Chapter 33 – — Veilguard Memoir, Unsigned #2
“Oh, he’s watching, Red.” Malric tips his head down toward mine, close enough that I feel the cold of his breath against my cheek.
“He’s been watching since you walked through the doors.
He watched you at the bar pretending not to look for him.
He’s watching while you’re in my arms right now, and he’s gone very, very still about it. ”
I keep my eyes on his collar. “You’re saying it to upset me.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true. The lost prince of Valen, who’s never given a public damn about anyone in his life, has spent nine months pretending not to notice a human girl, and he’s currently failing to pretend across this entire dance floor.”
“Malric.”
“Hmm?”
“You agreed to leave me alone after this dance.”
“I did.”
“Then stop talking about him.”
His thumb traces a slow line along my back through the satin of my dress, and for a moment I think he’s going to push me. Going to ruin this. Going to give me one last reason to hate him for the rest of the night.
He pulls back enough to look at me, and the smirk is still there, the performance of it all, but underneath it is something I haven’t worked out yet.
“What does that look mean?”
“It means be careful tonight, Red.”
“You said that already.”
“And I’m saying it again.”
The orchestra reaches the end of the piece. He turns me one more time, a full revolution, and on the way around I let myself glance toward the place along the wall where I felt the eyes earlier.
Draven is standing alone.
His beard is perfectly manicured. His hair is tied up in his favorite half bun. He’s dressed in a pristine all-black suit that fits him the way a sheath fits a blade.
Gods, he’s gorgeous, and tonight he looks every bit the prince I now know him to be.
He isn’t pretending to do anything. Not drinking. Not speaking. Not even pretending to be looking somewhere else. He’s simply watching me across the floor, across Malric’s shoulder, with an expression I haven’t seen on his face since the chapel in Holloweir.
His honey eyes find mine.
I forget the count for one beat.
Malric pulls me back into rhythm.
“Told you,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “Watching.”
The music ends.
He tips his head down toward mine, his face close, close enough that for a half second the dance floor around us could be the alley behind the dorms, could be the corridor outside the morgue, could be the exam table I’ve spent weeks pretending I never climbed onto.
“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “I hope you find what you’re looking for tonight, Red.”
I don’t know what to say.
He releases my hand and bows slightly. He steps away from me, and the floor opens around the place where he was standing, and I’m alone for one breath in the middle of a hundred dancers, the orchestra already striking up the next piece, my dress settling around my legs, my hands cold where his were.
I turn.
Draven hasn’t moved. Of course he hasn’t moved.
He isn’t going to come to me in front of all these people.
Not when he’s spent weeks avoiding me since midterms. He’s going to make me come to him.
He’s going to make me choose it, in front of every faculty member and every student and every vampire in his orbiting little court, and he’s going to watch me do it.
I stop in front of him with maybe a foot of air between us. He looks down at me, and I look up at him, and the orchestra moves through eight bars of the new piece.
“Hi,” I say, because someone has to start.
The corner of his mouth lifts reluctantly, the way it did in Holloweir.
“Rose.”
“You’re staring.”
“I am.”
“You should stop.”
“I should.”
We’ve done this before.
He sets the glass down on the windowsill behind him without breaking eye contact, his eyes drift down the length of my dress and back up to my face slowly.
By the time his gaze meets mine again, I’ve stopped breathing.
I don’t know when I stopped. I only know I need to start again before he notices.
“You look beautiful, Maelis.”
He doesn’t call me Rose or Freckles. He doesn’t call me anything but my name, and the sound of it in his mouth, in this dress, after all this time, almost finishes me before the night has properly started.
“Don’t say things like that to me right now,” I murmur.
“Why?”
“Because I have something to do tonight.”
“I know.”
“Then you know I cannot afford to be standing here looking at you.”
“And yet.” He tilts his head, and the corner of his mouth moves again. “Here we are.”
I sigh, because he is going to be like this all night, and I am going to be ruined for it.
Around us, couples have begun to move into the new song. Draven’s eyes haven’t left mine, but his hand stays at his side. Waiting.
“Draven.”
“Yes.”
“You promised me a distraction, not a dance.”
“I know.”
“So you’re going to ask me to dance anyway.”
“That depends.” He shifts his weight, and the line of his coat moves with him.
“On what.”
“On whether you can dance with me without losing your nerve for what comes after.”
I lift my chin. “I can do anything tonight.”
He almost smiles as he extends his hand, and the orchestra changes again.
I take his hand.
The warmth of his fingers settles around mine. He draws me toward him, slow and deliberate. He could close the distance in one motion, but he gives me time to step into him, and I do, and his other hand finds the small of my back and settles there in a way that makes me forget how to breathe.
His hand is wide enough to span half my back.
He hasn’t touched me like this since Holloweir.
My free hand finds his shoulder, and I feel the line of muscle under the black wool of his coat, his collarbone above the open collar at his throat, the slow steady pulse at the side of his neck. I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to know how to dance.
“Breathe, Rose.”
His voice is low against my temple.
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“Mmm.”
He turns me into the first count of the music, and my body remembers how to do this even when my mind has gone blank.
He’s a better dancer than he should be. Vampire prince, raised at court, taught to move through a crowded room since he could walk.
His hand at my back is doing half the work for both of us.
He guides me through a turn I would have stumbled on, and on the way out of it his thumb shifts against the fabric of my dress, and a small fire lights low in my belly.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“You know what.”
His mouth shifts into that almost smile again.
“I’ve waited months to put my hands on you, Rose. You’ll forgive me if I take a moment.”
I look up at him.
He looks down at me.
The music continues and we move through the dance floor together, his hand firm at my back, mine at his shoulder, our other hands clasped between us. Around us, the room has filled with couples, all of them dancing, none of them as quiet as we are. I should care about who’s watching but don’t.
He turns me again, and on the way around he lowers his head a fraction, his mouth close enough to my ear that no one else could hear him over the strings.
“Listen carefully.”
I tense.
“I’m not going to say it twice, Rose, and I need you to remember every word.”
“I’m listening.”