CH. 40 Waltz of Shadows and Sparks
The ballroom glitters like a dream that doesn’t know it’s about to end.
Candles drip golden light from the chandeliers, their flames dancing to the same rhythm as the orchestra below.
Laughter, perfume, the soft rustle of silk — all of it swirls together until it feels like the whole night is breathing.
And in the center of it all, somehow, is me.
---
Sorien’s hand rests against mine, steady and deliberate.
We move across the marble floor in time with the music, our steps weaving through the crowd like a spell.
He doesn’t speak at first. He doesn’t need to. His silence hums like a melody I can almost understand.
Finally, he says, “You dance as if the world isn’t watching.”
“Are they?” I murmur, glancing at the glittering blur of nobles circling around us. “How inconsiderate of them.”
He almost smiles. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Only to breathe. And sometimes not even then.”
That earns an actual laugh — quiet, quick, but real. The sound of it settles somewhere in my chest, warm and dangerous.
We turn. His hand slides to the small of my back, guiding me through the step. The air between us feels alive, stretched thin, like it might catch fire.
---
When the song shifts to something slower, softer, the other couples fade back.
It’s just us now, under a thousand watching lights.
For the first time since the trial, his eyes aren’t guarded. They’re searching — curious, uncertain, almost… gentle.
“You remind me of someone,” he says quietly.
“Oh?” I ask, careful to sound amused, not panicked. “A witch, perhaps?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Someone who also pretends she doesn’t care.”
“Pretending’s an art form,” I say. “Maybe she and I would get along.”
“I’m not sure the world could survive the two of you.”
---
We spin once more, the orchestra blooming around us. For a fleeting second, the world narrows to his hand against mine, the brush of his cloak against my gown, and the faint scent of smoke and metal that always follows him — something sharp, something alive.
I think — absurdly — that I could stay in this moment forever.
But of course, Farro ruins it.
---
“Brother!” he calls, sauntering toward us, already grinning. “You’re monopolizing the mystery lady. Surely she can spare a dance for a more entertaining partner?”
He bows with exaggerated flair, offering his hand.
I smile sweetly. “I’d rather dance with a cactus.”
The entire circle of nobles freezes. A few gasp. One actually drops her fan.
Farro blinks, mouth parting in disbelief — then bursts out laughing. “I like her!”
“I don’t,” I mutter, stepping back toward Sorien.
Sorien looks like he’s trying not to smirk. “You heard the lady.”
Farro pouts dramatically. “Tragic. I’ll nurse my broken heart elsewhere.”
“Try using ice,” I call as he retreats.
---
When the laughter dies down, Sorien turns to me again. His voice, when he speaks, is quieter.
“I never asked your name.”
“You didn’t.”
He waits, and something about the way he’s looking at me — patient, intent, like he actually wants to know — makes lying feel impossible.
So I don’t.
“Andromeda,” I say softly.
His lips shape the name once, tasting it. “Andromeda.”
It sounds different in his voice — heavier, older, like he’s saying it to the stars.
“I think it suits you,” he says finally.
“Is that your way of saying you don’t believe me?”
“It’s my way of saying I don’t care if it’s true.”
---
The night unfurls like a ribbon — one song melting into the next.
We dance again, and again, until the candles drip low and the crowd begins to thin.
Something about this feels too fragile to last, and maybe that’s why I leave when the first signs of dawn touch the horizon.
Sorien is talking to someone — a noble, perhaps, or a mask that pretends to be one — and I slip away before he can see me go.
---
The carriage ride back is silent except for my heart, still beating too fast.
By the time I reach the Dark Forest, the sun is already rising — gold spilling through the branches like spilled honey.
And that’s when I realize.
I haven’t changed.
My reflection in the stream is still beautiful — flawless skin, dark hair gleaming. The curse should’ve broken hours ago.
“Nonononono—” I pace, panicking. “This isn’t good. This isn’t—”
I grip my chest, feeling my pulse hammer. The magic feels… wrong. It’s lingering.
An hour later, the shimmer finally cracks.
The beauty fades. The warts bloom back across my hands.
I sag against the tree, trembling with relief and dread.
Something is changing.
The curse has never hesitated before.