Chapter 39
“YOU’RE NOT HIM.”
Throwing his head back, he laughs, growing more high-pitched, familiar in a different way as his skin and clothes split into scales. They flick like cards riffled, colors and features shifting.
Until before me stands Phaedra. A changeling.
I push past her and rush from the alcove, her peals of mocking laughter following me.
My face is on fire as I pull the shoulder of my gown back in place. Fucking Phaedra. It was just her, toying with me.
I’m a damn fool. If Drystan wanted me, he would’ve made his move already. He’s had ample opportunity. Who am I to think a king—a fae fucking king—would want me?
Phaedra knows it too. That’s why I can still hear her laughter.
Head down, I walk straight into someone. “Gods. I’m so—” I barely bite off my own apology.
Eyebrows raised, Lord Mastelle stands before me, large hands catching my shoulders.
The shell necklace peeks out from behind the high collar of his jacket, almost like it’s the collar of his shirt.
I have to admit, it suits him. And there isn’t so much as a speck of blood on his white shirt. “Are you all right, Lady Rhiannon?”
“Yes, of course. I just wasn’t paying proper attention. But I’m glad I’ve bumped into you because it means I get to admire how well that necklace suits you. I knew you were the right person to have it.”
His mouth curls into a pleased smirk. “Well, look who’s been studying our compliments. Might I test whether you’ve practiced your dancing as keenly?” He nods toward the dance floor behind me.
Calling it a dance floor suggests a higher degree of organization than the reality—fae happen to be dancing there, much as they’re doing in other corners of the hall.
I can’t think of any reason to turn him down, and I’m sure it would be a breach of etiquette. I’ve only just smoothed over the last one. “Only if you’re gentle with me, Lord Mastelle.”
He chuckles darkly and holds out his hand. “I can’t promise that, but I’ll do the best an unseelie can.”
“Why do I feel like that’s the best offer I’ll get in the Underworld?”
He smirks as I take his hand. “Because it is.”
He leads me into the swirl of dancers, places his other hand on my waist, then we’re off, spinning among them.
I keep my eyes locked on his, mind focused on keeping up with his swift steps. The music is a little frenetic here, and he keeps perfect time.
“It’s an interesting evening,” he says at last, gaze slipping over my shoulder like this is effortless for him.
“Oh?” It’s the best I can manage at this speed. Much faster and I’ll be out of breath.
“Our future queen wears black at last. Our king can’t take his eyes off her. And earlier I spotted Lady Phaedra speaking to Lord Allsham. And she hates him.”
So I wasn’t imagining Drystan’s attention on me. Unless that was also Phaedra. But I can’t imagine her daring to mimic the king publicly. That definitely seems like it would be a throat-ripping-out offense.
I blink, realizing he’s giving me an expectant look.
“Truly an interesting evening. You’re so observant, Lord Mastelle.
” I give him a winning smile, hoping my response is enough to fulfill my social obligations as a dance partner.
We’ve slowed a little now, so maybe I can manage a bit more conversation.
Before I attempt to, his gaze flicks back to a point over my shoulder and he draws us to a halt.
“You’ll forgive me for cutting in.” Drystan’s deep voice comes from behind me.
All the heat from the alcove rushes back to me, mingling with the humiliation that came after, and I find myself frozen with a rictus smile on my face as Lord Mastelle inclines his head and makes way for the king.
“Lady Rhiannon, I hope we’ll have a chance to dance another night.” Somehow Lord Mastelle bows his head without the necklace slitting his throat, then Drystan blocks sight of him.
He grabs my hand and waist. He isn’t gentle. But at least the music has calmed, its rhythm steadier and more manageable for my short legs as he leads us back into the circling fae.
His back is straight, his head lifted. Tension rolls off him, spelled out in the cording of his neck, the tightness of his lips, the too tight grip on me.
If he’s still annoyed that I walked away at Moonburn because he made a hurtful comment…
I shoot him a scowl.
He merely continues to lead us round and round in our spiraling dance. The song ends but he doesn’t release me. “Another,” he orders the musicians, and pulls me out on to the dance floor the instant they obey.
We’re a minute into the next tune before his throat bobs like he might speak. He doesn’t.
“I saw you,” he says at last, gaze fixed on a point over my head. At my questioning look, he adds, “Coming out of that alcove looking rather disheveled.”
I stare up at him, trying to work out what he’s getting at.
“Was it Lord Mastelle? Do I need to remove his hands?” There’s something hot in his eyes, something that could burn right through me—right through reality itself.
“Oh. Oh.” A breath punches out of me. “You think… me and Lord Mastelle.” He’s jealous.
His tension ratchets tighter and I can feel he’s ready to shut down like he did when I asked what had been taken from him.
“That isn’t what happened at all,” I blurt before he can flee. “I…” Oh gods. Just starting to explain has my cheeks on fire again.
Drystan’s eyebrows twitch together as he scans my face. “Then what has you blushing so furiously?”
I drop my gaze. It’s impossible to do this while looking at him. “Someone lured me in there under false pretenses, and when I realized, I was embarrassed.” No way could I admit the lure was him.
“So you didn’t—?”
“No.” He doesn’t need to know I nearly did, believing it was him. “That would mean breaking our bargain. I’m keeping up my side—pretending to be desperately happy with my future husband.”
A thoughtful hum rumbles from his chest. “Right. Pretending.” His gaze goes distant for a while before he draws a long breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings at Moonburn, but I can see I did. Even if I don’t understand why.”
I follow him for a few more steps, thighs brushing his. Unseelie don’t say sorry, but this feels apology adjacent.
“When I said you couldn’t be a good little wife, I didn’t mean you weren’t ‘good enough’ to be a satisfactory wife.
I meant that you’re headstrong and determined, intelligent and curious.
You’d struggle to obey someone else’s rules, shuttered away in a little house full of children instead of books. ”
Throughout his little speech, my eyebrows have inched up bit by bit. “Is that…? Did the king just explain something?” I give a theatrical gasp.
He returns with a flat look. “I won’t do so again if it’s going to be met by mockery.”
“No, no.” I squeeze his hand. “Don’t you withdraw behind your walls again. I just… wasn’t expecting it. That’s quite the picture you paint, though. Headstrong and determined.” I wince.
“I also said you were intelligent and curious.”
“I’ve never thought of myself as stubborn before. I’m always well behaved.”
He arches one eyebrow.
“Well, I’ve always obeyed my parents’ rules.
I’ve always kept them happy. Then again, I can see why you’d think that based on the behavior you’ve seen from me.
” I wince harder at the thought of my night of rule-breaking.
Is it him or the blank slate of the Underworld that’s brought out a rebellious streak?
“What are you calculating in there?” He releases my waist long enough to smooth a lock of hair from my temple, fingertips whispering over my skin.
“I just reached the conclusion that I’m rebelling against being dragged here as part of a bargain I had no say in.”
He scoffs, eyes rolling. “Of course you are. As long as your rebellion doesn’t break the terms of our bargain, rebel away.” He flashes me a grin, before his expression settles to something warmer, more open than the one he wore when this dance began.
It almost feels like I’m with a friend.
Almost. Because generally I’m not so aware of every single touch from a friend or how they look at me or each facial expression and what it might mean. Friends don’t normally feel so dangerous.
We dance on for several beats. “You know,” I say lightly, “if you help me beat the labyrinth, you can marry Phaedra. She’d make an excellent queen.” It’s true, but the words burn my tongue like a lie.
His gaze snaps to mine. Hard. He says, simply, “I don’t want Phaedra.” Not a word more, but the air between us grows weighted with things left unsaid.
I look away, too afraid to examine what they might be. I’ve offered him the easiest way out he could ask for and yet…
Swallowing, I grasp for a change of subject. “Since I was honest with you about the alcove, will you be honest with me?”
“I can’t lie.”
“But you can deceive. Deflect. Misdirect. All those avenues are still open to you.”
He acknowledges my point with a dip of his chin.
I fix my gaze on the third button down on his shirt.
It glistens as we move, and it’s right in my eye line—and much easier to withstand than his gaze as I gather the courage to go on.
“I don’t know where I stand, what we… What’s happening.
Every answer I can think of seems so slippery. I just need something to hold on to.”
He’s quiet for a long while. “Very well. I’ll try.”
“Why did you kill Threnn? You could’ve stopped him, had him arrested if you thought it necessary. If you could rip out his throat, you could have subdued him.”
A low, gravelly sound comes from Drystan’s chest, and although I refuse to look up at his face, I can tell his jaw’s gone solid.
“I couldn’t have him talk to you in that way.
The things he said about you…” His throat bobs, and I find myself examining its column, wondering exactly where his fingers sank into Threnn’s flesh.
“He’s lucky I didn’t make him suffer longer. ”