Chapter 24 #3
“If only we could be so lucky. Unfortunately, I don’t believe in luck.” He began surveying the crowd again. “You should go dance. Make new allies.”
Stung by the dismissal, I touched his arm. The muscles hardened beneath my fingers, and when I used a sliver of magic to chart that tension, I realized that despite how calm he looked, his heart was racing.
Kallen looked down at my hand, then up to my face, expression blank. That frantic pulse throbbed in his throat, just above the line of his black collar. What Kallen was on the surface and what he was beneath rarely matched.
It was suddenly imperative that I get him to smile again, that I loosen some of the brutal tension in his frame. His body had to hurt from how rigidly he always held himself. “I don’t want to make new allies,” I said.
“A princess should—”
“I don’t care what a princess should do.” I eased closer, and with my magical senses open, I felt the hitch in his breathing like it had seized my own lungs.
“You don’t want to dance?”
“No.” I smiled and squeezed his arm lightly. “Unless you want to dance with me?”
The cold expression finally broke, but it was replaced by a fleeting grimace of pain. “Don’t use me, Kenna.”
“Use you?” I asked, taken aback.
“To make Drustan jealous.”
Was that what he believed? “That’s not why I asked.”
“Then why—” He shook his head. “I don’t like dancing.”
This wasn’t about my motives. It was about him. “You enjoyed it at least one time.”
His eyes traced over my face, my upswept hair, down to my neck. I wondered if he was reliving it, that heady midnight we’d spent spinning on a hidden balcony, taking our first steps into this strange not-quite friendship. “That was different.”
Sensing a softening in him, I pressed my advantage with another smile, another squeeze of his arm. “Would you prefer I stay here, bothering you until you can’t even spy properly?”
That finally pulled a reluctant twitch out of one corner of his mouth. “You don’t bother me.”
“Not yet, I don’t.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “I haven’t truly tried yet. I promise I can be very annoying.” I bit my lip, and his eyes followed the movement. “ If you’d prefer that to dancing.”
I didn’t know why I wanted this so badly. He’d already said no, and I should respect that.
Except he hadn’t said no, had he? He’d said, Don’t use me and I don’t like dancing. And I hadn’t asked him to dance, either—I’d asked him if he wanted to dance.
He seemed torn, hesitating even though he was normally confident in his decisions, and I felt suddenly certain he did want to dance.
He just didn’t think he deserved it, the way he didn’t think he deserved any other softness or kindness.
So I gambled on that instinct and released his arm to hold out my hand.
“Lord Kallen,” I said with a curtsy. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”
His lashes lowered as he looked at my outstretched palm. Then he sighed and placed his hand in mine. “Yes, Kenna.”
The music was slowing and shifting into a new key as we walked towards the center of the ballroom.
Some couples were still spinning while others were changing partners, and around the edges the Fae drank and schemed.
Curious eyes followed our progress, and waving fans flicked up to cover gossiping mouths.
“They probably think I’m blackmailing or interrogating you,” Kallen said grimly.
“Why?”
“That’s normally why I dance with people.”
He’d done that to me once, hadn’t he? At the spring equinox, he’d asked me to dance—ordered me, more like—and spent nearly the entirety of it quizzing me about Drustan and Earth House. “No wonder you don’t like it.”
He grunted but didn’t reply.
I let go of his hand once we reached a clear space at the edge of the floor, then turned to face him.
This wasn’t a patterned dance involving simultaneous choreography—the music was slow and aching, the kind of melting tune that demanded a closer touch.
I raised my arms, and though Kallen had been reluctant to agree to this, he showed no hesitation as he pulled me into his hold.
His right hand settled low on my bared back, just beneath the tip of Caedo’s silver tail, and as the delicate chain crossing his palm pressed against my skin, I shivered.
No biting , I reminded Caedo.
Kallen led me into the first step, the tension in his arms both anchoring and guiding me. He moved as gracefully as he did while fighting.
Words hovered on my tongue. Should I make a quip about interrogating him instead? Ask how many of Elsmere’s troops were on the move? Discuss what else he’d learned while spying lately?
I wanted him to actually enjoy the dancing for once, so I settled on a compliment. “You’re very good at this,” I said after he’d twirled me away and brought me spinning back.
“It’s a tool like any other,” he replied.
Dancing as an interrogation technique, dancing as a tool. How little joy he found in life. “When did you start learning?”
“I can’t remember a time it wasn’t part of my training. It was important to Osric that I master the courtly graces in addition to the martial ones.”
The mention of Osric’s name was like a discordant note fouling a perfect chord. “You trained with him, rather than at Void House?”
He deftly spun us out of the path of a drunkenly twirling couple, and my skirts briefly wrapped around his legs. “Most of my childhood was spent in his private wing.”
“You lived with him?”
“Alongside his personal guard, yes. He delighted in the idea of raising a child into a weapon. Once he believed I was entirely his creature, he found it more advantageous to send me back to the house—and some Void faeries will never trust me because of that.” Though Kallen was moving without missing a step, his gaze moved restlessly across the room, like he was even now searching for betrayers in the shadows.
He never let himself relax into a moment.
I gripped his hand tighter. “Look at me,” I ordered.
Kallen’s focus returned to me. He raised his brows slightly.
“Let’s not talk about Osric anymore,” I said, running my thumb along the line between his shoulder and neck. “He doesn’t get to have this dance, too.”
A sigh left him. “No, this one is yours.”
He pulled me closer, hand shifting across the small of my back until the tips of his fingers slid just beneath the edge of my dress.
If I was supposed to be doing specific steps, I’d completely forgotten, but his lead was so good it didn’t matter.
His body asked questions that mine answered, and though that silent communication felt easy, the air between us was increasingly thick with tension.
The strings swelled, and Kallen twirled me out.
Rather than spin me in again, he took two long strides in pursuit before snatching me up into his hold.
I pressed my left hand to his chest, startled by the possessiveness of that sudden movement.
The silky black fabric of his shirt was warm from his skin.
I felt the strength of his muscles beneath and, below that, the urgent tap of his heart.
We were barely moving now, no longer executing complicated steps but turning in a slow circle. I twisted my fingers in his shirt, then fumbled up to cup the nape of his neck, beneath his dark hair.
Kallen’s lips parted. His eyelids were heavy. His fingers flexed against the dip of my waist, just beneath the fabric of my dress.
Goose bumps raced over my skin. He had a warrior’s hands, and with my back bared, I felt the scrape of those calluses in a way I never had before.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, voice low and rough.
I nodded, unable to summon words.
“Good.” He lowered his mouth to my ear to whisper the next words. “You make me wish I was different.”
I was starting to feel lightheaded. “I don’t want you to be different.”
He pulled back, gaze falling to my mouth.
A crash of cymbals broke through the music. I jumped as my pulse went skittering, and Kallen spun, shoving me behind him.
“What is it?” I asked, gripping his arm.
He relaxed, but only minutely. “Imogen.”
The music had stopped. Everyone turned towards the dais, where Imogen stood between two cymbal-wielding Underfae. A beatific smile crossed her face as she raised her goblet high in the air. The liquid was the purple of ice wine. “My beloved subjects,” she called out. “Isn’t this ball wonderful?”
There were murmured agreements, but confusion was written on many faces.
“Osric’s parties were so dull. Dancing, drinking, a few executions…” She made a face. “No variety.”
“No variety ?” I echoed under my breath. “That’s her complaint?”
Kallen made a soft huffing sound. “I can think of a few more pressing concerns.”
“This event could be better, though,” Imogen continued. Her voice had a slightly messy quality, and I realized she was drunk. “I’ve been puzzling over it—how to make this ball a novelty for you.”
Ulric was at the front of the crowd. He approached the dais and bowed, then beckoned for Imogen to bend closer.
I didn’t hear what he said, but she shook her head and scowled.
“Nonsense,” she said, straightening. “We’re going to make this night special.
Isn’t that right?” She raised her drink again, and a cheer broke out.
When she quaffed it, dozens of faeries mirrored her.
Ulric’s expression grew grim as he retreated.
Torin rose from his chair, eyes narrowed. “My queen,” he said, “we discussed the plans for this event in depth. My house even provided the musicians, the best we have to offer. Are you displeased with them?”
“Oh, the musicians are fine,” she said, waving her free hand so the light glanced off her jeweled rings. “But I want more .”
Torin exchanged a glance with Rowena. If they had helped plan this party, that had been a very public insult.
“One thing Queen Brigitta excelled at was offering herself to the people she ruled,” Imogen continued. “In public audiences, private conversations—she even played the fiddle so that her people might dance.”
“Do you have a fiddle?” Torin asked, an edge to his voice.
Imogen threw her head back and laughed. Too loud, too reckless. I wondered how many glasses she’d drunk. “Are we to be satisfied with music alone? No, I’m offering a new type of entertainment tonight. One performed by the house heads.”
My worry grew. Where was this leading?
“Queen Imogen,” Torin said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you might like to sit down?”
Her head snapped towards him. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is more to ruling than drinking and making merry,” he said coldly. “I wonder if this speech—whatever you intend to accomplish with it—might be better saved for a more sober moment.”
A ripple of sound went through the ballroom at the outright disrespect.
Imogen’s eyes glittered with pinpricks of light, and her dress whipped in an illusionary wind.
“My dear friend,” she said, tone turning just as icy, “have I not given you enough cause to believe in me? Let me remedy that.” She touched her crown, as if checking it was sitting straight, then faced the crowd.
“Your house heads have grown lazy,” she called out.
“They rely on their titles, forgetting that power must be continuously won. So for the next event in this month of revelry, I propose something no one has seen before.”
The crowd waited in breathless anticipation.
Imogen grinned. “A melee battle of your leaders, with only one left standing.”