Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
H e hadn't stayed long after that.
I'd braced, expecting him to press for sex. He'd be sophisticated about it, of course, using a combination of dominance and gentle seduction to wear away at my will. Instead, he’d pulled away.
It wasn't that I didn't want him; of course I wanted him. I wanted him with a force that bewildered me because I hadn’t thought myself capable of the strength of what I felt. Every last drop of passion funneled into my dance. Into surviving and managing my health so I could dance.
It was too soon, too new. The confusing whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, desires that were and weren’t mine. . .I needed time to put my head back on straight. To consider and absorb the implications of a soulbond with a High Fae Lord.
Having sex with him would be the depth of idiocy at this point, even if the logistics weren’t already tedious.
Still, with a few drugging kisses, a melody of heated whispers, he could have eroded away every last iota of common sense.
He hadn’t.
It. . .gave me hope. Hope that I meant something to him, or else he would have taken me because my feelings and reticence didn’t matter. A man with his power didn’t wait for a woman unless he wanted to keep her.
I let myself out of my apartment. Mathen appeared in the hallway and took in my appearance; freshly showered and dressed in leggings, t-shirt, and flats, my hair in a slick bun. He offered to take my gym bag with a silent glance. I smiled and shook my head, sipping on my thermos of cold brew.
“Oh! Did you start your shift early? I have cold brew.”
He glanced at me, a smile in his eyes. “Thank you for the offer, Lady, but I had what I needed this morning.”
“Well, settle in for a boring day. I don't suppose you're a dancer? Well, all Fae are dancers, right?”
“Not in the same sense that you dance, no.”
I chatted at him as we left, using the shield of bubbly conversation to slip in a few innocent questions. But he was one of those annoying men who stopped to think before he spoke, so I wasn't sure if my tactic was working or not.
After a few minutes of conversation, I was sure it wasn't, beginning to notice his skillful deflections and re-directions. The occasional slightly amused or bemused glance. He wasn't quite the stoic, stern Fae bodyguard I'd envisioned in my head, though he was watchful and serious enough.
Once we left the building I began walking down the street as usual, heading to the transportation stop three blocks away.
Mathen clucked and touched my shoulder to halt me, gesturing to a coach I'd almost passed.
I stopped, feeling my mouth fold in a stubborn line. The practical side of my nature tried to swat away my instinct towards independence. The coach was nondescript, and just scruffy enough it could more or less blend into everyday traffic, but clearly of excellent quality and in perfect repair.
Mathen glanced at my face, his lips twitching. “I thought taking a private conveyance rather than public would be more expedient for your schedule. It would leave you time in the morning to meditate and what not.”
I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. “Oh, you're good. Real smooth, mister. You can tell your Lord that I'm perfectly capable of getting to the studio all on my own, like I have been for the last several weeks.”
“Your capabilities are not in doubt, Lady. It's safer,” he added quietly, again with that air of a boy coaxing a baby bird out of it’s nest. “A public conveyance would make it more difficult to secure you.”
He waited for me to make my decision. If he'd tried to bully me, or said something condescending or patronizing, I would've turned on my heels and Dora Explorered all the way to the public bus stop. Backpack, backpack. But I had a weakness for good manners, and he hadn't said anything impractical.
“Fine,” I said with a grumble. “We'll take the rich man's way to work.”
“There are benefits,” was his placid reply as he opened the coach door and helped me inside, “to being the consort of a High Lord.”
I leaned my head against the back of the coach and closed my eyes, sighing. Mathen was right. . .I could use this time to meditate.
“I don't doubt it. But what are the benefits to the High Lord for claiming a lowly human?” I wrinkled my nose. “That was rhetorical, by the way. My ego doesn't actually want to hear you scrambling for a flattering response. She can hear false flattery a mile away.”
Mathen snorted as the coach lurched into motion. “You will see.”
The company building was a three story stone and wood structure with an inner courtyard and an amateur theater for performances. Professional performances were staged in the official theater deeper downtown.
As I jogged down the halls, I caught a glimpse of Iliweh, the High Fae Cassanian opera singer, painted on posters advertising their upcoming concert, and felt a pang of longing.
I sighed. This was not the season for play or relaxation. One day I’d have the time and money for things like concerts and travel and real food.
I shimmied out of my outer layers and approached the barre where Taima, Samuel, and Coralene were already warming up. No, I didn’t make friends easily, but the four of us had gravitated to each other from the beginning of the season. Even if I hadn’t genuinely liked them, it was good business to cultivate allies. Sabotage was always a not so distant threat, competition for spots in the company cutthroat.
“Judging isn't supposed to begin until the showcase,” Taima was saying unhappily.
A Lebanese-Irish American dancer with sleek auburn hair and light rosy brown skin, she glanced unhappily toward the corner of the room. I followed her gaze and took in a trio of Fae—obviously not dancers from their dress—conversing quietly and watching everyone.
Coralene sniffed. “You're always being judged, mortal, especially when you aren't expecting it.”
She ignored them, but then she would. She was Fae, though not Cassanian from what I'd gleaned, and the two other Fae almost seemed to avoid her. The rest of us slicked our hair into buns, but she wore hers in a blue-black drape to her waist. Easily the tallest of us and the most slender, she should in theory be a shoo-in. . .but she danced almost like she was bored at times.
Taima glared at the Fae female. “You would know. And you don't have to sleep your way to the top. The best of nepotism.”
Winter blue eyes glanced at Taima dismissively. “It's the opposite. It's well-known the High Lord prefers mortal pets. Her obsession with human dance forms benefits you more than it does me even if I am the naturally superior dancer.”
I wouldn't necessarily call her superior in anything but attitude, though outside of the studio she was friendly enough. Inside, gloves came off. No one minded. But if Fae had a certain leg up in terms of inherent grace, flexibility and strength, that didn't necessarily give them automatic technique and style. They still had to train as hard as the humans.
“You can master the Cassanian moves and sequences that require power though,” I said.
Moves it was rare a human could master even at the lower levels because it required a touch of magic they referred to as an affinity.
Or at least that's what they said. I wasn't entirely certain of the truth, since in secret I'd already mastered several of the lower level supposedly affinity required variations, and was working my way up to the medium difficulty moves. A secret I was keeping close to my chest to prevent sabotage before the showcase. When I took the stage in front of the High Lord, that's when I’d allow everyone to stop underestimating me.
I smiled. In rehearsals I danced well enough to justify my preliminary slot, but not quite well enough to earn any special attention.
The Fae variations must be anything a human with a bit of talent and perseverance could master though, since I could, but maybe Cassanian dancers put out the rumor that it couldn't be done to keep an edge over their mortal counterparts. It wasn't as if their immortality made them above ambition and petty deception.
There was no time for thinking when rehearsal for the opening number began. The ballet mistress cycled through groups of five dancers. Since no one had been chosen for the opening number, the rehearsals were also auditions.
A slender, middle-aged human woman with medium yellow-brown skin and curly brown hair contained in a ruthless French braid, Adoncia Vargas evaluated us with gimlet hazel eyes, trained us with iron efficiency, and remained unbending to any attempts to gain her favor. She’d been mistress of the company for thirty years, ten years after immigrating to Casakraine and, rumor had it, meeting and falling in love with a High Fae.
I danced with two women I didn’t know well, Taima, Samuel, and Xavi, a Scandinavian man with an attitude that always struck me the wrong way. Maybe because the first week of the rehearsal season, I’d shut his down his come on hard, shocking him. Pretty boy like that was used to getting his way.
He could be a classic prince from Swan Lake with his short buttercup hair, milkmaid complexion, and chocolate brown eyes, a tall, chiseled physique with legs that looked damn good in tights. It did nothing for me though. I wasn’t here to get embroiled in company romance drama. After he’d seen me dance enough to know I was better than him, his bruised ego had morphed into active hostility. A shame pretty could be so ugly.
“Step, two, three, four, five, six, seven. . .” Vargas’ voice was a soothing drone beneath the tinkling flute and piano accompaniment.
Centering myself in the music, half my mind on her voice, I flowed. Others were better technical dancers. Certainly more lovely, and Coralene defined ethereal when she chose. But I danced with my heart, with my joy, with my sorrow. Xavi was also a powerful dancer, but he strutted. I seduced.
I danced to draw others in, their energy food that filled the endless, greedy, black well inside me that needed them to survive.
“ . . .arabesque one, two. . .sauté . . .good, doves. And one. . .and four. . .eleven, twelve, and. . .”
“And let’s take it again from the line up and go on to the girls’ duo. . .and lift that back leg up. . .try not to go through that fifth position. . .”
“Good. Next group.”
I blinked, coming out of the daze. “Dancing with you is draining,” Xavi muttered, walking past me. “You clod like a heifer.”
I ignored him, returning to my spot on the barre.
“Samuel! Hasannah, Coralene!” Vargas called.
I stopped. She flicked her fingers impatiently and we lurched into motion, approaching.
“Our guests would like to see the second number. Front and center.”
The Cassanian guests watched the three of us as we took our places and Mistress called out the piece to the pianist. Good. Medium difficulty choreography that would showcase us nicely, but not risk injury. She was playing it safe while trying to give us an opportunity to shine.
I risked giving them a quick glance, my gaze caught on one of the men. He stood, one hand clasped loosely on his waist, watching me. I took my place, waiting on the music.