Chapter Sixty-Four #2
Cirrin reaches to pull my chair out for me when Prince Auden grabs hold of the back of it possessively.
“Allow me,” he says.
Cirrin stares at the haughty royal as the Prince proceeds to push me toward the table.
I shudder when his hand clasps my shoulder, even though his touch is nothing more than a faint impression of heat over Varic’s claim of me when he leans down to whisper, “I’ll just be on the other side of the table, should you need me. ”
My cheeks twitch into something resembling a smile as waves of incredulous rage roll through my magic from Varic. And no matter how intense, his anger is welcome, for it validates my own.
The Prince steps away, and I expect relief to wash over me when a particular kind of dread snakes its way down my spine instead, with the weight of every expectation placed on me being something neither my magic nor Varic’s can protect against. An experience we Anomalies know well.
My lungs fill with Varic’s warm spice scent as I pull in a breath, then cast my gaze to warn him off as the pressure in my chest decreases, feeling a slight pull from him as he siphons a tendril of my overwhelm.
Then a cooling sensation flows over my shoulders, and I flick my attention over to Danor, whose jaw ticks, though he makes no indication he plans to mention Varic’s use of unsanctioned magic.
I scan those around us to try to sense if any other witch or sorcerer is sensitive enough to recognize it, though if so, they keep it to themselves as well. My chest still constricts with the fear that his care for me could be weaponized should anyone notice and choose to use this against us.
Prince Auden pins me with his gaze now that he’s taken his seat across from me, and I offer him a careful smile. Then the hairs on the back of my neck stand as the wall of Guards surrounding us makes it impossible to see anything other than the nearest guests and ornate table dressing.
An internal vibration of sorts thrums through me with the need to see more than just the tops of trees over uniformed bodies.
Needing to feel the breeze dancing over my skin, rather than be shielded by those sworn to protect us.
Feeling trapped. Gods. This must be how Varic feels when in confined spaces.
Needing to calm myself, I draw from the memory of my Guards eating in the dressing room—
Varic’s eyes glimmer while his jaw works, and Fray glances between us while tearing a bite of bread with his teeth before muttering, “This is fucking delicious.”
“Mmhmm,” Lars agrees, conjuring my real smile to emanate.
So distinct from the one I must paste on and pretend, I study the vibrancy in the reflection staring back at me.
“Here comes my mother,” Prince Auden says when Queen Celine glides toward her dining throne.
The sheen of her blue dress and the silver of her doe mask reflect the fairy lights strung overhead with every subtle shift of her movement.
“Allow me to introduce those responsible for the bountiful harvest you see before you.” Her outstretched hand draws our collective gaze with it.
The wall of Guards parts to allow a view of the forest, and gasps sound when witches and sorcerers emerge from the trees.
At least a hundred of them gather, wearing uniforms beneath their masks, indicating their role as farmers, cooks, or servants, while the esteemed guests seated at the tables chatter with questions of where the beings who worked to provide our meal will be sitting.
“Do you think there will be enough to go around?” the sorcerer to my right asks the witch sitting across from him, and I itch to backhand his shoulder, for it would be impossible for those of us sitting here to consume every morsel.
The Queen claps once, and the applause grows around her as the hands of those in power share their forced appreciation at her behest.
Queen Celine gestures for us to stand, and Malin pulls the chair back for me when one of the chair legs catches on the rug beneath, tipping me sideways while my heart lurches in the suspicious absence of Malin’s purple magic.
My pulse thrums when Varic’s shield vanishes—until his callused palms curve around the bare skin along my sides—and we collide, chest to chest.
Heat spreads everywhere we make contact with our bodies conforming so naturally, it’s as if we are two halves fitting together. The way we were made to be all along. An intoxicating sensation overall.
Time slows as his fingers cast featherlight touches where he holds me upright, then dig in when he helps me to rise.
I grasp hold of the taut muscles in his arm while my cheek remains against his shoulder—having fallen into the most organic position—one I do not wish to abandon.
My chest constricts with the need to let him go while still needing to hold him close.
Filling this void I’ve learned to ignore, only to be reminded it exists anytime we touch like this.
Attention from our audience breaks the spell, and I clear my throat as Prince Auden traces the way Varic clings to me, supporting me far longer than necessary.
“Are you okay?” Varic whispers with the corners of his thickly lined eyes crinkling when I lean in rather than away, confirming any remaining question of our familiarity for everyone watching.
I need to straighten. Though when I raise my head from his chest, I give myself one last greedy breath of his warm spice scent.
Then his eyes widen as if he has just realized how reckless we are being, and he removes his hands from me so swiftly that the only reminder they were there is the scalding heat lingering.
“Watch yourself, witch,” the Emperor warns.
My body trembles, along with my voice. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I pull on my power and force a false sense of confidence to settle beneath the twitching muscles in time to evade the Emperor’s notice. Then Cirrin’s cool blue mist envelops me in healing so relieving, I wish I could turn around and embrace him in thanks.
His Majesty raises his wine glass, only pausing to issue a command. “Imperial Lead Guard Varic, trade places with Imperial Guard Fray.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Varic bows before retreating, while Fray rolls his lips inward as he steps to my left.
“Prince Auden,” I begin, and the royal shakes his head.
His expression softens as his eyes rise to meet mine. “You’re never going to stop using my title, are you?”
“No.” I grin back in earnest, allowing my joy at his annoyance to disguise my distaste for what I am about to say next. “What are the chances I might have the honor of dancing with you this evening?”
Varic’s disgust is apparent as it spirals through our connection, and I can imagine how hot his ears must be burning because of it.