Chapter 19
RHI
Golden, glimmering eyes find mine the moment I pause at the top of the staircase.
The party is in full swing, with five times the number of attendees than I’d seen at the previous one.
Of course. Everyone wants to be in attendance when the King officially announces his fucking marriage. Bile rises in my throat.
The celebration surges below me, laughter and lively music filling the space. Yet, I hold his stare, the subtle shift in his demeanor and the sudden rigidness of his posture not going unnoticed by Isadora.
She doesn’t follow his gaze right away, not until his jaw clenches.
Then, she tracks the object of his distraction.
Her beautiful mouth twists into a scowl before she seemingly remembers her place as the King’s consort and the fact that she sits beside him, in plain view of the entire Court, including her father.
A smile replaces the frown, but it’s too late. The party goers sense the tension in the room, their attention drawn exactly to where their King stares. Heat rises in my cheeks as, one by one, they look at me, standing alone with no escort.
The King’s mistress.
The whore.
Releasing a shaky exhale, I gingerly place my hand on the railing, ready to make my descent. Nick pins me beneath his stare, watching every rise and fall of my chest as I do my best to keep my breathing steady.
Suddenly, those golden orbs flare, so much ire burning within them, I’d swear they would set this whole palace aflame.
A man has settled next to me, holding his arm aloft for me to take. I tear my gaze from Nick’s to study my knight in shining armor and suck in a gasp at the terrible beauty before me.
Razor sharp features lend to the lethality of his beauty, his hair such a pale silver, it nearly matches my dress.
His lips appear warm and inviting, if not for the way they turn up slightly at the corners, like he is privy to one’s deepest, darkest secrets and most hidden desires.
At first, I think it’s a trick of the light, but then I realize his eyes are changing with each blink—shimmering violet, then deep obsidian, pale lavender, and finally, glowing emerald.
“It would be a sin for a divine creature such as yourself to make the descent alone.”
His voice skitters down my spine like the sweep of fingertips, and I find myself clenching my thighs, strangely enticed by him in the most macabre way.
Being on the receiving end of his attention feels both thrilling and illicit; whatever type of Demon he is, I have a feeling I’m in a bit over my head.
By whatever means necessary, I remind myself, and I accept his arm.
The stranger’s smile widens, the action almost obscene, and we descend the grand staircase.
I pull my gaze from the stranger and return my attention to Nick, who is positively seething.
He grips the arms of the throne so tight, his knuckles are paler than my companion’s hair.
Isadora speaks to him, her eyes narrowed and mouth pursed in anger, but he pays her no mind.
His eyes track every step, flickering back and forth between the stranger by my side and my face.
Even the crowd seems uncomfortable as we step foot on the floor, the expressions on their faces a cross between awe and horrified.
Who is he? I sneak a glance at my unholy savior, only to find him already studying me, those eerie chameleon eyes now a terrifying crimson.
“May I have this dance?” The stranger holds out his hand and bends slightly at the waist. My intrigue usurps the sudden desire to flee, as if a dance with him means so much more than bodies swaying to a melody.
Nick remains in my periphery, and though his wrath is tangible, he rests on his throne, unmoving.
Fine. Have it your way.
Plastering a radiant smile on my face, I place my hand in his.
The entire room freezes, and we all whip our heads almost in unison at the sudden clamor from the dais.
Nick stands in front of the throne, fists clenched and sharp teeth bared, looking all too much like the beast he claims lies beneath his skin.
Yet, he doesn’t budge; he just continues standing there, staring and seething.
I raise a brow, inviting him to make a move. Come and get me, you coward.
His eyes narrow, darkening to a burnt gold.
Yet, he doesn’t come for me.
The revelry continues around us, so I turn back to my strange admirer, the smile on his face only growing more sinister.
Unease burrows beneath my skin, but nonetheless, I let him sweep me into a sensual dance.
He keeps his body at a respectable distance from mine, even though his hand settles possessively into my waist.
“Is there something between you and His Majesty?” he asks with feigned innocence.
“You don’t know?”
He quirks a pale brow.
“I’m his mistress.”
Disbelief clouds the laughter that falls from his lips, laughter that flips my stomach. “I think you are much more than that, Scylla.”
I blink, taken off guard. “How—”
The stranger spins me effortlessly in his arms, cutting off my question. When I am centered, he answers, “I know everything about you. I was there the moment you were conceived, watched your Fate written amongst the stars, and have waited ever so patiently for the day I might have you in my arms.”
This man is no Demon or man. He is something otherworldly, not far from a monster yet can’t be categorized as one either.
“What are you?” I am genuinely intrigued, though my brain still warns I should operate at a distance, that whatever he is, his allure cannot fully mask his threatening demeanor.
“I am known by so many names,” he says, the grip on my waist tightening as he pulls me closer. I don’t fight it, can’t fight it really. His ever-changing eyes stare down at me, flashing a brilliant shade of emerald as he draws his mouth close to mine. “But right now? I am jealous.”
I laugh, arching a brow. “And what could you possibly be jealous of?”
His stare lifts behind me as we sway, and I raise both brows this time. “Nick?”
A sinister smile laces his lips as those eyes glisten obsidian. “Don’t you mean Raphael?”
Fuck.
“Of course. It was a slip of the tongue.”
He tsks, leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“There is no use in denying it, Rhiannon. Just as I know everything about you, I also know everything about him, the one you call Nicholas. He was born as Raphael, you know. His mortal mother gave him the name Nicholas, which is also another name for the Devil.”
Old Nick, I recall him saying at the beach.
The stranger abruptly twirls me and turns so Nick is now in my sight. My heart plummets as he leads Isadora onto the dance floor, watching us with unfiltered rage.
What are you waiting for?
I understand then—this is another challenge, like the one in the arena, except instead of a battle with swords, it’s a battle of hearts.
I drew first blood once. I will do it again.
Schooling my features to neutral, I return to the man before me.
“You want to make him jealous, is that it?” he asks.
I swallow roughly, nodding.
“Then let me assure you: there is not another in this palace that will entice his wrath more than me.” He runs a knuckle down my cheek, and I shiver. Nick’s murderous gaze never waivers, and he sweeps Isadora across the ballroom floor, moving closer.
My chest clenches as Nick rewards Isadora with that wolf grin, sliding his hand down the small of her back. He flushes his body against hers, his mouth hovering just above the crook of her neck and shoulder, golden eyes rooting me in place with a taunting glare.
Nausea coils in my stomach like a nest of vipers. The stranger tips my chin towards him, and I meet his stare.
“You know what would send him over here faster than a sweep of a scythe?”
I shake my head.
“A kiss.”
As soon as he says it, I want to recoil, but the idea again brings forth a strange thrill. It carries with it all the wrongness of lying. Stealing. Cheating. But somehow, there is this grotesque appeal I can’t shy away from.
“You said you were jealous of him. Why? What do you get out of all of this?”
At that, he closes the space between our bodies and mouths, so much so that I can finally feel his breath ghosts across my lips.
And it’s cold.
Nick continues to dance with Isadora, though he jerks his mouth away from her skin in noticing our new position. He moves closer still.
“I had never seen something so perfectly crafted from Death’s shadow, and yet I was denied that companionship. You, who commands death simply by being the stunning, murderous creature you are, were made for me, yet the Fates, forsaking my years of service, gifted you to him.”
A snarl accompanies the last word, and finally, the realization dawns on me as to who, exactly, holds me in his arms.
But Death, envious of a love he will never attain,
crafts a curse of his own to relieve his disdain.
The prophecy. Nick’s prophecy. The man in my arms is responsible for our curse, the sole reason Nick and I are star-crossed.
“You did this,” I spit and try to pull away. His firm is unyielding, and again, I almost find I don’t want to.
I’m spun again without warning, nearly stumbling before Death catches me in his arms. “You’ll have to be more specific.” His eyes are now ghostly white, absent of pupils.
“Cursed us. Me and Nick. Because of your envy.”
We stop moving, although the bodies around me continue to sway. It feels as though time has slowed, and I am trapped here, in some sort of stasis, with Death himself.
His hand comes up, and I resist the urge to flinch. He merely pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, and my jaw drops at the affectionate gesture.