58. Chapter 58 #2
The wine appeared from somewhere—smuggled in by one of the guards Eryndor had bribed, probably. We passed the bottle between us, taking swigs that grew longer as the hour grew later.
"So." Maxx threw himself onto the bed, careful not to wrinkle his glamour. "Tomorrow's the big day."
"Don't."
"What? I'm just making conversation." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Your boyfriend's getting married. That's worth discussing."
"He's not my—"
"Soul-bound lover? Tether-mate? The man whose magic is currently the only thing keeping your heart beating?"
"I hate you."
"No you don't." He took another swig of wine. "So. Are you going to walk him down the aisle? Give him away? Maybe a nice speech about how you'll always treasure your time together?"
Serenya choked on her drink. Wine came out of her nose.
"I'm serious!" Maxx continued, warming to his theme. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to watch me hand over my soul-bound partner to a female who definitely wants me dead. Please hold your applause.'"
"I will murder you."
"Worth it." He raised the bottle. "To Amaria. May her boyfriend's wedding be only moderately devastating."
"To Amaria," Serenya echoed, still wiping wine from her chin. "And to terrible coping mechanisms."
I grabbed the bottle. Drank deep.
"To terrible coping mechanisms," I agreed.
By the time the sun began to set, we were all pleasantly drunk.
Serenya was teaching the dog to dance. It wasn't going well, but they were both committed to the attempt.
Maxx was practicing expressions in the mirror. "Mysterious and aloof," he announced. "No, wait—smoldering. Definitely smoldering."
"You look constipated," I offered.
"That's the smolder."
I laughed.
We're going to a ball to celebrate my tether-mate's wedding to another female. My brother is chained in a dungeon below our feet. The King wants us dead or broken or both.
And I'm laughing.
Maybe that was its own kind of defiance.
"Hey."
Serenya appeared beside me, the dog tucked under one arm, her mask pushed up onto her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were bright.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For this. For... all of it."
"For getting drunk and playing dress-up?"
"For making me feel like myself again." She bit her lip. "I know everything is terrible. I know tomorrow is going to be awful. But tonight..."
"Tonight we're not prisoners." I squeezed her hand. "Tonight we're just three idiots in potato sacks, crashing a party we weren’t invited to."
Serenya's mouth curved. "With a dog in a cape."
"With a dog in a cape." I grabbed the bottle. "Obviously."
"Hey!" Maxx yelled. He swallowed his wine and pointed at us accusingly. "We were invited! Just as potatoes. Now we're going as guests of honor."
I grabbed my bottle. Raised it high.
"As guests of honor."
Serenya lifted hers, the smile growing. "As guests of honor."
"As guests of honor!" Maxx bellowed.
Our bottles clinked together—glass on glass on glass—and we drank like we meant it.
A knock at the door made us all freeze.
"Time to go." Eryndor's voice, muffled through the wood. "The ball starts in twenty minutes."
Maxx adjusted his mask. Serenya smoothed her skirts. The dog barked once, imperiously, clearly ready for her debut.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror—black silk, silver chains, a mask that made me look like death dressed for a party.
Let's give them something to talk about.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Born ready," Maxx said.
"Absolutely petrified," Serenya admitted.
"Perfect." I opened the door. "Let's go ruin a betrothal ball."
The ballroom doors loomed before us like the entrance to a gilded tomb.
Music spilled through the cracks—strings and harps and the low thrum of drums. Laughter. Clinking glasses. The sound of a court celebrating a marriage that would chain two kingdoms together and bury the truth beneath glamoured peaches and dragon corpses.
"Ready?" Maxx murmured.
"No," Serenya whispered.
I thought about what was waiting behind those doors. Music. Candles. A court full of people celebrating an intoxicating illusion.
The most convincing lies always were.
"Absolutely," I lied.
The doors swung open.
We descended the stairs like we owned that fucking ballroom.
Heads turned. Conversations stuttered. I watched the recognition ripple through the crowd—or rather, the lack of recognition. We weren't the grey-clad prisoners they'd expected. We were a threat wrapped in silk and velvet.
Serenya floated beside me in her petrol blue, the rust orange sash catching the candlelight like a flame. Maxx prowled on my other side, his open jacket and trailing tattoos drawing eyes like a magnet. And I—
I was a blade dressed in black silk.
The Suppressors flanked us at a distance. Close enough to dampen, or so they thought. Far enough to pretend we were guests instead of captives.
Let them pretend.
We reached the bottom of the stairs. The crowd parted.
A servant brushed past Maxx—close enough to jostle, and close enough to slip a message into his hand. Maxx palmed it without breaking stride, his expression never flickering.
"Friend of yours?" I murmured.
"Owes me a favor. Several, actually." He unfolded the scrap of paper, scanned it, then leaned close.
"Message from our scaly friend."
His lips barely moved. To anyone watching, he was simply adjusting my mask.
"It's not just your brother."
My heart stopped.
“Dreadscale found the network—dozens of pain-sinks, including a dragon nesting ground,” Maxx whispered.
Dozens.
The word echoed in my skull.
"He's burning the pylons," Maxx continued. "One by one. Trying to weaken the network from the outside while we do what we can here."
I looked around the ballroom—at the glittering nobles and the flowing wine. These people had danced on my brother's suffering. Had toasted to miracles built on stolen pain.
A kingdom-wide torture machine.
And I'm going to dismantle it.
I smiled.
The same smile I'd worn before I turned General Aldrath to ash. But this time, I wouldn't lose control. This time, I'd be strategic.
"Maxx."
He glanced at me.
"Glamour my face."
His eyebrows rose. "Come again?"
"Keep the dress. Keep the mask. But change my features underneath." I scanned the crowd, already cataloging targets. "I want to move through this room without anyone knowing it's me."
Understanding lit his eyes.
"You devious creature." He was grinning. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
"Can you do it?"
"Can I—" He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. "Please. This is exactly the kind of chaos I was born for."
His fingers brushed my jaw, and the glamour settled over my features—subtle shifts, nothing dramatic. A different nose. Different cheekbones. Enough that anyone who looked would see a stranger in a stunning black dress, not the woman who'd destroyed a general and terrified a court.
"There." Maxx stepped back, admiring his work. "You're now Lady... Valencourt. Minor nobility from the eastern provinces. Excellent taste in fashion, mysterious past, absolutely not a wanted fugitive."
"Lady Valencourt."
"I panicked. It's a good name."
It was, actually.
"What about me?" Serenya asked quietly.
I turned to her. She looked nervous—fingers twisting in her rust orange sash, eyes darting across the crowd like she expected someone to grab her at any moment.
"You stay with Maxx." I squeezed her hand. "Dance. Drink. Look like you're having the time of your life."
"While you do something dangerous?"
"While I do something necessary."
She didn't look convinced. But she nodded.
Maxx offered her his arm with an exaggerated bow. "My lady. Shall we scandalize the nobility?"
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Do we have a choice?"
"Not even slightly."
They drifted into the crowd—petrol blue and trailing black, turning heads, drawing whispers. Anyone watching would see two beautiful guests enjoying the festivities.
Right. My turn to commit minor espionage in formalwear. I glided through the ballroom, catching fragments of conversation. Trade disputes. Border tensions. Nothing useful. I was circling toward the far windows when the tether warmed.
The tether hummed. Warmed. I turned—
And found Eryndor watching me from across the room.
He was dressed in formal black—sharp and severe against the princess who hung on his arm, radiant in cream and tarnished bronze, laughing at something a courtier had said.
But his eyes were on me.
He knows.
Of course he did. The glamour might fool the court, but it couldn't fool the bond.
His gaze dragged over me. Unhurried. Intent. Starting at the hem of the dress and sliding up—over my hips, the cinch of my waist, the dropping neckline. His attention caught on the silver chains draped across my collarbone. Lingered.
The bond ignited.
His hunger hit my core and pulled. It was like a dark flame hell-bent on consuming me. My breath caught and I clutched the wine glass so hard I’m surprised it didn’t shatter. He caught my gaze and held it. His mouth curved into a wicked promise.
Then he leaned down, murmured in the princess’s ear, and extracted himself from her grip.
He cut through the crowd, courtiers parted for him without seeming to notice they were doing it. His eyes stayed fixed on me with every stride.
Look away. Move. Do something.
I stayed exactly where I was.
He stopped close enough that I felt the heat of him.
"Lady Valencourt." His voice was low and controlled for the crowd pressing in on us. "I didn’t realize the eastern provinces were breeding such dangerous women."
“We’re very resource-efficient, Your Highness.” I smiled sweetly. “We only sharpen what we intend to use.”
Heat flickered through the bond. He traced the lines of my face with his eyes.
"You're enjoying this."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"You're smirking, Little Fox."
"Lady Valencourt doesn't smirk. She smiles demurely."
He laughed, the baritone sound sending a shiver through my core.
"Then Lady Valencourt is a liar." He stepped closer, making the air around me go thin.
"You look like a trap I'm about to step into," he murmured.