Chapter Twenty-Four
The young Lord Castor stands under an archway, dressed in his finest scarlet military jacket trimmed with shimmering gold thread. Will’s dark, curly hair has been cut short, and he stands a bit straighter, conditioned by months spent at constant attention. His wide eyes meet mine from across the room, and I forget how to breathe.
Suddenly, all the feelings warring inside me, anger and confusion and hurt, vanish, and my first instinct is to let go of Henry and race down the stairwell, into Will’s embrace. To let the past three months become no more than a distant memory. But just as I begin to withdraw from Henry, the crowd parts enough to reveal the two women in gaudy ball gowns, each clinging to one of Will’s arms. The girl to his right whispers flirtatiously in his ear, and I taste something like acid at the back of my throat as the other throws back her head in laughter.
Will never takes his eyes off me, his jaw set, face humorless even as the women break into a another fit of obnoxious giggling. I tighten my grip on Henry’s arm and look away, severing the connection between Will and me. My heart pounds in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. I want to keep moving, but the suffocating attention of the crowd—along with the knowledge that Will stands only a few feet away but feels more like a stranger to me now than he ever has—keeps me rooted to this spot.
“Henry?” I turn to find him already staring at me, a look of sympathy in his charcoal eyes. Beneath it, however, mischief sparks.
Henry gives me a wicked grin. “If you’re going to ask me to help you make my brother jealous, the answer is yes.”
I’m not sure what I was going to say, but I don’t suppress the smile that plays on my lips at his idea. Aboard the Lightbringer , Owen and I were always working a scheme. Since that fateful day at sea, I’ve begun to feel as if I might never find someone equally as interested in stirring up trouble. But Henry seems inclined to indulge me, and when he pulls me even closer, making a show of the way he leans in, an odd rush of excitement chases away all my fear.
“He’s going to kill me for this,” Henry whispers, his breath tickling my ear as we descend the steps.
I feel as though we’ll never reach the bottom. The crowd continues to stare—a gathering of local merchants, aristocrats, and traveling dignitaries. All here to celebrate the dawn of an era in which the Nightweavers took control of the land and drove us out to sea. And among the assembly of Nightweavers, aside from the servants Lady Isabelle employed, I am the only human—something the Nightweavers have begun to realize, their looks of curiosity turning sour. I don’t have to wonder how they would be looking at me if they knew I was a pirate. The looks they give me merely for being human are enough to tell me it wouldn’t be friendly. But tonight, I don the mask of Aster Wagner, a friend of Henry’s from the small coastal town of Eldritch. Tonight, I pretend I am one of the few somewhat-free humans of the Eerie. Tonight, I pretend that the months I spent missing Will never happened.
Because how could I miss someone who so clearly doesn’t feel the same way? He didn’t even bother to find me before the ball this evening. To think I’ve waited three months, just for him to act as if the time we spent together meant nothing to him.
As if I meant nothing to him.
Focus, Aster , I chide myself. I’m here tonight for one reason and one reason only: to learn everything I can about the prince of the Eerie. And if Captain Shade were to make an appearance… well, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
“I wish they’d stop staring,” I mutter through my teeth.
Henry chuckles. “They’re probably trying to figure out what beautification enchantments you’ve cast over yourself this evening.”
I pinch his arm. “Stop being nice to me.”
He laughs again, and as the crowd parts, I catch a brief glimpse of Will glaring at his brother before I lose sight of him again.
“Might I remind you,” Henry says, “that I am your escort for the evening? It would be impolite not to compliment you.”
I snort. “I think I prefer it when you’re being impolite.”
The second we reach the bottom step, a reedy girl in a pale pink gown makes her way toward us, her burgundy curls bobbing. “Henry!” She plasters on a wide smile, though when she glances at me, her eyes flash with disgust. “Happy Reckoning Day.”
“Trudy,” Henry replies flatly. He draws me closer, using me as a shield. “Have you met Aster?”
I tense, expecting her to recognize me. To call Henry out and expose me for what I really am.
Thankfully, she hardly spares me a second glance. “Charmed,” she grits out, that wide smile giving her a crazed appearance. A haze of smoke seems to cloud the air around her head, like a halo of shadows, but I note the cigarette perched between her gloved fingers, and my muscles relax. “Henry, would you like to—”
Another hush falls over the crowd, and Trudy’s words die out on a breath as she turns toward the entrance of the main hall.
He enters without introduction but not without notice, striding lazily into the main hall as if he were taking a Sunday stroll, his hands tucked loosely in his pockets. The entire household at once becomes so quiet every step he takes seems to echo through the crowded space in an unnerving tempo.
The prince of the Eerie looks nothing like the monster from my nightmares.
He cuts a striking figure in a black military jacket trimmed with scarlet thread, the gilded epaulets on either shoulder glinting in the gaslight. I study his somewhat delicate features, his angular jaw and high, hollow cheekbones, his skin tanned from months spent on a battlefield and at sea. It appears as if he arrived on horseback, his chin-length, sandy-blond hair effortlessly tousled, giving him a louche quality that conveys some kind of divine authority.
Dangerous. Deadly.
He surveys the crowd, his expression aloof. A few women—including Trudy Birtwistle—curtsy as if it were the only proper reaction to his sudden, imposing presence, but he doesn’t appear to take notice. Even from ten feet away, his blue eyes seem to glow from within as he fixes his gaze on—oh, Stars—
Me.
His eyebrows quirk, and I think I see the hint of a smile playing on his full lips, but he looks away so quickly I feel I’ve imagined the whole thing.
He adjusts his bloodred sash, bedecked with medals, his lips curving wickedly at the sight of Will. I didn’t notice when the crowd cleared enough to put Henry and me at the forefront, along with Will and the two women who remain kneeling on either side of him.
“You should have warned me.” The prince’s voice is unexpectedly light and pleasant. He speaks with an accent unbefitting a royal. Rather, he sounds like a commoner or even… “A pirate?” The prince tsks softly. “In a ball gown? And I thought I’d seen it all.”
My blood runs cold. So much for pretending.
Will’s expression remains unreadable as he untangles himself from the two women and strides forward to meet the prince in the center of the hall. He keeps a calm pace, his composure unruffled, but the muscles in Henry’s forearm tense, and he shifts slightly, as if to shield me. Will clears his throat, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I think I see a small measure of hurt there—and surprise. “I was unaware my brother would be escorting Ms. Oberon this evening.”
Oberon. Not Wagner.
There wasn’t time to inform Will of my false identity for the evening. Henry figured he would have a moment to speak to Will in private. But now… hearing that there is, in fact, a pirate in their midst, every guest’s eye finds me again. Only this time, I can feel the heat of their hatred as if it were a tangible thing, pressing in on me, shrinking me down and—
“I should think not,” the prince muses, that wicked smirk causing my stomach to roil as he turns his full attention on me.
He stands a head taller than the Castor boys, towering over me, but he is even more lithe than Will, moving with the grace of a trained dancer as he extends his black-gloved hand to me and… bows ?
I think I hear someone gasp—probably Trudy—but my head buzzes with static white heat. Henry murmurs something before releasing me. I barely hear him. The next thing I know, my fingertips brush the satin of the prince’s glove and my hand is in his gentle grasp.
He presses a kiss to my knuckles, and I can’t help reveling in the thrill of seeing Trudy out of the corner of my eye, fanning herself as if she might faint.
“I had hoped to meet you during my visit,” the prince murmurs, his lips lingering near my gloved hand, his blue eyes—as deep as the ocean itself—never leaving mine. He straightens fully, adding loudly enough for all to hear, “Your presence at this ball is a delight, Ms. Oberon. And while I graciously accept the title of guest of honor, I am most inclined to share that position with you, the only human brave enough to come here tonight and prove that a pirate can, indeed, be thoroughly… reformed .”
My cheeks heat as hushed murmurs creep throughout the room like thorny vines, tearing into my nerves with every whisper. Still, the prince’s eyes remain locked on mine—a challenge.
“Ms. Oberon,” the prince says, his mischievous grin sending shivers down my spine, “would you grant me the pleasure of joining me in the first dance?”