Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
A pprehension flutters behind my ribs like erratic butterflies. I work as a lookout for the highly illegal and secret fae resistance several times a week, and I’ve never felt nervous. But now as I walk into a glittering ballroom for a night that is supposed to be pure enjoyment, I feel so anxious that I don’t even know what to do with my hands.
It’s ridiculous. Deep down, I know that. There is nothing dangerous about attending a ball. And yet, I can’t stop my heart from pounding.
I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, because I’ve never attended a ball before. And I hate not knowing how I’m expected to behave.
Worry rolls through my stomach as I enter the already mostly full ballroom. I waited, fully dressed and ready, until I had heard almost everyone in my corridor leave for the ballroom before I finally made my way down here as well. The thought of standing by myself in a practically empty ballroom, looking nervous and awkward and not knowing what to do, made me feel like I was going to throw up. It’s better to arrive when most people are already here. That way, I can slip through the crowd and get a feel for the mood before I engage with anyone.
Candlelight shines from the golden chandeliers in the ceiling and the gilded candelabras across the floor. It makes the pale stone walls shimmer like gold.
However, the Icehearts have done everything they can to cover everything else in silver. The tablecloths and the trays and the containers with food and drink are all made of silver. But the boldest statement of all is that every single fae contestant in this room is dressed in that color as well.
I thought that the dress I received was silver simply because it would match my hair color. But now as I sweep my gaze over the sea of dancing and chatting people, I realize that everyone has received clothes made of silver. Which is their color.
My mind drifts back to Lavendera’s words from earlier. It’s their way of showing us that they own us.
She’s right. Jessina and Bane Iceheart are leaders of the Silver Dragon Clan. So making us all wear silver clothes is a powerful and not-so-subtle reminder that we belong to them. We do not have free will. We are not our own people. We are their subjects.
Laughter suddenly echoes from my right.
I turn towards it. A group of contestants is standing there by one of the narrow tables that are filled with drinks.
Indecision swirls through me. They look like they might be friendly, but how am I supposed to approach them? I can’t just walk up to them and join the conversation.
While suppressing the urge to fidget, I drift awkwardly towards the table as if I’m just going there to grab a drink. The group continues talking and laughing softly. I pick up a glass of what looks like sparkling wine. Then I linger there while I sip some of the surprisingly sweet alcohol.
Once I have gathered my courage, I twist towards the group and edge a little closer.
The two closest people turn towards me and look at me with a hint of surprise and confusion. But they eventually shift their positions a little to make room for me.
Relief washes through me. Not exactly the smoothest move I have ever made, but it worked, and that’s all that matters.
I sip some more wine and listen while they continue talking.
“Have you noticed how many times they’ve said that the trials are about to start now?” a guy with wavy black hair asks. He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “It’s always ‘welcome to the Atonement Trials’ or ‘congratulations on making it’ or ‘it’s time to start’ but they never actually start the trials.”
“I’ve—” I begin, but a woman with blond hair cuts me off.
“Exactly,” she says, and laughs loudly. “They’re so dramatic all the time but nothing really happens.”
“I don’t—” I try again.
“Like come on,” the guy says, interrupting me. “We’ve had two unofficial tests already. When are the real trials going to begin?”
The others hum in agreement and nod. I close my mouth and instead just do the same.
While they continue talking about the upcoming trials, I simply stand there and sip from my glass and nod at the appropriate times.
After a while, the discussion moves on to the topic of clothes. And more specifically, why everyone is dressed in the same color.
“It makes us look ridiculous,” the black-haired guy says, and shakes his head.
“Right?” a woman with turquoise and brown eyes fills in. “I feel like a little kid in school or something.”
“And why does it even have to be silver anyway?” He turns and runs a hand down his stomach while a mischievous grin lurks on his lips. “It makes me look fat.”
The others chuckle and elbow him in exasperation at the obvious joke.
Since I’m pretty sure that they don’t want to know the real reason, at least not right now when they’re happy and joking, I add softly, “Maybe it’s so that they can find us by simply shining a bright light on all of this reflective material.”
The blond fae woman looks over at me in surprise, but no one else seems to have heard my joke. She turns back to the group.
“Maybe it’s so that they can find us by simply shining a bright light on all of this reflective material,” she says, echoing my words but in a louder voice.
Laughter ripples through the air, and the guy opposite her even chokes on his drink.
A kind of empty numbness spreads through my chest as I stare at the blond woman. She doesn’t even look at me. Instead, she laughs and winks at the others in response to the appreciative smiles that they bathe her with.
I open my mouth to tell them that it was my joke, but I manage to stop myself before the words can actually leave my mouth. It would only make me sound petty. So instead, I heave a deep sigh and empty my glass.
“Are you always this quiet?”
Starting in surprise, I look up to find the black-haired guy watching me from the other side of the group. This is the first time he has even looked at me since I joined them. My deep sigh must have finally drawn his attention.
“It’s just, you came over and joined us a while ago,” he continues, his brows furrowed. “But you haven’t actually said anything. So, you know, I’m just curious. Are you tired? Or do you just normally not talk all that much?”
Everyone turns towards me. Candlelight glints in their drinks and sparkles in their bejeweled silver garments as they cock their heads and wait for me to answer.
That numb emptiness in my chest swells until I feel like it’s going to swallow me whole.
Drawing in a breath, I abruptly set my now empty glass down on the table. “Sorry, I think I just need to get some air.”
Before they can reply, I start walking in a direction where I hope there might be a window. Their murmured voices, discussing my behavior, hang in the air behind me. I try my best to block them out.
Music from the group of dragon shifters in the corner fills the large ballroom and mixes with the sound of laughter and chatter and the swishing of clothing. It all presses against me. I feel like I’m drowning. I just need some air. And a few minutes to myself.
Drawing in deep breaths, I escape out into one of the large hallways connected to the ballroom. It’s empty, and more importantly, there are two windows at the end of it. I run towards them.
My fingers fumble several times, but I finally manage to get the hatch open.
Cool night air washes over me as I throw the window open.
I drag in a deep breath, filling my lungs. The air tastes like night mist and damp soil and fallen leaves. Closing my eyes, I just remain there for a minute, breathing in the fresh air and clearing my head.
The irony of it all is not lost on me. I can manipulate other people’s emotions, but I don’t even have control over my own. Everything would be so much easier if I could use my magic on myself. But unfortunately, I can’t. So I’m forced to deal with messy feelings and real life just like everyone else.
Once the ache in my heart and the embarrassment in my chest have subsided, I close the window and brush my hands down my dress to smooth it down. While fixing my hair again, I try to boost my confidence. I can do this. I only need to win the trials. It doesn’t matter if I fail at making friends at a stupid ball. The only thing that matters is winning the Atonement Trials. And I don’t need to do well at this ball for that.
After giving myself a decisive nod, I turn around and start back towards the ballroom.
I only make it halfway down the corridor before a dark shadow falls across the floor.
My heart jerks as Draven walks around the corner and into the empty corridor. He stops when he sees me. I don’t. Keeping my chin raised, I continue forwards, intending to walk right past him and back to the ballroom.
But my pulse thrums in my ears. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I embarrassed him during the power display earlier.
I resist the urge to lick my lips nervously.
His sharp eyes track my every move.
I’m almost there. Almost. Just one more?—
Right before I can walk past him, he yanks up his arm in front of me and slams his palm against the wall, blocking my way. I whip my head towards him.
His eyes glint in the firelight as he twists his body, using his size to force me to turn with him until I’m facing him with my back towards the wall. He keeps his hand on the wall, caging me in further.
My pulse patters as I tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
A sly smile blows across Draven’s lips as he locks eyes with me. “Going somewhere, little rebel?”
My heart jerks and then beats erratically at the sound of that nickname, even though I know that he doesn’t mean it as an actual accusation of treason.
Discreetly, I raise my leg a little and brace my foot against the wall behind me. “Are you following me?”
His eyes gleam again. “Do you need to be followed?”
While keeping my gaze firmly locked on his, I push the silver fabric a little away from my now slightly raised leg. My fingers curl around the hilt of the knife that I have strapped to my thigh underneath the dress.
“No,” I reply. “But you do seem to have an unhealthy obsession with tracking me down in empty corridors. Can I suggest a hobby instead? Perhaps knitting since you’re so fond of pointy sticks.”
A burst of laughter rips from his chest.
He immediately snaps his mouth shut again, cutting off the shocking sound. I stare at him, completely flabbergasted. Did he just… laugh ?
Draven blinks, looking equally stunned.
Then he gives his head an almost imperceptible shake, as if composing himself, and his usual air of power and command returns. He moves closer. A dangerous expression settles on his lethally handsome features.
“That little stunt you pulled during the power demonstration was very interesting,” he says, his voice wrapping around me like dark silk. “I haven’t felt panic that strong in centuries.”
My fingers tighten around the hilt of my knife, but I keep my voice level as I reply, “You must not have lived a very exciting life then.”
“You think I’ve lived a boring life?”
“You’re the one who implied it.”
He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he narrows his eyes and studies my face for a few seconds in silence. Since I’m now certain that he hasn’t tracked me down to kill me, I carefully release the knife and then let my foot slide the short distance down the wall and back to the floor. After all, if Draven wanted me dead, he would have just rammed his sword through my heart the moment he cornered me.
A hint of curiosity, or maybe confusion, flickers in his eyes.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he says at last.
It’s more of a statement than a question, but I reply anyway. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because fear is a weapon. It gives other people power over you without them even having to do anything.” A wicked little smile ghosts across my lips. “I should know. I use it against people all the time.”
“Interesting.”
A jolt shoots through my body as he suddenly drops his hand from the wall and instead draws it up my thigh, lifting the silver dress skirt. Lightning skitters across my skin as Draven’s fingers brush over my naked thigh. My brain malfunctions and my heart stalls and I can’t for the life of me figure out what is going on.
Then his strong hand wraps around the hilt of my hidden knife, and a smirk spreads across his mouth. “Then why were you desperately clutching this blade until just a few seconds ago?”
My heart pounds against my ribs. His hand remains around the hilt of the knife, his knuckles brushing against my skin as he holds it firmly. I can barely think straight when his fingers are that close to the inside of my thigh.
“Because I’m not stupid,” I manage to press out in reply. “If you were going to try to kill me, I was going to fight back.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs. The sound is so low and dark that I can feel it vibrating through the air. He flexes his fingers on the hilt, his intense eyes still locked on mine. “Do you know what the punishment is for attempting to kill the Commander of the Dread Legion in the Iceheart Dynasty?”
I draw in short shallow breaths while several very different and confusing emotions pulse inside me.
The sly smile on his lips grows as he slides my knife out of its holster. The blade glints in the firelight when he expertly spins it in his hand. I suck in a sharp breath as he yanks up the knife and holds it against my throat.
My pulse thrums in my ears.
Moving his hand upwards, he presses the flat of the blade underneath my chin and uses it to tilt my head back.
I just hold his gaze, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
“But…” he begins, that sly smile now back on his lips again. “I could be persuaded to let your threatening actions slide.”
“In exchange for what?”
“A dance.”
The world goes suddenly silent. I just stare back at Draven, certain that I must have misheard him. But when no other explanation is forthcoming, I blink and shake my head to clear it.
“A dance?” I repeat, stunned shock still lacing my voice as I stare up at him. “You want to dance? With me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He pushes my chin higher up with the blade still in his hand. “Take it or leave it.”
And because I’m not a complete idiot, I naturally reply, “Alright.”
A dark chuckle escapes his chest. “Good choice.”
In one fluid motion, he takes the knife from my throat, spins it in his hand, and then offers it to me hilt first. I take it and slide it back into the holster on my thigh while my brain is still trying to figure out what in Mabona’s name is going on here.
Draven holds out his arm to me. “Well then, shall we?”
I stare at him. On the surface, the gesture is full of chivalry, but there is something distinctly threatening about the wicked smile on his mouth. I can’t help but feel as if I’m about to walk right into a trap. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what kind of trap.
So in the end, I just take his arm and let him lead me back into the ballroom.
One dance. It’s just one dance.
Surely I can survive that.