3. Waltzing with Prince Slut
Chapter 3
Waltzing with Prince Slut
CHARMING
C inder’s mouth parts in surprise then closes. I give her the time she needs to recover.
Though fae lords know I haven’t yet. Recovered.
I can’t believe it’s really her, and a strange rush of relief sweeps through me.
All eyes are on us, and if she refuses my invitation it will create a stir.
After several beats, the woman wearing the veil gives a nod and slips her hand into my outstretched glove. I grip her hand a little too tight as I lead her onto the dance floor, my head spinning like a top at finding her. Like discovering a gem amidst rocks.
She’s really alive.
I set my hand on her hip and launch us both into an easy waltz. To her credit, Cinder doesn’t miss a step, though her lips purse with displeasure.
“How did you know it was me?” she asks in a low tone.
How did I know it was her?
The veil she wears hides half her face, and she is dressed as any of the kingdom’s aristocrats. Yet I knew. She stood out as clearly as a blaze of fire amidst a sea of ice cubes. Something in the way she holds herself, something in the way her eyes burn me from behind her face covering, or perhaps it’s that perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth that catches my attention, reminding me of a certain human girl I once knew.
The daughter of my father’s close personal friend. His only human friend.
While we didn’t interact very often, Cinder was always in my sphere, orbiting around the edges until her father died. I sometimes weirdly felt our situations were opposite sides of the same coin.
Then I never saw her again or knew what became of her. It niggled at me until one day I asked around and got various versions of a rumor that she’d been sucked dry and left for dead by rogue vampires in the woods.
That night I didn’t sleep. For even longer, I’d be visited by intrusive thoughts imagining her discarded drained body just lying in the woods. Nobody seemed to care, but I did. If no one else would, I would be the one who remembered the girl who was always dotted or smeared with paint stains and often sat on the cliffs, humming to herself when she thought no one was around.
Instead of confessing any of that, I shoot the very alive and warm-blooded human girl a cocky grin. “I know everyone of course.”
“You mean you’ve banged every woman here but me?” Her words come out flat and bored. They are meant to be a jab. An attack I’m more than used to.
“Are you calling me a slut?” I ask in mock offense as I sweep her across the dance floor.
Her lips tighten. As much as she lets me lead, Cinder's body is tense beneath my touch, her movements stiff and unyielding. She leans away slightly, maintaining a careful distance even as I guide her through our dance.
“I’m well aware of my reputation,” I say to put her at ease. “I’m the one who earned it, after all. I learned early on,” maybe too early , “that everyone wants to sleep with a prince. I’m nothing if not a philanthropist, giving the people what they want.”
It’s difficult to ignore the heat of her hand permeating through my leather gloves, or how much I like having her in my hold.
Even as she begins to lean into the dance, I sense a lingering hesitation in her movements, a guardedness that never quite disappears. It’s like trying to hold onto a wild creature, poised to bolt at the slightest provocation.
“I would never slut shame anyone. I’m only repeating the headlines, Your Highness .” She is somehow scathing and smug even in a monotone delivery.
Sparks of excitement pop off in my chest. A woman unafraid to call me on my bullshit. How interesting.
“Well then, it seems you’ve missed a couple of articles. Otherwise, you’d know I’ve seduced a number of men as well.”
“Even more hearts to be broken over your pending nuptials, how tragic.” Her words are as dry as an empty glass in a desert amid a draught.
She’s savage.
I love it.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Appearances matter at events like these, and I have a specific, cultivated look. If she keeps throwing so many zingers my way, I might ruin all of that with a full belly laugh.
We’ve already exchanged more words on this dance floor than we have in our entire lives, yet the banter swings back and forth as timely as our dance steps, with an easy familiarity I can’t account for.
I heave a dramatic sigh for effect. “Yes, so many will be devastated.” Then my lips curve up. “But who’s to say anyone should be deprived of my fantastic dicking skills even if I’m married?”
She snorts, and it’s suddenly my favorite sound.
Despite keeping the conversation light, a weight presses on my chest.
I will have to pick a bride this season. My father needs me to do my part to show the face of strength and commit to growing up. He demands I make a serious commitment to the monarchy and get to work making an heir.
If only he knew how serious I was about the monarchy.
Darkness curls like smoke inside my chest, but I school my features to not let that part of me show.
My dance partner’s shoulders stiffen and rise several inches as she does a quick, almost imperceptible scan of the room. I don’t have to look to know that everywhere eyes press hungrily into us, watching with greedy need and covetous desire. The first dance of the evening, on the first night of a season where I am to pick my bride, I might as well have thrown a spotlight and a gallon of red paint on us.
While I don’t love the feeling, I’m used to it.
“Why me?” Cinder asks in a low, self-conscious voice.
It’s not the question of a woman who does not value her own worth enough to be picked in a crowd. It’s the complaint of someone who wishes I hadn’t singled her out.
“I wanted a dance with the mystery woman.” Then I lower my voice conspiratorially. “It will drive the rest of them crazy, not knowing who you are.”
“If they find out a human has snuck in…” There is a slight waver in her voice. Fear. “I’ll be?—”
“ No one will touch you while I’m with you.” A hard edge entered my voice before I could check it, but I meant it. No one will do her any harm; I will make sure of it. Though why she’s snuck back into Midnight, a human girl among Midnight fairies who’d just as soon step into daylight than endure treating her as an equal, is beyond me.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I finally ask. The question burns me.
Cinder’s hand tightens, and I suddenly wish my palm was naked against hers. I want to feel her bare skin. I can already tell her fingers are slender, but I want to know if they are soft or calloused, smooth or chapped.
A weird thing to want. Usually, women or men who entice me don’t inspire an interest in their hands, only what their hands can do to me.
I tell myself the reason I’m thinking about her digits is because her appearance has thrown me. I pride myself on rolling with the punches, on being flexible and able to think on my feet, but she is completely unexpected. But now I’m thinking of a human’s fingers and of lifting her veil to see if I remember the shade of her eyes correctly.
“That’s none of your business,” Cinder says. Even through the lace fabric, I can tell she’s addressing the spot over my shoulder.
My hand slides from her waist to her lower back, drawing her closer to me. I can’t help but inhale her unique scent. It reminds me of vanilla orchids with a hint of something deeper, darker, like charred cedar. I’m fast becoming addicted to the heat emanating through her dress.
As I pull her closer, she stiffens, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, I think she might push me away, but she holds her ground, even as I sense the effort it takes for her to endure my proximity.
Others usually swoon when I pull them near. Her head turns to the side, the only part she can pull away with.
She truly is unlike anyone else I've ever met, a puzzle I’ve never been able to figure out. Her aversion to touch intrigues me as much as it frustrates me, and I find myself wanting to unravel the mystery that lies beneath her prickly exterior.
I almost concede by giving her those inches back, but I don’t want anyone to overhear us.
Being this close only fuels a fire within me that I can't explain. Every nerve in my body is on edge, buzzing with raw desire. Not just lust or attraction, but it’s as if my entire being is coming to life, recognizing something in her my brain isn’t smart enough to comprehend yet. Her lips are magnets, drawing my gaze and thoughts to them over and over again like they are stuck in a loop.
As a prince, I have been taught to recognize power and dominance. People think I’m important. They don’t know the meaning of the word.
Cinder effortlessly exudes a force that money and status can’t buy. She undeniably knows who she is, and now I’m desperate to know her too.
“Au contraire, it is my business,” I continue to tease. “You have come to my bride-finding party. I can only assume you are here because you are one of the hopefuls wishing to tame the famous playboy prince.” I say the last part in a conspiratorial whisper.
Her lips twitch, and I can’t tell if she is fighting a smile or a disgusted grimace.
“Aside from the fact you are fae and I’m a human, I can’t say I’m the marrying type, your highness .” She loads my title with open irreverence. As if she meant to say, your lowly scumliness.
It’s delicious.
But she makes a point I share. Marriage is not on my ‘to do’ list either.
“That makes two of us,” I grumble. “But that still doesn’t answer the question of why you are here.”
She inhales deeply. “My father—” Cinder abruptly cuts herself off, not completing the explanation as if she doesn’t trust herself to speak.
My brows knit. Her father died ten years ago.
Then my forehead smooths.
She must know what I’ve suspected all this time.
“So you’ve come back to find out who killed him,” I say the obvious in a hushed tone.
Cinder’s head snaps up toward me as her body stiffens under my hands. She misses a step and then another. I practically lift her off her feet and continue moving to keep pace with the other couples. Even with all her full skirts, she’s so light.
“Milady,” I say, even though she isn’t a noblewoman to warrant the moniker. “If you don’t move your feet, we may be in danger of being trampled by the rest of the dancers.”
Her chest jerks up and down in unsteady movements, and I key in on a jumping beat that reaches my ears. Cinder’s heartbeat. It’s erratic, like a bird repeatedly trying to land but can’t actually settle.
The scent of her blood hits me like a freight train. Suddenly my pants are too tight and my mouth waters with a thirst that is needy as it is urgent.
Witchtits. I need to get a hold of myself.
More importantly, she needs to calm down, or that heady copper and vanilla scent is going to arouse the interest of nearby dancers.
I lower my voice to a more intimate tone that I hope is soothing. “Cinder, I need you to breathe.”
There is a slight shake of her head.
I put a little more force into my words. “Breathe in, yes, thattagirl, and now breathe out,” I coach. She follows my instructions, though it takes three full breaths for them to turn somewhat even.
Shit, she didn’t know about her father.
Not that I know for sure, but the likelihood her father was murdered is too probable that it’s a damn near certainty.
But then why is she here?
I need to get Cinder alone, somewhere private, then I can get the truth behind her unexpected appearance.
The song comes to an end and instead of the melody flowing into the next, a silence falls over the room.
The dancing couples have parted and receded, and I find my father standing next to us.
My gloved hand tightens around hers as my spine stiffens.
The urge to haul Cinder over my shoulder and get as far away from him as possible grips me by the scruff of my neck.
Because despite the years apart, some part of me still feels responsible for Cinder. And I'll be damned if I let any harm come to her, not while she's within the reach of my admittedly limited power.
“Your Majesty,” I force myself to say, turning us both to face my father. I take a step forward, putting myself in between my father and Cinder. I keep hold of her hand, gripping it tight behind me. I feel it tremble against my fingers.
The King regards us with an appraising look, but I recognize that expression. He is a shark scenting blood. “Ah, I did not recognize your first choice of dance partner for the evening. The two of you danced beautifully together and I simply could not stay in suspense as to the identity of your companion.”
We both stand there, stock still.
Cinder was right. I shouldn’t have put so much attention on her. Going to her had been thoughtless, my feet carrying me to her like a magnetic pull before I fully knew what I was doing. She’s not welcome here, not by the Midnight court, and not by my father who views humans as a mere means to an end.
My hands clench and release as I throw all my effort into maintaining a neutral demeanor.
I meant what I said. I won’t let anyone hurt her. Still, there is no going back now.
I reach forward and my fingers pinch the edges of black lace that cover the top half of her face. Slowly, oh so painfully slowly, I peel it back, revealing that pert little nose and violet eyes that always held an undercurrent of violence and defiance. The downward angle of her dark lashes gives her eyes a mysterious, half-lidded allure.
Her graceful, almost ethereal Korean beauty contrasts sharply with her forbidding, gothic allure, creating a striking duality. It’s a contrast that draws me in, making me want to discover all her hidden facets. She’s like a beautiful graveyard of secrets.
Fuck, when did I get so poetic?
Still, it feels like I’m looking at a ghost. And in her dress, she certainly resembles a spirit that might roam the halls, intent on haunting the palace.
A sharp intake of breath comes from my father beside me. “Why you are my old friend, Byung-He’s, daughter.”
The collective gasp around us lets me know I’ve fully and completely blown Cinder’s cover.
Good job, Charming.
Cinder tenses as if awaiting the backlash. In fact the entire room holds its breath as if everyone is waiting for the axe to fall.
Which is mildly hilarious, considering almost no one here but Cinder needs to breathe.
My father takes Cinder’s hand in his. Lifting it to his lips, he brushes a light kiss along the back of it. I want to rip his hold off her. Judging by her tight expression, she doesn’t care much for the attention either.
I have no doubt the second the King is out of sight, he’ll be rubbing his lips to get them clean. But he’s trying to keep the peace, especially with the ambassadors here. If a spectacle blows up, he could draw the wrong kind of attention from the Common World. It would also be more difficult for the ball to proceed which would delay my finding a bride. Nothing is done without calculation.
My hatred slithers through me like an old familiar serpent chased by another swell of protectiveness toward the woman by me.
I am determined to protect Cinder, even after all these years. Despite my attempts to always keep everyone at a distance, I couldn’t help but always feel drawn to her.
Like now. I couldn’t resist being near her, and I’ve created this mess.
The King’s eyes drop to her bare fingertips stained with what appears to be red paint. The top of his lip twitches, and I know he is suppressing a sneer. To him, red is vulgar. Feeding is private. Even though we sip the finest, richest blood at the parties, the color must always be obscured by tinted glass. The fairy court is careful not to let it stain their lips or teeth.
It doesn’t do to arouse the thirst publicly. There’s a difference between sipping a glass of blood thinned with liqueur and an actual feeding.
Even I know it’s a piss poor attempt to hide our monstrous side in a farce to exhibit civility. My father and I both know what we are. The only difference between us is I don’t relish it like he does.
For a moment, I think his controlled demeanor will snap and he’ll express his displeasure in all his favored ways.
Public humiliation.
Pain.
Thrall.
My muscles coil with tension, ready to intervene on Cinder’s behalf.
Frustration at my attempts to get out from under his tyranny for the last three years grates against my nerves and makes it hard to compose myself. Cinder may be vulnerable here in the viper’s den, but the King doesn’t know he has a fox in his own hen house.
It would be a mistake to show my hand, or fang as it were. To keep him from hurting Cinder, I’d be throwing away any chance of burning this court to the ground. And yet, I am on the edge of action.
Thankfully, my father releases her hand. I relax ever so slightly.
“My dear friend’s daughter. As you can see, this year’s social season will be set to the backdrop of his masterpieces, in commemoration of his talent.” He holds an arm out to the paintings along the wall.
The show is for the ambassadors from the Common World. My father is putting on a fantastic performance of how open-minded and hospitable he is to beaters.
Cinder bows her head. “He would be honored by the gesture.”
My father smiles, but his eyes are sharp. “May I ask how you came to be here tonight?”
Aka how the fuck did you get in here, little human girl?
The portals to our realm are heavily monitored by our guards, and the outskirts of our land are plagued by feral rogue vampires.
To her credit, Cinder keeps her face neutral as she simply says, “I am from this land.”
“Ah yes, of course,” he says as if he sees.
He doesn’t know shit. Not even I know how she got here, which leaves me deeply impressed.
The King’s eyes narrow slightly. “The borders are not as treacherous as they once were. There used to be so many. . . incidents back then. I heard a particularly disturbing rumor about your own journey out of our lands, my dear. That the rogues had gotten you. But I am pleased to find you made it out and back, alive.”
“Sounds like an important lesson in listening to gossip because I'm here now.” The words are even, and her expression gives nothing away.
Shock electrocutes me in an almost titillating way.
Holy witchtits, she must be fearless. Or stupid. Maybe both?
The King smiles, but there's no warmth in it. “Indeed, you are,” he murmurs thoughtfully as if to himself. “Indeed,” he repeats, this time loud enough to be heard by all. “We are honored to have the daughter of my esteemed friend and artist Byung-He and she is most welcome.”
My fuck face of a father is using Cinder’s presence as a way to pander to the crowd. Though he and most of those here don’t believe humans to be much better than livestock, Cinder’s father notwithstanding.
An old-fashioned mentality of an antiquated, savage society. One I loathe but cannot change nor escape, not with him under the crown. A snarl of hot hatred runs through me but I push it deep down with all the other dark feelings I have caged over the years.
The ambassadors are here because the Common World has begun to question his methods. Cinder is a perfectly wrapped political moment to show my father extends consideration. He is using her to prove to them he is not bigoted, that he is fair and gracious.
The only reason he can tolerate putting on this little show is because she is the daughter of his old friend. I doubt he could manage it with any of the familiars working here.
It takes work to unclench my jaw even as I continue to smile.
Maybe he’s not wrong. Maybe Cinder has presented a perfect moment, a rare opportunity for political. . .
No, I couldn’t.
I’m not like him .
She’s different too.
Not only from everyone here but from who she was. Otherwise, why the fae fucks would a human girl willingly walk into this ballroom knowing what she knows? My dark princess isn’t afraid of the Midnight court and meets my father’s gaze with her head held high.
My princess. . .
I must be what everyone says, spoiled, indulgent, rash, because suddenly I can’t stop the gears running in my heat that pull Cinder into my own plans.
It’s ill-advised and it’s wicked, yet my body knows with solid certainty it’s the only way I will get the support of the rebels.
The King’s last announcement is a signal. The orchestra and the festivities resume with a little more titter of interest than before. I lead Cinder off the floor before he can question her any further.
“Before I take another turn on the dance floor with a new partner,” I say loud enough for most to hear, as I lead her through the throng, “there is a piece of art of your father’s I think you will much appreciate seeing again.”
Now that she’s been ousted as a human, barely restrained disdain shows on the faces we pass by. Cinder is in danger.
I pull her down a hallway, past a set of guards. As soon as we are out of sight of them, Cinder rips her hand from mine. I reach for it again. Because I don’t think she’ll follow me, or because I simply want to cling to her hand, is uncertain even to me.
“I don’t like being touched,” she snaps, dodging my grasp.
“Noted,” I say, opening a door and ushering her inside.
Without light from a fire or candlelight, the drawing room is awash in blue hues of moonlight. It’s empty and even colder than the ballroom. Cinder is poised by one of the dozens of settees, her fingers clutched in her skirts.
That perfect cupid’s bow mouth purses. Cinder blinks twice, and I can tell she’s debating whether she should make a break for it and try to run past me, out of the room.
“What is the art piece you wanted me to see?”
There is an edge to her question I don’t quite understand. An almost fearful anticipation? Maybe she thinks I was lying, which I am. Or maybe it’s something else?
“I must return to the ball, but you’ll be safe here for now. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If anyone comes, well scratch that, no one will come. Just wait for me. We need to talk.”
I’m not done with her, but if I stay, they will come looking for me. I must perform my princely duties and dance with more eligible young ladies.
As I turn to go, Cinder makes a sound in her throat. I halt and look at her.
“I’m here for the Ember of Midnight.”
I don’t know what that is, but I damn well intend to find out.
“Thirty minutes,” I say, before slipping out of the room. Then to make sure she is extra secure, I pull a master key from my pocket and turn the lock.
First, I’ll entertain five—maybe three dances if I can manage it—and then I’ll come right back and find out how a very human Cinder got here, and what the Ember of Midnight is.
As the music swells and the dance floor blurs around me with a faceless partner, I let my mind drift to the seeds of a plan I’ve been nurturing in secret. It could change everything. It’s a gamble far greater than any I’ve made before, and I’ve lost millions at a poker table, along with the pair of pants off my ass.
But with Cinder’s unexpected return, I can’t help but think fate is trying to tell me something.
Do it. Push the envelope. Show the Mice you mean business.
And it all hinges on Cinder being part of my plan.
Excitement thrums through me like a live wire. Because I can finally get some traction or because it will result in spending more time with a woman who has me twitching with hunger in more places than just my fangs or pants?
Yes , is all my brain says back.
Something tells me persuading her won’t be easy. Cinder is different from everyone else, and not just because she’s human. The fact she was ballsy enough to sneak in here shows she’s not to be underestimated. So I’ll need to dangle something she desires more than anything else as bait, to rope her into my terrible, no-good scheme.
I have just the thing.