Chapter 32
32
“ S it by me at dinner, won’t you?” Lady Selia Berch asked, though I’d nearly forgotten she’d been lurking beside us while the prince had come.
“I’m afraid we’ve already made other arrangements,” Thorne answered, pulling me away. “But do enjoy your meal, Selia.”
After she was out of earshot, he scanned the room, looking for our next audience.
“Don’t bother,” I said, adjusting my earring until, as if I’d planned such a thing, it clattered to the floor, rolling until it landed directly in the center of a group of people who’d watched our exchange with the prince closely. I tugged on Thorne’s hand, shoving our way into their group. “Pardon me, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I think I’ve dropped my—Oh, there it is.”
I pointed near a man’s polished shoe. He stepped back, bending to pluck the ruby earring from the ground. He considered the weight of the jewel before dropping it into my palm. “Exquisite.”
“Thank you,” I answered, pretending to be shy as I turned to my husband.
His fingers brushed my palm as he took the delicate earring, eyes careful as he played his part. “Allow me, my darling.”
I tilted my head, baring the graceful column of my neck as he stepped closer. The spicy scent of his cologne enveloped me, mingling with the aroma of expensive perfume and aged whiskey that permeated the air. Carefully, almost sacredly, Thorne swept the loose strands of my hair back, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear.
My breath caught as he fixed the earring in place. To an onlooker, it would look like an intimate moment between newlyweds, lost in their own private world amidst the glittering crush of nobility. But I could feel the weight of the stares on us, the barely concealed whispers and speculative glances as the surrounding circle stepped away, just enough to give the others in the room the space to watch.
“I think everyone is staring, husband,” I said, fully aware they could all hear me.
Thorne’s hand lingered, his thumb tracing the delicate shell of my ear before trailing down to rest possessively at the nape of my neck. “Let them. I want them to see how utterly infatuated I am with my beautiful wife.”
He pulled me closer until our bodies were flush, the hard planes of his chest pressed against the softness of my curves. The heat of him seeped through the layers of silk and lace separating our skin, igniting a fire low in my belly. I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breathing, and for a moment I let myself forget that this was all an act.
My hands slid up the fine linen of his jacket, coming to rest on his broad shoulders as I gazed at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Is that so? Then perhaps you should kiss me. Give them something to really gossip about.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, his hazel eyes darkening to molten gold as they dropped to my lips. Time seemed to still, the chatter and music fading to a distant hum as Thorne cupped my face in his large hands, his thumbs sweeping across my jawline.
I held my breath. The only thing that existed was Thorne, the solid heat of his body against mine, the rough calluses of his fingers as they traced the delicate lines of my face, the magnetic pull that drew me fatefully closer.
Slowly, achingly slowly, he lowered his head, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from mine. I could almost taste him, the faint hint of whiskey and spice and something uniquely Thorne. My eyes fluttered closed of their own volition, my hands fisting the lapels of his jacket as I waited for the moment when he would close the final distance between us and claim my mouth with his own.
But the kiss never came.
Instead, Thorne’s lips brushed against my skin, missing my mouth entirely. His breath fanned across my cheek as he lingered there. “Patience, wife. This ruse will never be the reason I claim those lips.”
I glared, trying not to show the tinge of heat rushing through my body. Refusing to let him see how flawless his mask had been. But he’d seen it, of course. He’d planned for it.
Bastard.
His chuckle as he pulled away was equal parts endearing and infuriating. If the rest of this room hadn’t fallen for our show, they were liars, because the gods knew I had.
A woman in the group nearby swatted her husband, stealing the focus of the room as she scolded him. “If you looked at me like that, maybe I wouldn’t have to seek my thrills elsewhere.”
The man sputtered, his face turning an unbecoming shade of puce. “I beg your pardon, madam?”
She stumbled over her words. “Only a joke, Varyn.”
Their bickering escalated, drawing the attention of the other guests like moths to a flame. I let out a slow breath, grateful for the reprieve from prying eyes. Thorne’s hand slid down my back as he guided me away from the squabbling couple and into a private corner. No Cimmerians, no people. Just us.
“Quick thinking with the earring.”
“They’ll question the missing kiss.”
“But they won’t question the way you looked at me.”
“I’m excellent on stage.”
“Undoubtedly.” He bit his bottom lip to hide that fucking smile.
I locked eyes with him, my gaze full of venom. “I hate you.”
His lips quirked, but movement across the room caught our attention. Archer and Harlow had walked in, their faces serious, shooting glares at one another as they collectively reached for drinks and went in opposite directions, though Harlow hadn’t taken her eyes off Archer, as if she couldn’t trust him to be left alone.
“Please tell me he’s not thinking of stealing tonight,” I said as she approached.
“No, no. Nothing like that. But I didn’t want him to come at all. He thinks… the king… Well, it’s not important what he thinks. If Prince Farris gets a wild idea about him… he knows he has magic.”
“He’ll be fine,” Thorne said, eyes locked with Archer. “You can trust him.”
“I don’t think it’s her brother she’s worried about trusting,” I said, adjusting the bottom of my gown.
She scoffed, but changed the subject. “We don’t usually come to these. Who’ve you seen?”
“Farris and his usual crew. We’ve got a few gods tonight. Selia already made her presence known. Henry Dravenor, Varyn Lethros, Elin Lindberg. A few others, but no one of note,” Thorne said, as if speaking from a ledger he’d burned into his mind.
She looked around the room, studying faces. “Where’s the king?”
“We’re waiting for him to enter the dining hall, I think. He’s late.” I answered.
“A king is never late,” Harlow said, taking a sip of her drink as her shoulders relaxed. “Maybe he just won’t show, and we can all go home.”
“A girl can dream.” I slipped my arm around Thorne’s.
“No Willard today?”
She let her shoulders fall. “I asked him to come with, but he thought it would be rude since he wasn’t formally invited.”
“Well, sorry to leave you, but we have to go mingle with the people and prove we’ve seen each other naked. See you later?”
She winked with a smirk. “Good luck.”
As Thorne and I made our rounds through the glittering room, exchanging pleasantries with Stirling’s Silk, a strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck. As if time had slowed, the chatter and laughter of the guests faded to a distant hum, their movements turning languid and dreamlike.
I blinked, trying to clear the sudden haze from my vision. When I opened my eyes again, the room had transformed. The chandeliers overhead now cast a soft glow, the light shimmering and dancing like stars plucked from the night sky. The marble floors beneath our feet rippled and flowed as if we stood upon the surface of a moonlit lake.
Thorne’s hand tightened on mine, his brow furrowing as he sensed the shift. We exchanged a glance, a silent question passing between us. Before we could question a thing, a figure emerged from the shimmering mists that now swirled at the edges of the room.
She was tall and willowy, her warm skin luminous in the otherworldly light. Hair the color of spun silver cascaded down her back in loose waves, catching the light like strands of starlight. Her gown, a mix of pale gold and ivory, clung to her frame like a second skin before flaring out into a train that pooled at her feet.
As she drew closer, her pale blue eyes, flecked with shards of gold, reminded me of sand. Her full lips curved into a smile as she glided to a stop before us, the air around her shimmering with an odd glow.
“Huntress,” she said, her voice a melodic lilt that seemed to resonate through my bones. “I have been waiting to meet you.”
Beside me, Thorne tensed, his grip on my hand tightening almost painfully. But I barely registered the pressure, my attention wholly captivated by the goddess that’d just used a name I preferred to keep hidden.
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she said, eyes sweeping around the room as if the people around us, frozen in time, would hear.
“Who are you?”
She laughed, spreading her arms wide as she said, “My sweet child. How very innocent. I’m Vesalia, your Goddess of Time. Of course, you’ve heard of me.”
“And me,” came another voice from behind. “Bellatora, the Goddess of War and Ruin.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words died on my tongue as the room became a battleground of swirling chaos, the air crackling with electric tension. Bellatora stood tall and proud, her presence stealing the air from the room.
Her hair, a vibrant shade of crimson, fell in wild curls past her shoulders, each strand seeming to dance with a life of its own, like flames licking at the air. A smattering of freckles dusted her high cheekbones, circled her golden eyes, and covered the bridge of her nose.
Colors clashed violently, merging into a kaleidoscope of fierce hues as if painted by the strokes of a warrior’s brush. Thorne’s grip faltered under the weight of the new presence, his fingers slipping away. Panicked, I reached out for him, only to find empty space where he’d stood, swallowed whole by the vision delivered by the Goddess of War.
Abruptly, the chaos ceased, leaving behind a silence so profound it echoed like the aftermath of a fierce battle. Disoriented and breathless, I struggled to find my footing amidst the remnants of the chaotic storm. As I steadied myself, relieved to be back in the castle with people moving as they had before the women approached. Thorne snatched my hand and yanked me toward him, glaring daggers at the goddesses.
What kind of man would dare?
I inched back, staring at his face, looking beyond the familiarity of it to find something more. But he was nothing like them. His skin was scarred. His eyes were stunning, but normal. And with a single dimple, he was far from perfectly made. No. Thorne was not a god. But he was certainly foolish. Believing himself to be invincible as he stared down two goddesses at once.
I elbowed him, hoping he’d take a hint even though he knew far more about dealing with gods than I did. Maybe it was fine to take things from them and argue with them. Maybe it was even fine to hate them.
“You have questions,” Vesalia said, her voice a purr that seemed to caress my skin. It wasn’t a query, but a statement. “Don’t worry, darling. We have all the time in the world. Time is a curious thing. It bends and stretches, twists and turns. What was, what is, what will be… they are all connected, all part of the same grand story.” Her eyes were curious. Intoxicating. The flecks of gold seemed to move, drifting slowly between the two.
“Remember that thing I said about riddles?” Thorne asked.
I moved closer to him, and he slipped a hand onto the back of my neck, tracing tiny circles with his fingers as he scanned the room, likely to make sure someone was watching his show of affection. Though at this point, I didn’t know if anything mattered. Not while standing before two powerful beings with the whole of the room more interested in the words spoken than the movements. Even the prince moved closer. Eyes on us once more.
“Don’t be so hateful,” the redhead chided. “My sister is merely curious about your new bride. And since the little mortal king is taking his time to make an entrance, bumbling old fool, we simply had to come meet her ourselves.”
“Yes. Taking his time,” Vesalia echoed, sliding her eyes to Thorne with a menacing smile. “Keeping time can be maddening.”
“If only there?—”
Bellatora’s words were cut short by a sudden commotion at the front of the room. Raised voices mingled with gasps of shock, the sound rising like a swelling tide and crashing over the gathered guests. Heads turned, craning to see the source of the disturbance.
I stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over the sea of silk and jewels. At the grand entryway, a cluster of guards in royal livery huddled together, their faces pale and drawn. They spoke in urgent whispers, casting furtive glances between the cluster of gods and the prince.
Beside me, Thorne tensed, his hand tightening on the back of my neck. “Something’s wrong.”
Before I could respond, a tall, severe-looking man in a black uniform stepped forward, whispering into Farris’s ear.
Farris stumbled backward, hand on his chest. “What do you mean my father is missing?”