Chapter 21 #2
The crowd had fallen into a careful hush around them, but the people weren’t actually watching them—at least not boldly.
This wasn’t a pretty golden prince on display with his newly betrothed.
This was the silent, terrifying commander of the Godsguard dancing with the ornamental princess-to-be.
It was pitch-black leather-and-armour pressed against shimmering, glittering silk.
It was gloved hands clasping bare hands decorated in gold lace.
It was a tousled dark head pitched down, obsidian eyes cast over a headdress raining gold over secretive features, chiming delicately with every spin and turn.
It seemed forbidden, in a way, and the nobles’ skirted, furtive glances only made it feel more so.
There was only a single point of decoration on his Godsguard uniform: a flower pinned to his pocket. A single, small, blood-red rose, so fresh that the petals were barely blooming. Perhaps his mother had forced it on him.
Chasin guided her through a slow turn, his grip unyielding. She followed the movement by touch alone, allowing her second sight to fade into darkness, the shift of his weight and the minute changes in the pressure of his fingertips enough to guide her. It was familiar in the worst possible way.
Her turn completed, he drew her back to his chest, closer than before, his lips a breath from her ear again.
It was almost ironic that the one person most women, men—or anyone with a functioning sense of self-preservation—most wanted to have distance from, was the one person who had a legitimate reason to lean close.
Granted, he didn’t seem particularly motivated to use his damaged, whispering voice for anyone else, though Hymn had once told her that he spoke to Alessandra.
“Never trust a G-Goldmoor.” His voice broke against his own last name, his hand flexing around hers in a brief, instinctive reaction to pain. She didn’t need her second sight to see it; she could hear it in the painful scrape of sound he made.
“Are you talking about yourself?” she asked, thinking back to his layered, thrice-told lie about the poison. “Or your brothers? Or the king? Your parents?”
Yes. His fingers traced the word against the small of her back.
She swallowed. “Which one?”
He didn’t respond. They turned again, and for a brief moment, her back was to him. His hand slid higher, fingers spreading between her shoulder blades, steering her effortlessly back into him. As he did, he signed another word against her skin.
Mine.
Her stomach flipped, the heat of rage and the sharp cold of irritation sparking in equal measure. So that was why Chasin had chosen to dance with her, despite refusing to take to the floor with anyone else. Not that she had noticed. It must have been Hymn keeping an eye on—
No, it was definitely you, Hymn interjected. I’m learning this information for the first time.
It was definitely her monster who had noticed—
It was definitely you—
Not that it was important. The reason was now clear: Chasin hated dancing, unless it was to remind the people he owned that he owned them.
Are we sure that’s the clear reason? Hymn attempted to meddle with her thought process again.
For the love of light, Eiko groused back. Would you stop? I’m trying to concentrate here.
If you say so.
Chasin had only stepped onto the floor to remind her. To play his little game of ownership. She would bet anything that the King of All was watching them.
That he was seething.
This had nothing to do with her: It was between Chasin and his father.
“I belong to Prince Ceran now,” she said, a little haughtily. She didn’t believe it for a second, but it felt good to goad Chasin.
For starters, Ceran had about as much control over this situation as she did.
And then there was the little fact that she would never hand over control of her person willingly.
Not even to a charming, handsome prince.
She wouldn’t be telling Ceran he owned her anytime soon.
She would say it to Chasin, though. If it would piss him off.
A low sound left Chasin. Almost a laugh. “Do you?” he rasped against her ear.
Her jaw clenched. The music swelled, pulsing in her chest. All around them, the other couples were drawing closer together. Chasin had pulled her near enough that the long, strong length of his body brushed against hers with every movement.
It was borderline inappropriate, but nobody was going to stop him, and perhaps that was the point.
They passed near the edge of the floor, and Eiko drew on her second sight for a moment, searching the hall for a glimpse of Rion. She was still in Ceran’s arms, his posture relaxed and ever charming as he spoke to her, making her blush and laugh prettily.
Chasin’s hand at her waist shifted, fingers briefly flexing in, no longer guiding her but almost squeezing her.
Your attention belongs to me.
It wasn’t spoken, or signed, it just screamed from his body language.
Monsters are very possessive of their things, Hymn said thoughtfully. This is more evidence that there is little difference between him and his monster.
Did you just call me his “thing?” she asked, bewildered.
Monsters like to collect pretty things, he defended, and powerful things. The prettier and more powerful, the higher their aggression in guarding it.
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and released her second sight again, welcoming the comforting darkness.
The music drew itself towards a close, the final notes lingering as Chasin guided her through one last turn.
He released her as the applause rose, polite and restrained, already fracturing into conversation.
His hand left her waist, his presence receding without comment or acknowledgement.
This time, the hum of conversation swallowed up any sounds of his footsteps, leaving her confused over whether she had truly been left alone or not.
Thankfully, the space between them barely existed before it was filled.
“Well,” Ceran said lightly, stepping in with impeccable timing, his hand finding hers. “I won’t give you up again. My brother gets enough of your time.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the nearest cluster of nobles.
Amused, but uneasy, unsure if they were truly supposed to be laughing.
Ceran felt it too. She could hear the slight adjustment in his breath, the way his grip tightened just a touch.
But he recovered quickly, turning her neatly into his frame as the musicians started a new song.
He didn’t ask her to dance, and she didn’t want to—not anymore.
Not after Chasin. She was now too overstimulated; she just wanted to hide away and clutch at Rion or Ky, to not even speak, but simply to lean into her best friends and feel the comfort of their familiar presence.
But it didn’t seem to matter what she wanted.
“Come,” Ceran murmured. “We can’t end the night with that being your final dance, or people might talk.”
When she was permitted to stop dancing and stand with Rion again, it was at the front of the hall under the blistering attention of the king and queen.
She barely dared to utter a single word, just in case she said the wrong thing, but people weren’t really coming to congratulate her.
They were coming to praise and bless the king and queen on the engagements of their sons. She and Rion just happened to be there.
It gave Eiko a rare moment to truly examine the hall with what little energy she had left to power the second sight.
It was a large, circular room with veined marble floors threaded in gold and copper, polished and shimmering with candlelight reflected from the chandeliers.
The soaring ceiling was a pattern of domes, each gold-rimmed vault painted right to the edges in detailed scenes of myth and conquest that she desperately wanted to climb high and inspect.
Interestingly, there were no windows in the hall, but instead several arched alcoves housing large statues of kings and queens, each seated on matching thrones, draped in marbled cloth and regalia.
Each of the carved kings held the same sceptre, and a ledge around the inside of the alcove glowed with flame from candles, wax coating the edges of the ledges and dripping onto the walls.
In some of the alcoves, she could spot curtains behind the statues.
She didn’t realise they were hidden doorways until people began to slip past them.
At first, it was just the odd gentleman, and she didn’t think much of it, but as the partygoers in the hall began to thin, she noticed more and more of the men slipping away unnoticed behind those burgundy curtains.
“Your Graces, may I offer my most sincere congratulations on these most happy unions …”
Eiko’s attention snapped back to the newest well-wishers stopping before the king and queen, her grip around Rion’s hand tightening reflexively.
Lord and Lady Erendi.
They were both bowing as Lady Erendi spoke, but when they straightened, Lord Erendi’s eyes were on Rion.
“To see two princes so honourably bound in devotion is a rare and radiant thing,” his wife continued, gushing to the king and queen. “May their bond bring strength to the realm, and light to your house for generations to come.”
“You are most kind, Lady Erendi,” the queen said. She said something else, too, but Eiko was too busy trying not to strangle Rion’s hand or Lord Erendi’s neck to pay attention.
“You have blessed Stonesigh with this union …” She tuned out Lady Erendi completely.