Chapter 22
What exactly does one think about in the moments before they overtly declare themselves the utmost threat to a nation’s peaceful transition of power? Apparently, they think about the absurd amount of stairs they have to descend in poorly constructed heels.
My hands are slick with sweat and my stomach is full of anxious butterflies by the time I reach the hallway leading to the ballroom.
The thick ruby runner that lines the center of the corridor threatens to swallow my feet as I walk across it.
Each step feels more like trudging through swampy earth than strolling casually across a rug in an opulent manner.
Music swells loudly from the orchestra that plays on the other side of the large oak doors, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my pounding heart and the magic roaring within me.
I take a deep breath and will the power in my veins into submission.
Head up, shoulders back, I steady myself and nod to the guards to open the doors.
The music reaches its coda just as the doors clang open.
Revelers cease their chatter and turn to look at the source of the unexpected noise.
Shock ripples across their faces at the poisonous woman who stands at the top of the stairs dressed in the color of their beloved monarch.
A phantom wind flares the amethyst silk behind me with each step down the red-veined marble staircase.
The dagger is cool against my skin, drawing a gasp somewhere in the crowd as it catches the light from the hanging chandelier.
With each downward tread, more heads turn, more whispers spread, and more sneers are thrown my way.
A deep voice booms through the room, drawing the attention from me to the small dais.
Governor Rollins stands at the conductor’s lectern, his rotund face the same color as the ruby dress coat he wears, rage written plainly across it.
“I am honored to host several esteemed guests this evening,” he begins.
Something tells me that he doesn’t count me among that number.
“Our most revered Lord General and the famed Captain of Corinth have honored the nobility of the Ruby Region with their presence tonight.”
Claps and cheers erupt through the ballroom as an impossibly tall, silver-haired man dressed in Corinthian gray steps onto the dais.
Lord General Marks clasps Governor Rollins on the shoulder in a show of respect that looks almost comical with the extreme difference in their statures, before replacing him at the podium.
“It is always an honor to be among my devoted supporters in Gathe. You truly are the ruby in the crown of Corinth. Let us drink and dance and celebrate the great future that awaits us together.”
Golden eyes find mine in the crowd at the word meant for me: together.
Magic pulses frantically in my veins under his stare but I don’t dare break it.
I let my hand drift down, my fingertips resting gingerly on the blade across my thigh.
Time itself stills, stretching thin. My vision tunnels until it’s only me and Marks in the ballroom; everyone else is lost to the encroaching shadows.
There’s a low hiss, and, if I didn’t know better, I would swear the silver serpent slithers to life against my belly.
The air between us grows thick and cold, my lungs contracting at the sudden loss of oxygen.
A wicked smile blooms across Marks’ face at my struggling breath, but I meet it with a look of fierce determination.
We stand there for seconds, minutes, hours. Time no longer exists in whatever vacuum of space we’ve transported to.
With a wave of the conductor’s baton, the orchestra strikes up again, and I find myself at the edge of the dance floor.
The space around me is crowded but I have no recollection of moving from the last stair.
Warmth from the fires along the outer walls of the ballroom warm my skin, the air light and easy to breathe once more.
I search the dais for Marks, but the Lord General is nowhere to be found.
My magic flares again as someone approaches me from behind. I grip the dagger’s handle in preparation, expecting to spin and find the hard, angry lines of Marks’ face.
But it’s the rich scent of leather and salt that I find instead.
Noble couples flank Cal, waiting for the guest of honor to start the first official dance of the evening, as is tradition.
“Lady Ivy,” Cal says with a slight dip of head. Anything more would be construed as a bow. “As an esteemed visiting dignitary from the Emerald Region, it is only proper for you to lead us in the national dance of Corinth.”
“It would be my honor, Captain Murphy.”
I can think of few things I’d like to do less in this moment than dance in front of nobles whose faces show their open contempt for me, but society demands I do just that.
I place my hand in his waiting palm, the familiar tingle of his magic warming me where our skin lightly touches. The crowd parts as Cal leads me to the center of the floor. His hand moves to gently rest on my exposed back, careful of the watchful eyes that dissect our every move.
A violinist softly sweeps his bow across the strings, the first notes of the national song filling the ballroom.
We move together in perfect time, a slow step followed by two quick steps.
Couples join in all around us as the notes rise and fall.
All eyes are focused on us as Cal spins me effortlessly to the music.
“Everyone is staring,” I mumble through a soft smile.
Cal leans in as we spin again, using the closeness required by the motion to speak softly so only I can hear.
“That’s because every man in this room wants to fuck you in that dress and their wives know it.”
I cough, nearly choking on the shock of the words as the captain returns to his pleasant, demure smile. The music rises and falls again, our steps in perfect alignment.
“You could have said something more couth for listening ears. Like, ‘You look ravishing tonight, my lady.’”
The next move calls for the men to dip their partners and Cal uses the opportunity to brush his lips against my ear as he speaks. “I’d like to ravish you tonight, my lady.”
My cheeks flush as I swallow down the heat that floods me with his forbidden words. We are adrift in a sea of onlookers, nothing but casual acquaintances swaying in slow-quick-quick steps to the swell of the orchestra.
“This might be our only chance to speak.” Cal’s words are clipped and stern when he speaks again, the tantalizing lover’s tease gone. “Marks plans to show me off tonight.”
“Like a crown prince?” I joke without thinking. It’s a cruel comparison to make, insinuating that he’s Marks’ heir, and I instantly regret it.
“More like a prized stallion,” Cal corrects.
If my words hurt him, he doesn’t show it in front of the noble eyes that scrutinize us like we’re nothing more than a museum exhibit.
Overcompensating in an attempt to cover my carelessness, I joke again. “The women in this room would hand over all of their rubies for a ride on you.”
“I’m only interested in amethysts tonight.” Cal dips me again in a low, sweeping movement as the music ends. “My mother’s brooch looks excellent on you, princess.”
He pulls me to a standing position and steps back quickly to join in with the other men clapping loudly around us.
I bend my knees in a customary curtsy along with the other women, but my eyes never leave his.
There’s a wink of his signature smoke—a reminder of the fire that burned between us—before cold steel stares back at me.
I dip my head in a curt nod, eager to make my way off the dance floor quickly. I don’t wish to entertain nobles tonight with waltzes and quicksteps.
Serving women dressed in sparse uniforms flit around the crowd carrying trays of sparkling wine, and I eagerly accept one as it passes by. The effervescent wine is sweet, too sweet. How do the people of the Ruby Region manage to down bottle after bottle of this?
“You have some gall, strutting in here like a prized whore in the King’s colors.” I don’t have to turn to know who the voice belongs to.
“Careful, Governor. You wouldn’t want to appear threatened by a woman, would you?” I keep my back to him, casually sipping the syrupy liquid.
“You cocky little cunt. Your father should have put you in your place a long time ago.”
“My place,” I turn to face Rollins head-on now, “is a position of power. And I plan on being there for longer than you’ll be alive.”
I push past him, forcefully bumping his shoulder as I stride towards the open doors that lead out to the courtyard.
The night air is cold, but that doesn’t deter the couples sneaking around in the maze, desperate for a taboo tryst amongst the shrubbery.
I walk the outskirts of the plant-lined walls, careful not to disturb the lovers in their act.
I trail my fingers along the petals of the winter roses that grow thick in the hedges, wishing not for the first time that I could freely use the power I hide, that I could wrap magical vines around the throats of every vile man who seeks only to degrade and destroy me.
But instead, I hide it. Too terrified of becoming their weapon to become their reckoning.
“Searching for a partner?” Kieran’s voice cuts through the dark as his moonlit form takes shape just ahead.
“Hardly.” I clench my fist, the rose beside me wilting into dust.
“Can I offer you a drink?” His outstretched hand holds a stemmed flute full of the sickeningly sweet wine.
“The last time I accepted a drink from you, you slipped poison in it. I think I’ll pass.”
Anger floods through me alongside the memory of that night 10 years ago. The saccharine liquid and heated kisses that led to blood, headache, and heartache.
“Fair.” Kieran deposits the glasses on the tray of a passing servant who quickly scurries away. “I can see that you dressed to piss off powerful men tonight.”
“I dressed to make a statement. Pissing men off is an added bonus.”