Chapter 27
Attending the winter ball was a terrible idea. Drystan still couldn’t quite figure out how Malik had talked him into it, though deep within, he knew it had something to do with the lovely young woman he’d spied across the ballroom.
She hadn’t written to him. Had not responded to his letter nor shown up at the manor’s gate as he’d secretly hoped. And where his cousin was often not to be trusted, in Drystan’s recent experiences, he’d been right on this account. Ceridwen attended the ball.
By some twisted blessing of the Goddess, it was a masquerade, an excuse to hide his face, and Malik’s, lest anyone recognize them and it cause a stir. Drystan had chosen an elaborate mask shaped like a bird of prey. Fanciful grays wings stretched out to either side of his face, the beak covering his own nose. Malik wore a cat mask, complete with golden whiskers that glinted in the light. Entirely too fitting given his playful amusement at the whole affair, especially since it was his idea to attend.
But even if these people weren’t sure exactly who strode into their midst, they’d garnered more attention within a minute than he’d hoped to receive all night.
They were strangers to these people who seemed to know one another well—finely dressed outsiders who caused a wave of whispers to spread out from them with each step into the room.
No matter. It was done. The damage of it he would deal with later. In that moment, there was only one person he wanted to see.
Ceridwen turned his way from where she stood with a gaggle of other young women. Despite the mass of bodies and yards between them, their eyes locked across the space. All at once, he was too warm in his tailored tailcoat. Such an effect she had without a word or touch.
Someone—her sister perhaps, by the look of her—whispered something to Ceridwen, who nodded, her focus never leaving him.
Whispers swarmed around Drystan and Malik.
“Someone’s relative?”
“Those clothes.” One woman gasped. “Could they be nobles? Nobles at a ball in Teneboure?”
No one knew. They didn’t recognize their Lord Protector. But of course, they shouldn’t with the way he kept to himself. Drystan relaxed his stance and pasted on an easy smile, attempting to look comfortable, at ease, as if this were a daily occurrence for him.
The crowd parted as Drystan and Malik strode into their midst. Despite the mass of people and the noise, the woman across the room consumed him. Every moment between them flashed like lightning through his mind.
And then she was there before him, frozen solid like a statue of ice, resplendent in layers of blue. He recognized the dress immediately as one he”d commissioned for her, and his chest swelled with delight at the way it accented her coloring and natural beauty. And of all the things for her to wear, she”d chosen the dress embroidered with shimmering silver birds, so like the one her dainty mask was meant to portray.
Ceridwen”s sister grabbed her hand, trying to pull her away. To save her from him? How quaint.
“May I have the next dance?” Drystan gave a courtly bow and extended his hand to Ceridwen.
Some of the other young women nearby gasped, whispering among one another, but he only had eyes for one. It wasn”t lost on him that they matched, her pale blue and little birds the feminine compliment to his hawkish mask and brocade vest under his coat of navy. Dark and light. Predator and song bird.
He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do, fearful she might flee out into the cold night.
Finally, she slid her hand from her sister’s and extended it to Drystan. “You may.”
Thank the Goddess. Drystan closed the meager distance and took her hand in his. Despite the gloves he wore, his heart gave an involuntary leap when they touched. He relished in the feel of her dainty hand in his.
Someone nearby gave a dramatic, swooning sigh. Another woman giggled. This night, this moment, would be the topic of gossip for days to come, but right then he couldn’t make himself care.
Malik slid into the space next to him, his attention focused on Ceridwen’s sister. “May I have the honor?” he asked, extending a hand.
Bronwyn looked him up and down slowly, her frown deepening all the while. “No, thank you.” She turned in a flash of skirts and pushed through nearby spectators, moving away from them.
Drystan didn’t fight the grin managing to break free. Malik rejected. What a rare thing.
Malik stood dumbstruck, his hand still outstretched toward Bronwyn’s retreating back. He recovered in a flash, reeling in his hand as he threw his head back and laughed, but Drystan knew it was likely an act to cover his embarrassment. Malik always had easy luck with the ladies. It wasn’t like one to reject him so bluntly.
Other women jumped into the space to offer their hand in the dance, but Malik ignored them all as he turned and walked away, his smile blinding. Perhaps he was amused by the rejection rather than offended. Who could really tell where he was concerned?
But that wasn’t the important thing now. Drystan slid an arm around Ceridwen’s waist, earning a small gasp. The intimate gesture wouldn’t go unnoticed, but the risk was worth it to hold her close and savor the feel of her in his arms.
The band struck up a new tune, slower and less festive than the ones they’d played before. It was perfect—a tune that wouldn’t require him to pass off his companion to others or bounce around like some fool.
“Why did you come here?”Ceridwen whispered, her eyes wide.
“Isn’t that obvious?” He let the pleasure of her presence drift to his face, his eyes, hoping she could see it despite the mask.
She glanced away. “Among so many people…” How sweet that she worried for him.
“You look lovely tonight.” His comment drew her attention back to him. “Besides, would you have met me otherwise?”
She stumbled in the dance, but Drystan covered her error and kept them moving. It pained him that she might have kept him waiting, possibly forever—all the more reason he was glad he came.
“People will talk. They’ll know,” she said.
“Worth the risk.” He rubbed her side through the fabric of her dress. “Besides, I don’t have long left. Not here.”
Ceridwen’s hand flinched on his arm and she winced, almost like she took a painful step.
“Your leg?” he asked, suddenly concerned he’d done far more damage as his beast than he knew. Any was too much, but to cause her daily pain would be an unbearable torment.
“It’s fine. You came here just to see me?” she asked before he could press her on it.
“Yes. And to ask you something.”
Her breath hitched, and she nearly stumbled again.
“You read my letter?” he asked before twirling her around in a grand swirl of skirts.
Upon her return to his arms, she nodded.
“Then give me the chance to explain in person. Come back to me, Ceridwen.”
The agony of his monstrous form was easier to suffer than the wait for her answer. He spun her again, as the song required, before drawing her back to him.
Ceridwen’s expression broke as she rested her palm on his upper arm. “Drystan…” Her chest heaved. Her brows pinched as she halted mid-dance. The oncoming rejection tried to break him, and he couldn’t let it, not here.
Drystan gently tugged her toward the side of the dance floor. People closed in around them, likely hoping to take one or the other’s place, but he didn’t give them time to offer.
“Let’s talk outside,” he said as he laced his fingers through hers and headed for the main door. If she were going to carve his heart out, it wouldn’t be in this room of strangers.
“The back.” Ceridwen led him the other way.
A wise suggestion. It would be quieter there with fewer people to witness his failure. The crowd parted for them as they went, conversations halting and then restarting with fervor in their wake.
A flurry of snowflakes swirled around them as they exited the back door. The crisp, wet smell of the falling snow rushed into his lungs, calming him. A gentle breeze tugged at a few tendrils of hair that had escaped Ceridwen’s hairdo and sent them caressing her exposed neck.
She’d be cold out here. He wouldn’t have long.
Only a few others gathered around the back entrance, mostly men smoking pipes and rolled cigars while muttering to each other without paying them any mind. Two oil lamp sconces near the door provided the only light other than what slipped out the window panes or filtered through the clouds from the moon above.
“Are you all right? Truly?” he asked. She’d claimed to be fine, but her voice had lacked conviction.
She stepped away from his embrace and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve endured worse. As you can see, I walk just fine.”
Indeed, she did, but still, he couldn’t forgive himself for the pain he caused her—physical and non.
“You should never have suffered at my hand,” he whispered. “For that, I am forever shamed. But your music helps me more than you know.” He closed the distance between them, wishing to pull her into his arms and barely holding himself back. “It keeps…me in check. Even your voice. I pushed it too far, tried too much. I thought with you there that I had enough control, but I was wrong. Please, give me another chance, just until midwinter.”
She turned away again, hugging her arms more closely around herself. Snowflakes fell on her exposed skin, melting immediately, though a few clung to her hair. Drystan hastily unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it. If she wouldn’t let him hold her close, at least he could warm her in this way. He draped the coat around her shoulders, causing her to gasp softly and turn within the cage of his arms.
“You’ll freeze,” she protested, reaching for the edge of one lapel.
He settled his palms on her shoulders, holding the coat in place. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does.” Her throat bobbed as she looked up at him from under her lashes. “To me.”
And just like that, she shattered him in an entirely different way than he expected.
“Ceridwen.” He cupped her cheeks, framing her face within his grasp.
Hesitantly, she drew closer, the space between them vanishing until the front of his coat pressed against his shirt. He should be cold in just that, but with her so close, he’d never been more content.
“Drystan.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and his heart nearly stopped.
He leaned in, intent to savor the gift of her kiss until a loud voice boomed behind him, “Step away from my sister!”