Chapter 10 #2
“My apologies,” a voice calls from the dance floor, dripping with false remorse. Even through its disguised lilt, I recognize the mischief woven through Zyphoro’s words. “How clumsy of me.”
A ripple of irritation spreads through the ballroom, the warmth of idle conversation turning to annoyed whispers. Raised voices grumble, and that is all it takes.
The guards at the base of the stairs abandon their posts, moving toward the commotion.
Perfect.
I slip into the shadows along the wall, silent as smoke, and ascend the staircase.
As I go, I glance back, catching the chaos Zyphoro has left in her wake. A mess of tumbled dancers, overturned goblets, Fae nobles brushing their embroidered sleeves with wounded pride. My lips curl into a grin.
I don’t get to enjoy it for long.
I barely reach the landing before I find myself staring into a pair of azure eyes.
Fuck.
“Your Highness.” Marlayna’s voice is smooth as silk. She stands flanked by guards, the hilts of their swords gleaming. “How honored I am to have Sundered Kingdoms royalty in my humble home.”
Despite my mask, she must have recognized me just as swiftly as I did her.
I hadn’t even noticed her rise from the throne, so focused on the mirror, blind to the one who guarded it.
I curse myself, frustration curling deep in my chest. In my hunger for answers, I’m growing careless.
Still, I manage to summon a smile. Effortless, charming, the kind I’ve worn too many times to count, the kind that’s kept me alive far longer than I deserve.
“Lady Marlayna,” I say, inclining my head just enough to be polite. “You look well.”
Her gaze drags over me, unhurried.
“As do you, my prince. It has been some time.”
She tilts her head toward the wreckage below.
“Friends of yours?”
I follow her gaze, watching as Zyphoro, the cause of the disaster, twirls innocently away from the sputtering nobles.
“I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
Marlayna hums unconvinced, the corner of her glossy red mouth curling upward.
“You know, Your Highness, etiquette states that a visiting prince owes the lady of the house a dance.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Does it now?”
She extends her arm, fingers curling in silent command.
A test I can’t refuse.
I inhale deeply, and the scent of her is immediate. The charged pulse of her blood just beneath her skin, the sheen of sweat gathering at her collarbone, the way her breath catches ever so slightly.
If I deny her, I lose any chance of getting close to that mirror. But if I summon the shadows and reduce this place to rubble to get what I want, I risk drawing the attention of the void.
Which leaves only one option.
I take her hand.
“I would be honored,” I lie.
I guide Marlayna down the stairs, grinding my impatience into something passable for calm. I’d hoped this would be quick and simple. How arrogant of me to believe it ever could be.
As we approach the dance floor, her guards part the beaded curtain, and the din of the ballroom hushes just enough for the shift in focus to land on us.
This mask does little to shield me from their scrutiny, though I don’t think they recognize me as easily as Marlayna did. Their curiosity, no doubt, is aimed at the stranger who’s earned their lady’s favor.
The crowd parts, and we step onto the center of the dance floor. I take Marlayna into my arms with the kind of boldness I know she expects. Anything less, and she’d be suspicious. She knows my reputation far too well.
I pull her close. Her heartbeat pounds against my chest, a frantic, fluttering thing. She drags her nails slowly up my arm, tracing every flexed muscle, humming in approval before sliding her hand across my shoulder and curling her fingers around the back of my neck.
I fight the urge to flinch. To recoil from the sour churn of disgust rising in my throat.
Focus.
This isn’t the first dalliance you’ve had to pretend was different. Special.
Just do what you came here to do. Get what you need.
The violins resume, long and aching. We glide into motion, letting the rhythm pull us forward. The dance is seamless, our bodies moving as one. Graceful, elegant, calculated. The other couples blur around us, reduced to shadows at the edge of my vision.
As we spin, I catch glimpses of my companions. Zyphoro’s sharp gaze. Reon’s jaw tight with tension. Solena, trying and failing to conceal her worry. And Orios, all pensive stares and misplaced jealousy.
They are waiting. Watching. But none of them can help me now.
Only Marlayna can.
The mirror is within these walls. She is my key, my obstacle, my prey.
And judging by the way her eyes drink me in, her hunger barely veiled, I am hers.
Her fingers glide over my neck, long red nails tracing the runes etched into my skin. She licks her lips.
“You wear power well, my prince,” she murmurs, her voice a velvet purr beneath the music. “It fits you as beautifully as this suit. Tell me… do you ever let anyone beneath it?”
I smirk, tilting my head just enough to let her touch trail down the column of my throat. I let her think she’s in control. Let her believe she’s unraveling me.
“So forward,” I murmur. “Do you flirt like this with all your guests?”
Marlayna drags her teeth over her lower lip, eyes caught in mine like she’s falling into a trance.
“Forgive me,” she breathes. “I’ve never hosted a guest quite like you. It’s not every day the prince of the Sundered Kingdoms stands at my disposal.”
“Is that what you think?” I ask, voice low and edged. “That a few guards make me yours to command? That I’ll obey?” I lean closer, close enough to feel the hitch in her breath, the subtle stiffness of her spine. “Is that part of the fantasy, Marlayna? The prince on his knees before you?”
She doesn’t falter. She shakes her head once, slow and sure.
“No,” she says. “In my fantasy, I’m the one on my knees.”
I let that hang between us a beat too long, watching the desire spark in her eyes.
“You must earn that right,” I say.
Her grin sharpens.
“And how,” she whispers, “does one earn such a right?”
“How do we Fae work?” I whisper, a teasing edge to my voice. “With bargains and favors.”
Her laugh is soft and indulgent, like she’s savoring something far more delicious than the dance itself. She leans in, her nose grazing my chin, breath warm against my throat.
“I have a feeling you’ve come with one such bargain in mind,” she murmurs. “Why else arrive in disguise? You need something.”
At least she sees that much. It means I won’t have to play quite as long.
“You have a scrying mirror,” I say, voice low, barely audible over the music. “I want to see it.”
The music swells, the tempo quickening, pulling us into a faster, more intimate rhythm.
Marlayna giggles, almost cruelly, and I’m starting to wonder if she holds more control than I’d like to admit.
“And what do I get in return?” she purrs.
My patience thins. I halt in the center of the dance floor, one hand curling around her jaw, angling her face toward mine. The crowd fades. My gaze snags hers, and her breath falters, knees softening as she sinks deeper beneath the spell I cast.
“A warm and willing body in your bed tonight,” I say, voice calm, steady, dark with promise.
Let her believe she’s won.
Let her believe it’s real.
Marlayna bites her bottom lip, something fierce, something hungry flickering within her eyes.
She craves me. That has never been in question.
Long before this night, before the humans took up arms and burned her castle to ash, Marlayna wanted me with the same inevitability that winter longs for the first breath of spring.
Had things been different, had fate bent to her will, I have no doubt she would have pursued me as a husband.
If not for two things.
Her Lord husband, Rourke, and the simple, unshakable truth that when I look upon her, I see nothing but a hollow, vapid shell of a female who, for all her vanity, I doubt even casts a reflection in a mirror.
Many believe our long lives to be a gift, but among their cruelties is this: for some of us, with every passing year, we become a little less.
A little emptier. I have watched the light drain from the eyes of the immortal, turning them into these exquisite, soulless monsters.
That is what I see when I look at Marlayna.
A creature of devastating beauty, yes, enough to bring even the strongest of beings to their knees, to make them beg for the privilege of feeling her warmth beneath them.
But for all her flawlessness, all her charm, all her power, she could only ever dream, in a thousand lifetimes, of being even a glimmer of the companion Amara has become in just one.
Marlayna’s lips curl into a wicked smile. “Very well,” she says. “Follow me.” Her eyes flick to my company, her expression flattening with irritation. “And bring your friends before they cause another scene.”
She slips from my arms and turns, hips swaying with deliberate grace as she strides ahead. Her guards part the beaded curtain, heads bowed.
We pass through one by one, but when it’s Tamis’ turn, Marlayna’s guards block his path with a hard shove to the chest.
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing with disdain as they settle on him.
“This is the Fae who brought you here.”
It is not a question, but an accusation.
I exchange a glance with the others, then meet Tamis’ eyes. Wide, glassy, full of silent pleading.
I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Marlayna arches a brow. “That answer won’t work a second time. If I didn’t know better, Prince, I’d think you were trying to protect him.”
“Why would I?” I sigh, bored. “I don’t care what happens to him.”
“Good.”
She lifts her chin, and the beaded curtain stirs as if it’s alive.
It weaves and twists, the strands writhing like serpents, then strikes, coiling around Tamis’ throat.
He chokes, clutching at the beads, fighting to tear them free, but he’s powerless.
The curtain lifts him into the air, feet kicking, eyes bulging, skin turning a bruised, awful shade of purple.
I move to step forward but I’m met by a wall of muscle, Taramethos guards barring my way.
“Now, now,” Marlayna purrs. “I thought you didn’t care.”
I force myself to look away, to shut out the ugly sounds clawing their way out of Tamis’ throat. It should be easy, once, it would have been. But now... now I feel something dangerously close to regret.
Even through her cruelty, I catch the slight arch of Zyphoro’s back, her eyes flicking between me and Tamis. She knows the cost. Just as well as I do. We’re here for the mirror. Everything else, especially Tamis’s life, is irrelevant.
I shrug and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Do what you want,” I say, voice flat. “But can we speed it up? I’d rather not listen to him gurgle all night.”
Marlayna frowns. With a flick of her fingers, the beads snap back into their decorative form, dropping Tamis to the floor in a heap. He lands hard, coughing and gasping, but alive.
“Well, it’s no fun if I’m the only one enjoying it,” she says.
I force a grin to appease her and give her a slight nod.
She turns and climbs the stairs. But when she notices I haven’t followed, she glances back, her narrowed gaze a silent command.
And of course, I follow.
What else is there to do but obey and surrender to whatever bargain she’s ready to make?