salacious than the serpents—feral and wild, teeth gnashing in their haste to devour lips and skin, clawing marks into unclothed backs, and wantonly prancing about the room, eyes gleaming as they looked for a new toy to play with.
And it seemed that Luella was that toy.
As Graves led her to a small—and thankfully empty—alcove filled with a little table holding a burning candle and a few half-empty wine glasses, she felt the burn of eyes tracking her every step. Nostrils flared as heads turned to follow after her.
Luella’s hands trembled as she sat in one of the high-backed seats, and she huffed as she fell back into the deepness of the plush chair, her gown almost parting and exposing the junction of her thighs. She tucked her hands under her legs to stop her shaking, not able to meet the raven shifter’s stare as she shifted on the seat, righting her gown to drape over her legs. The delicate links of the chain clinked from her soft movements, a little tug on her wrist as Graves sat down next to her, body pulsing with warmth as he moved his chair flush against hers.
The male leaned closer, his breath tickling her ear. "You do not have to stay long. Just enough to appease the King and these hungered beasts."
She suppressed a shiver, nodding absently. Far too preoccupied with the shifters she could see in the wide space of the throne room, casting glances at where she was partially hidden in the alcove. Her eyes wandered to Bastian, who was smoking something that looked like a cigar. He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded as he puffed smoke rings of deep maroon.
"Where is the King?" she asked, just barely managing to quell the quiver in her voice from giving away her anxiety.
"With the Prima. They’ll be here shortly." Graves beckoned for a passing servant and plucked two glasses filled with purple swirls of liquid from the silver tray before the servant scampered off. Graves gripped Luella’s wrist, tugging it from where it had been tucked under her thigh. She tore her gaze from Bastian, watching Graves as he pressed the stem of the wine glass into her hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. "Drink up. You’ll need the courage." His words were a mumble around the lip of his glass as he took a sip.
Peeking at Graves from the corner of her lashes as she lifted the glass to her lips, she took a hesitant sip, mouth dry with fear. The wine was rich and fruity. Her muscles loosened from the thick sweetness of the liquid. Potent, as it flowed through her and warmed her veins; her head buzzed.
This is stronger than I’m used to , Luella thought. Better not indulge.
Sitting the glass down on the white, cloth-covered table, she pushed it away with the tip of her finger. Would be having no more of that—she couldn’t let her guard down here.
At the far corner of the room, in shadowed alcoves just like the one she and Graves sat, there were flashes of flesh and wicked scenery. Faint moans of pleasure rippled behind mesh curtains and darkened corners.
A female was kneeling in between a male’s spread legs, and… Luella’s throat closed up.
The male’s head was tilted back against the wall, mouth open with pleasure as the female between his thighs moved . Doing whatever it was that she did, the male clearly enjoyed it. Beside the pair, as if they didn’t even care about the show they were giving the room, were many more displays of wickedness. Heavy stares and heated touches; rumpled gowns and corsets, and bare chests and thick muscles.
Luella flushed a deep scarlet. The glass of wine beckoned, and before she could think better of it, she reached out with a slightly shaking hand and gripped the cool glass of the stem. She took a small sip, letting the heady liquid flow through her. It was a bad idea. Already far stronger than the diluted fae wine she was used to.
And as Graves watched her drink, Luella could only feel she was doing exactly as he wished. The fingers of her other hand curled into her thighs as she stifled a soft gasp, pulling the lip of the glass away from her mouth and setting it back on the table. The chains clinked, and an intoxicated flush painted her skin at the reminder he had volunteered to oversee her this night.
She shifted her gaze back to the expanse of the revelers, the wine working to dull her shock.
The room was a pleasure hall and smoking den, wrapped into one. A place of the worst of nightmares and best of daydreams. Effervescent revelers, beckoning with sinful hands, only to lure unsuspecting souls into their trap with promises they could not keep.
Over the shimmering dust and plumes of smoke wafting from cigars, her sight quickly became clouded with the haze of it all. It felt like she was in a dream, her limbs awkward and ungainly, and her head high above, like her thoughts were mingling with the flickering flames of the chandelier and not below perched upon her shoulders as it should be.
It was disconcerting.
Something about this place… The very air seemed enchanted.
Or maybe that was the wine.
The fog that had settled around her mind was disrupted by the heavy thump of someone sitting down on her other side. Luella jerked, limbs clumsy and head featherlight as she turned to see who the newcomer was.
The King’s Advisor reclined on the chair next to Luella with ease, legs outstretched and arms locked behind his head like time answered to him. A black cigar dangled from his sinfully swollen lips, and he cocked a dark brow at Luella as he peered at her from the corner of his red-tinted eyes.
"Having fun?" Bastian mumbled around the cigar, unlocking his fingers from behind his hand to take a long drag, plumes of berry-scented smoke from the Rys in his pipe drifting from his lips as he pulled it away, head tilting back to bare his long, unnaturally pale neck as he exhaled. He snuffed the end of the cigar out on the table, uncaring that it left a dusting of grey ash on the surface. The drug he indulged in made his pupils blown wide, coating his usual bergamot scent in the alluring tang of heady berries.
Needing a distraction, Luella lifted the wine glass, taking a much smaller sip this time, before replying, "The most fun I’ve ever had in my life." Her tone lacked the amusement she tried to infuse into her words. Instead of sounding coy, she merely sounded dazed. At least her slight feared stutter was gone. "And you? It looked like you were having plenty of fun." The wine had loosened her lips. She never would have said something so bold without being intoxicated.
Graves grew stiff beside her. The chains keeping her tied to him gave a soft clang, tickling her flesh. His palm felt scorchingly hot against her skin—bare, from the way her dress had fallen to the side, exposing her whole leg, but she didn’t have it in her to care right now. She was entirely too focused on the feel of his callused palm against her inner thigh. His thumb rubbed softly like he wasn’t aware he was even doing it.
"Is that jealousy I hear, pet?"
"N-no," she scoffed, indignant. Under their pressing stares, the stutter was back. Taking another swallow of wine, her lips tingled and throat bobbed in her haste to drink.
But the glass was taken from her before she could finish it. A thin trickle of purple liquid escaped from her rouged lips as Graves plucked the glass from her mid-sip.
She glowered, missing how the raven shifter’s keen eyes tracked the droplets as they fell over her bottom lip and down her chin. Missed how he and Bastian both grew silent as she collected it with her thumb and then put it between her lips and sucked away the scant amount of wine droplets. Sugary sweet. Tasted even better when warmed from skin instead of a cold glass.
Bastian reached over her to grab the stolen, half-empty glass from Graves’s hands, tongue licking over the rim before he downed the rest in one go.
"Judgement, then?" the vampire inquired.
Graves’s thumb stilled on her thigh, his grip turning bruising as he awaited her response.
She couldn’t respond truthfully to that, not if she wanted to leave here alive. She knew Bastian wouldn’t hurt her, but still, she didn’t want to chance it.
So, she kept quiet, fingertips tapping along the top of the table since she had nothing else to occupy her hands with now that her wine was gone. It was doubtful she would be granted another glass.
Bastian leaned forward, bracing his hand on her other thigh. She was caged in between both of them.
A vampire and a raven, taking their time as they toyed with the little Princess.
"I don’t discriminate, pet. All blood flows the same delicious red." Bastian whispered the words over the side of her cheek, unnaturally cool breaths puffing over her flushed skin and dancing along her neck as he lowered his nose to trace along the veins there. Not touching her but a mere breath away. In threat.
A reminder that he could easily pierce her flesh and take what he desired if he only so wished it. And she would have no chance.
The seductive moment was broken by the room growing so silent that she could hear her own rattled, quick breaths and the pounding of her heart. It was an unnatural hush—even more so than when she had been forced into the room by Graves.
A quiet that signaled the arrival of an apex predator.
It reminded her of how the bugs and little chittering creatures in the gardens on the outskirts of the ruins of Solis would grow utterly silent when a fox would prowl about.
Partiers set down their glasses of sweet purple wine or bitter amber vials of hard liquor. Smoke still wafted from pipes and cigars. However, those who were partaking in the more scandalous activities paused, mouths sticky and rouge smudged, clothing askew, and some almost completely undressed, uncaring.
The King of Serpentis strode into the throne room in a whirlwind of his telltale cape, his golden crown perched upon his head glinting under the candlelight—these two pieces were the most distinguished of his garb. Save for the crown and the cape, King Vale could have been any lecherous reveler. His pants were low-strung, and his silken shirt completely unbuttoned, baring a gleaming tanned chest with so many muscles, Luella felt faint from the sight. The fine sparkling dust that fell from the chandelier above almost immediately coated his tanned skin, giving it a gleam of iridescence that only fed into his otherwordly presence and wild regality. The sparkles caught the gems of his crown, making the shimmers even brighter, calling to attention the undoubted physical evidence of his rule.
The Prima was on his heels, sans shirt, of course. With a bare, gleaming chest and billowy pants—his hair was free, Luella noted, save for two braids woven throughout his white strands, little clinking gold threads intertwined—the mage appeared the feral thing she knew him to be. The trio of wolves were not here. Luella was glad; the beasts unnerved her.
King Vale immediately found where she was tucked between Graves and Bastian, and she swore the green in his eyes grew more vibrant when that unwavering stare fell on her. He didn’t look away from her once, even as he ascended the few steps to his throne, taking a seat with the utmost grace. Tharen stood beside him, thick, veined arms crossed over his chest as he looked out of the teaming mass of revelers. His thick brow was drawn low, eyes sharp, and jaw set.
The mage appeared to be upset over something. He, too, soon found Luella’s gaze, icy blue meeting her bright gold. The difference was almost imperceptible, but the hardness of his features softened. It started off small, so minute she almost would have missed it if she weren’t paying such close attention to him. The way the tension seeped out of his rigid shoulders, the crease between his brows smoothing out, and the tick in his jaw easing.
King Vale leaned over the arm of the throne, fingers gripping the head of the snake carved into the surface as he silently called for Tharen’s attention. The pair looked toward her, and Luella felt a tiny noise of fear escape from her lips. A smirk curved into Tharen’s mouth—she knew he heard the noise. As a mage, his hearing was excellent.
Graves’s grip on her thigh grew unrelenting, and her shoulders caved forward as she made herself smaller. Tharen nodded before striding across the room to where she sat nestled in the alcove. The mage came to an abrupt stop right before her, giving the males on either side of her a cursory glance.
“The King requests your presence," the Prima said, gesturing for Luella to stand. She did so with hesitance, looking to Graves, then Bastian, as if asking for help. But she did not receive any from either of them—merely a quiet nod from the vampire and nothing from the raven shifter, just those keen eyes that never strayed far from her.
“What about…” She held up her wrist, the golden chain shimmering under the sparking embers and fluttering dust from the candlelight.
Graves unclipped the end from his belt and passed it off to Tharen, all without standing. The mage tightly wound the loose end of the chain around his knuckles, pulling Luella flush to his side, reeling her into the heat of his imposing presence. The skin of his chest was damp with sweat and smelled sweet and enticing. Snow melting under a summer sun. Her bare shoulder brushed along the taut muscles of his stomach, and he shuddered. She jolted back as far as she could go, but Tharen jerked on the chain, keeping her snug to his side.
She bit back her protests, Bastian calling out a sharp, "Watch her," as Tharen led her across the room.
The revelers parted, giving them a wide berth. Those who dared to come closer were warned away with low growls, and the threat of Tharen’s free hand on the dagger fastened to his hip—Luella had almost missed it, with how her attention had been on his chest. But the weapon did not stop their words. The leers and vulgar words thrown her way.
The area before the throne was clear, like an invisible force around it kept it safe from wanton revelers and preying shifters. King Vale tracked her every movement as Tharen led her closer, depositing her right in front of the steps before the throne.
Stumbling to a stop, Tharen jerked on the chain, making her wobble, and she barely caught herself before she fell to the hard ground. King Vale looked down at her, features sparking in amusement at her almost tumble.
“You must kneel when called to the throne, Luella," King Vale ordered. He rested his chin on his palm, elbow braced on the arm of the throne. Rubbing his jaw, he waited for her to obey.
“W-what happened to… princess?” Luella managed to ask, jaw grinding at the prospect of showing obedience to this male—to kneeling in front of all of these watchers. Just like the first time she had been forced into the throne room. The eyes behind her burned, and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. The hazed confidence the few sips of heady wine had given her had all but evaporated.
“Here, you are Luella, and I am your King and master. Do not test me. Kneel.” His words were clipped, patience worn thin, and she hadn’t even done anything yet.
Tharen jerked downward on his end of the chain, forcing her to stumble once more. This time, she didn’t catch herself, knees roughly hitting the stone of the marble floor. She clenched her jaw, refusing to show how the thud made her kneecaps ache. The mage loosened his hold on the chain, allowing her enough slack to kneel comfortably at the King’s feet, leaving Tharen to hover at her back.
At her subservient position before the throne, King Vale appeared pleased, some of the anger and impatience melting away. Even if the choice to kneel was robbed from her, the action still seemed to please him. He was not above forcing her to achieve his desired outcome. She knew this, just as she knew the sky was blue and fire was warm, and yet, it made frustrated tears prick behind her lids.
King Vale stood, descending the few steps between them before coming to a stop right before her. Breath catching in her throat, her face was level with his crotch. She was so close she could see the faint shimmer of the dust on his tanned lower stomach and the faint trail of hair that disappeared down the waistband of his pants—pants that were so low-strung, the V-cut of his lower abdomen was prominent, a sharp line of defined muscles that she had the impulse to trace with her hands?—
No .
She couldn’t feel this way.
Not for her enemy. For the male who killed her parents and destroyed her kingdom.
She would not feel desire for him. The bodies of the Solis fae had not even had time to turn to ash, and she already was being swayed to the ways of her captors—by appearances. But appearances were deceiving, she knew this well. It was the prettiest things that were the most deadly.
The King would not make for a pleasant lover, not with his history as a raging murderer. His lovers most likely didn’t leave his bed chambers in one piece.
King Vale, unbeknownst to her internal struggles, extended a hand. “Dance with me.”
Luella placed her hand in his. His grip was warm and firm as his fingers wrapped around her palm. Sparks ignited between them where their skin touched—that familiar zap of tingling nerves that shot up her wrist and to her elbow. King Vale gripped her tighter, pulling her to her feet with a flourish.
Did he feel it, too?
The chain keeping her tied to Tharen stretched as King Vale pulled her further into him. The King held out a hand, not breaking eye contact with her as he silently ordered the mage to hand over the end of the chain.
Luella was mesmerized by his green eyes. His pupils weren’t as serpentine as the snake shifters but more subtle, like the eyes of all dragon shifters. It was a deadly gaze, arresting her with promises of danger and the lurking scales of a fire-breathing beast.
She distantly noted Tharen handing off the golden chain to him. The King wrapped it loosely around his hand, the golden links falling between their closely held bodies like delicate threads.
The Prima fell back, disappearing somewhere into the crowd of revelers. The bodies had grown thicker with every passing moment, the heavy cover of night filtering in through the skylight, the moon high above, with no speck of brightness to be found—in darkness, the serpents shed their skin and let their true natures out to run rampant. Thriving in chaos and sin and revelrous depravity.
King Vale led Luella into the mass of swirling bodies, parting with ease for their King as he ventured into the depths of the crowd. At the side of the room, the musician’s song ended with a wretched screech of the violin, the harp playing in tune with light plucks, offsetting the sorrowful harshness of the ending notes emitting from the violin.
Her slippered feet brushed along the dance floor, tracking through the dusting of sparkles, and she came to a stop before the King in the very center of the room. The chain was a living thing between them, pulsing with interest and carefully concealed desires. It burned the flesh of her wrist, and the King’s knuckles grew white from his tense grip on the end of it. A dry swallow made a cough threaten to bubble over her rouged lips, but she averted her gaze to the floor, biting her lip so hard iron exploded on her tongue from the split flesh.
King Vale’s nostrils flared, thin streams of smoke wafting between them as he scented her blood. "Watch yourself."
It was a harsh command, and though the words seemed to be wrapped with care, she knew his reasoning was anything but altruistic.
Luella did not respond, all her attention was on the way the golden links of the chain wrapped around her wrist, her skin beginning to take on an irritated, red tinge from the rubbing on her tender flesh, the way the links stretched to the King, keeping her wholly at his mercy. His tanned fingers adorned with rings gripping the end of the chain so tightly, she wondered if it would snap under his punishing grip…
The King notched a hot finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. His touch was unyielding, his hand so large it nearly encompassed the area of her whole face. Deft fingers, no scars. But a tiny bit of roughness brushed against her skin—a callus on the pad of his fingertips.
He searched her eyes like he was searching for the very answers to the universe, itself.
The air was still, yet charged with heat and smoke and a cloud of debauchery. Expectant, he lifted their joined hands to place one of hers on his shoulder; the other, he grasped firmly by their side and did not let go. Her touch was hesitant; the feel of his strong shoulder and tense muscles made her palms sweat. King Vale wrapped his entire arm around Luella’s waist, pulling her flush to his chest.
"You’re enjoying this," she breathed.
King Vale smirked. "And if I am?"
"Well, then, I would be remiss to tell you that I am not."
"I think you are. You just don’t know it yet, Luella." He said her name like a promise. A promise that entailed the gods knew what.
The orchestra started up a new tune. A song that was haunting and melodic. It called her to flee and never look back, yet urged her to stay put and see where the night may lead.
And they began…
King Vale swept her around the room without missing a beat or a step. His steps were light and sure as he led Luella with graceful poise, and she followed his every move—not because she wished to, but because she had no choice. Every swirl and every step, she allowed her body to bend and twirl to his will as if she were an instrument he was playing to perfection.
Etching patterns into the sparkling dust coating the floor, her slippered feet tracked every move they made. Sweeping brushes against marbled white and soft, hesitant footfalls into the dusting of glitter.
Those around danced and reveled, but their eyes stayed stuck on the King and his captive twirling in their midst, unable to keep their eyes off such a sight. She ignored them all, held captive in more than just body alone as the King did not ease up on his staring, keeping her ensnared, trapped. A spider caught in a web. Her lips parted, toes pointing in her slipper as a foot arced out behind her in a graceful trail of decadence.
Two bodies, twirling and spinning. Twin heads of golden hair, coifed to perfection. He was all hard and strong, where she was soft and feminine. He was indestructible and powerful, and she was breakable and delicate, like the petals of a flower withstanding the harshest of rainstorms. The dichotomy of their being made her whole body feel hot.
“You’re a rather good dancer," King Vale commented.
“Dancing was one of my daily lessons, along with the other arts." Luella grew abashed at the compliment. Instead of looking at his face, she focused on the way he led her about the room, watching his feet mark a path for her.
“What else did your tutors teach you?” The King skimmed his hand along her back, fingers stretching as his hold on her grew fierce, leading her to a soft whirl around the room, her golden hair fluttering behind her, and the chain between them spinning out, before hitting against the bare skin of her thigh.
“Much," she replied, near breathless from the pace of their dance, how he felt against her, how his strong arms held her and dipped her and spun her with practice. But the line of the King’s questioning confused her. Her attention fell on the skin of his chest, that dip of his shirt where the silken fabric parted. "The arts, like I said, as well as history, geography, maths. Arcane sciences and elemental magics. Etiquette..." Luella trailed off, glancing up at him and noting how he still hadn’t looked away from her.
“A proper syllabus for the locked-away Princess." King Vale sighed, the sound bitter. “Enough to keep you pliant and well-mannered, but not enough to make you knowledgeable in all the ways of politics and war. The ways that matter."
“N-no,” she managed under his intense stare. “My tutors, they taught me of w-war. I know all about it. But I wouldn’t need lessons to know of how cruel and wicked your kind are.” She resented how she stumbled over her words in her fear.
Luella’s blood boiled. For this male to belittle her so… That pit of emptiness within her thrummed.
King Vale’s grip tightened on her waist, fingers curling around the small expanse of it, even while he barked a short laugh, the sound drawing the attention of the dancing couples around them—giving them a far enough berth to speak of their fear of their King, but close enough she felt like a specimen under their curious eyes.
“My kind? You haven’t known wickedness or cruelty, Luella, not yet. And you should hope you never do.”
“I’m your captive. Isn’t that evidence of your cruelty? Do not make light of my trials, King Vale.” She said his name with as much detachment as he did hers, with little regard to the title.
Luella rose on her tiptoes, nose pressing under his chin from the added height as she peered up at him. Her chin jutted out with defiance and feigned arrogance as she faced off this predator. Maybe it was the stares from the revelers around them, or Bastian sitting in the alcove, watching her without fail—Tharen and Graves beside the vampire, meeting Luella’s eyes with every turn along the floor—but she felt safer here than if she were to have been alone with the King.
Maybe it was a fool’s thought.
Enchanted dust fell from the flickering candles on the chandelier above, swaths of iridescence coating his tanned skin and golden hair. Shining like a jewel.
A pink tongue poked out to lick along her red bottom lip, and he tracked the movement. Everything was so hot and thick and real. She burned .
Black lashes fanned against his cheeks. Drops of sparkles clung to the corners, making it look like he was crying tears of gold and silver. Luella wondered what she looked like in this enchanted place. Could enchantments turn her into something to be desired?
From the way everyone watched her, she wondered if she was as alluring as this male before her.
“Evidence of my cruelty? Or evidence of my kindness?" The King stared down at her with the weight of a thousand unsaid things hanging between them, laced between his words, and she was undone.
King Vale placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her back down, away from his face, her slippered soles flattening as he suddenly spun her out. Her curls, shimmering with sparkles, flowed from her cheeks at the movement; the sides of her dress fluttered, and she felt a whisper of cool air hit her upper thighs. Fingertips trailed down her arm, interlocking with hers, the only spot they were connected, before she was gracefully spun back into his orbit, King Vale pulling her into him with a satisfactory glint in his green eyes.
Luella was out of breath from the movement, from being the sole object of his attention. Her chest pressed against his, and the music swelled, a resounding symphony as they crashed together, the precipice of their dance. The crescendo of sound tapered off like the sparks of glittering embers that drifted around them, falling to the floor and the exposed skin and clothes of the revelers in their midst.
A strong hand on the small of her back, the other holding her side, and Luella was dipped to the ground, her back arched as she allowed herself to be lowered, bent over King Vale’s unbending arm. He was so strong, his touch so sure, that she knew he would not let her fall.
The movement was like breathing to her, as easy as the flutter of her lids as she blinked or the way that magicless pit in her cried out when she dwelled on the emptiness for too long… Her head fell back, the ends of her curls brushing along the dusted floor. Neck tilted, exposing the lithe, pale expanse of unmarked skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from the exposed position. But she would not falter. Would not allow him to make her scared.
In this den of dragons and serpents, she must stay poised to have the upper hand. One scent of fear, and that’s when those hungry maws would open, snapping her up before her next heartbeat.
The music drifted off into the final notes. One last, long string of the harp resounding through the hall like a forlorn sigh in defeat… or warning of what was to come.
King Vale lifted her from the dip, the music perfectly blending into a new tune, something equally as haunting but with a more feverish edge.
The eyes around them grew disinterested as the courtiers turned on each other. Dancing and drinking and smoking, flushed bodies twirling around where Luella and the King quietly watched each other. Couples and trios, groups and lone revelers, but she and King Vale stood still as statues in the midst of it all.
Luella looked to the King, whispering the words that clawed against her tongue to be released. A final cry, just like the finishing notes of their dance.
“My being here is evidence of your cruelty. You took me from everything. Stole me away in the night from my bed and slaughtered families. Innocents. My parents…” Her lip wobbled, even as she remembered how she detested the ones that had raised her. Detested her father’s cruelty and her mother’s indifference. “So yes, it is evidence of your cruelty. And I will never forget or forgive.”
King Vale’s grip grew slack on the chain between them, green eyes burning, and she tested it, tugging the length from his grasp. It fell from his fingers like sand, and she gathered it up in her palms, tethered to no one as she made her way from the dance floor, leaving the King to stand alone amidst the swirl of dancing. Unmoored on marble gilded with enchanted embers.
She looked over her shoulder, sparkles fell to King Vale’s hair and coated his lashes, brushed against the exposed skin of his tanned chest. She imagined she might look the same, like a glittering jewel garnished with stardust. Luella waited for the King to stop her from fleeing, but he did not. And she tried not to feel grateful for that small thing; what should have been a right, seen as a blessing—freedom.
Luella wove through the bodies, growing invisible as they reveled. Without King Vale by her side, she still attracted attention, but less so without any of her captors leading her.
And she soon realized why they had been so adamant about keeping her tethered to them.
Hands brushed against her skin, fingers knotted in the ends of her hair, forked tongues tasting the very air in which she walked. Nightmarish. Claws reaching for her.
Bodies were all around, closing in on her, and Luella could do nothing. With her slight stature and lack of experience around such a crowd, she was like a doe thrown into a pit of hungered beasts. Blocked off from the sight of the alcove. She could not see any faces of familiarity. No matter which way she turned, she could not find her way back to her captors. The area around her suddenly grew yawning and vast, and her stomach clenched in fear, heart thundering in her chest. A wet, weak thump, straining as she whipped around, searching for someone, anyone .
She had to get away.
If only for a moment.
A flash of light in the middle of forever dark. The open doors that led to the gardens. She headed toward the saving grace of the doors, a tremble to her lips as she wove between the bodies around her, tripping and knocking into entwined couples in her haste.
Finally, she broke through the crowd and found silence.