Chapter 53
Aserving woman with an empty tray startles on the other side of the hallway’s door.
“Pardon us,” Brandur says. “We were looking for a discreet place for our. . . what do you humans call it?”
“An orgy,” Finnian supplies. He holds both arms behind his back. “We’ve finished now. All of us except for her, actually.” He winks at Auri. “Better luck next time.”
Auri bares her teeth at him.
The woman fights a disgusted scoff, then bows her head and mumbles an apology. She moves aside, gesturing for us to file out into the ballroom.
“You heard what Rune said,” Desmond tells us. “Spread out. Act like you’re enjoying the party, but don’t speak to anyone unless you’re confronted first. Ronan will have his first dance at half past eleven. We’ll join the first throng of departing guests after.”
Brandur searches the upper balcony. “I do not see Maeve. She was supposed to wait up there with any intel gleaned from inside the ball.”
“She may have gotten stopped for a chat,” Finnian muses. “Or visited the finger foods over there.” His stomach growls as he nods at the buffet table. “That’ll be my first stop. All we were fed in the cells was leftover livestock slop.”
I wilt with regret. If only we could’ve rescued them sooner. If only the arrest hadn’t happened.
“We need to be out of Mythos by midnight,” Desmond orders.
Everyone nods. We peel off into the crowd in our matching pairs. Desmond’s hand rests at the small of my back, mirroring the other couples. Even with the fabric of my dress between us, the pressure sends sparks along my skin.
If the other guests have noticed the heavy presence of guards, they certainly aren’t alarmed. To us, this room is akin to a tomb full of traps. The fae’s escape won’t go unnoticed for long, and that thought isn’t doing my nerves any favors.
We walk the perimeter of the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hang from the arched, painted ceiling.
The parquet floor has been polished to an impeccable shine, and thick stone columns intersperse the room.
Gold gilds everything from the molding along the walls to the goblets being passed around.
The ostentatious display of wealth sickens me.
This is what my family’s tithes have paid for?
Our reflections in the towering windows follow us like phantoms. I can’t help but stare at them, surprised to see myself belonging with the noblewomen I’ve always resented. A resplendent ball gown, dainty shoes, perfectly curled locks. . .
When my clothes first transformed, I felt gorgeous looking down at my dress.
Seeing my masked face attached to it, all I can think about is that this isn’t me.
I don’t belong here. The guests of this ball are the sort who hire thieves and adventurers to dirty their hands for them. Thieves and adventurers like me.
It doesn’t escape me that Desmond should be used to balls, but if his lack of enthusiasm for the party is any indication, he wishes we could leave now. He watches the crowd with a grim frown, as if we’re surrounded by hungry wolves instead of haughty aristocrats.
“Recognize anyone?” he asks me.
“Only the royal family on the balcony,” I admit. “We don’t see nobles in Nettlerock.”
At the mention of the Meirdens, Desmond’s hand tenses against me. I look up at him. With the metal mask, no one else would be able to tell that he’s on edge.
“This is the easiest part of the plan,” I murmur. “As long as no one notices how comically big your ears are.”
His quiet laugh is followed by a smile. “That’s not why I’m uneasy.”
“Is this your first ball?” I jest. “Surely my prince has suffered through scores of them.”
He raises a brow, the smirk growing. “Your prince?”
Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. “We match. That’s all.”
His steps slow. “That’s a shame,” he says as we pass the last window. “I’ve heard that the beautiful maidens whisked away by fae princes are pampered beyond mortal imaginings.”
“Pampered?” There are too many implications for the word, some making my face heat.
“She would find herself draped in jewels, clothed in gowns of the finest spider silk, and her body worshipped.” His fingers slide lower, and I gasp.
The thought of his lips on my skin, his deft hands exploring my thighs, across my breasts. . .
I trip on my skirts. Desmond effortlessly catches me. I clear my throat because it’s tight, and I need to stall as my indecent thoughts recede.
“It’s a high price,” I murmur truthfully. “She would have to give up her dream of seeing the world. A certain tomb raid finally made that possible.”
Desmond stills.
It does tempt me. I wasn’t willing to lose him to death, but I’ll still lose him to the Hollowlands once we’ve escaped the ball. I never considered that I could go with him.
Abruptly, he says, “This isn’t my first ball, but it’s the first I’ve attended in a long time.”
I’m thankful for the subject change, but the complete shift in tone confuses me. I wish I knew what he was thinking. “What were the balls in the Hollowlands like?” I ask him.
“Suffocating.” He leads me along the inner wall of the ballroom, establishing a perimeter. “No one wanted to dance with the Prince of Death. They’d be tainted by his reputation.” His expression is impassive, as if he’s reciting a fact rather than his memories.
My heart plummets down to my stomach. “It makes me sad to hear that.” During Norwynhald, he said that our dance was his first. He had claimed that he avoided dancing with other fae because books were better conversation, but I should’ve known there was more to it than that.
He shrugs. “My court hasn’t held balls in a long time.
We’ve saved every resource we can for the war.
Yet Deitra and I have attended a few thrown by the unseelie courts.
She’s always been the stronger diplomat, but even she isn’t the demure, poetic princess that the High Court would’ve wished for in the past. We were children born in times of war. ”
“You sure are telling me a lot about your life for someone who once said he didn’t tell stories.”
His fingers bounce feather-light along my back as he leads me through the crowd.
“I’ve never known someone who made me want to tell them.
” Then he looks at me with so much yearning adoration in his gaze that I can read his mind, even without the vow’s bond.
Not until you, the sparkle in his hazel eyes says.
I’m too stunned to know what to say. How can he still be so kind to me after my carelessness got him, Auri, and Finnian caught? They were tortured. Finnian lost his hand. I can’t imagine how much time they put into plotting the assassination, only for it to be thwarted by one loose-lipped traitor.
“Are you alright?” Desmond asks me.
“No. What about the war?” I ask quietly. “Is there a way I can fix things? Because of me, you’ve lost everything you’ve worked for. Your people are worse off than they were before.” My throat catches with guilt. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t care what debt he might claim from me for apologizing. I deserve to pay them all.
His gaze softens. “Don’t think about that right now. You need to focus on escaping the ball alive.”
We’re both silent for a moment.
Desmond swallows hard. “Your sister was there when the guards arrested us. That’s how I knew you didn’t want this. If you did, it would’ve been you watching as they beat and cuffed us.”
My gut churns. His words make me queasy as anger and guilt twist inside me until tears sting my eyes. I told Evie not to tell anyone. How did she feel as she watched the guards harm them? Vindicated? Proud?
Maybe I don’t know my sister as well as I thought.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Prince Ronan Meirden of Avedor,” someone announces, the words booming across the ballroom.
The dancing pauses as everyone lowers into bows or curtseys.
Desmond and I mirror them, but I don’t miss how he raises his head just enough to watch the royal family.
They stand atop the center balcony, flanked by guards.
Even more guards mill around us, glancing at everyone’s ears.
Prince Ronan, dressed in wine-red velvet finery, walks down the balcony’s main stairs.
He’s just as handsome as when Evie and I glimpsed him on her birthday, but there’s a cheerful glimmer in his onyx eyes he lacked before.
His smile is warm as he waves to the crowd, but his gaze searches.
Young women near us giggle, squirming in delight.
Presiding from the balcony is Queen Orla, dressed in a snow-white ball gown with glistening jewels sewn across the bodice.
My fist clenches, knowing the fae were forced to mine them in the Hollowlands.
At her side is the youngest royal, Princess Cara.
Her brunette hair is immaculately curled, and a tiara gleams atop her head.
Yet the one I want to punch until his jaw cracks is Eldon. Behind his charming smile is a fiend who plotted his mother’s murder. It’s even more despicable to think he hired someone else to do it for him—someone willing to sacrifice himself for a promise to free his people.
The music resumes when Ronan reaches the ballroom floor. I can’t see who he invites to dance through the thick crowd, but murmurs spread like wildfire. I catch a few words that the woman is recognized by no one. Perhaps it’s the mask, or perhaps she’s new to Avedor’s court.
Everyone is reverently silent as Ronan dances with his chosen.
The sea of nobles and dignitaries obscures them from those in the outer rings of the crowd, like Desmond and me, but everyone still looks forward as if they’ll catch a glimpse.
As the minutes pass, Desmond never once looks away from the balcony.
And I can’t look away from him.
It’s impossible to resist committing him to memory, not when I don’t know where fate will take us. I know that underneath Nog’s enchantment there are crusted wounds and smears of blood, but it won’t matter. Even after midnight, I won’t be able to tear my gaze away.
Applause bursts around us. The crowd disperses into couples already anticipating the next dance.
I turn to head back to the windows and bump into Desmond’s chest.
He quietly laughs, takes one step back, and extends his hand to me. “Will you do me the honor of a dance?”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. He raises his brow.
“You want to dance. By choice.” I stare at him. “I think I’ll call your bluff.”
“A bluff would imply this is a game,” he says, his hand still waiting. “You told me that you were done with them.”
I fist my skirts and force my breathing to steady. It’s not a guild scheme or fae deceit. It’s not a marriage proposal or an ultimatum. It’s just an invitation to a waltz. I suddenly feel foolish.
“No more games. No more lies,” I tell him. It feels like a vow.