4. Arrival at the Ball
Arrival at the Ball
Slade
The black lacquer carriage rolls up to the castle steps like it belongs here, and I have to admit, even I'm impressed.
We belong here. Tonight, at least. For exactly six hours, we're not farmhands covered in pig shit. We're something else. Something dangerous.
Murder and Violence, gods, I can't believe Wreck named the horses, snort and stamp with the smug energy of creatures who know they're temporary but are enjoying every second. On the driver's bench, One-Eye sits hunched like a feathered gargoyle of regret.
"I'm not waiting up," he croaks. "You have six hours. Try not to start a war, impregnate anyone with a title, or get executed for public indecency. Though, frankly, I'm expecting all three."
"Your faith in us is touching," I call back.
"I have no faith. I have resigned acceptance of chaos. There's a difference."
The carriage door swings open.
Ash steps out first, boots hitting stone with a solid thunk that somehow sounds like a threat. The midnight-blue doublet stretches across his massive shoulders, silver thread catching torchlight.
Several nearby nobles take an instinctive step back.
Good. They should.
I emerge next, and I take my time about it. Presentation matters. I've spent twenty-four years with nothing but my face and my charm, and I've learned exactly how to deploy both.
The emerald doublet clings to my frame as I descend with grace. I let my gaze sweep the crowd, casual, unhurried, and catch a countess staring. I give her the smallest quirk of my lips. Nothing overt. Just enough.
She fans herself frantically.
Still got it.
Bastard has somehow made it onto my shoulder. He surveys the crowd with obvious disdain, already selecting targets.
"Behave," I say.
His answering honk suggests he will do no such thing.
And then there's Wreck.
My youngest brother doesn't step out of the carriage so much as he materializes, landing in a crouch that makes his blood-red coat flare dramatically. He straightens with a grin that's sixty percent charm and forty percent "I will absolutely bite you if provoked."
Susan's small furry head pokes out of his left pocket. Gerald's appears from the right. Both ferrets scan the crowd, cataloguing valuables.
"Remember," Wreck whispers to them, "steal from the rich, avoid the guards, and if anyone tries to touch you, go for the fingers."
Susan chitters affirmatively. Gerald has already spotted a diamond brooch across the courtyard and is vibrating with intent.
The three of us stand together at the base of the steps. A wall of well-dressed disaster. Each radiating a completely different flavor of "your father would hate me."
"Everyone ready?" Ash asks, voice low.
"Born ready," I drawl.
"I've never been ready for anything in my life and it's never stopped me," Wreck adds cheerfully.
We climb the steps.
Inside, the Grand Ballroom is everything the farm isn't. Crystal chandeliers drip light over a sea of silk and velvet. An orchestra saws away at something trying very hard to be romantic. Noble egos pack the room so thick you could choke on them.
The music doesn't exactly stop when we enter. But it definitely stumbles.
Heads turn. Whispers ripple. I catch fragments as we move through the crowd:
"Who are they?"
"No crest on the carriage."
"Three of them, all masked."
"The big one looks like he could snap Prince Theodoric in half."
"The one in green just smiled at me, and I think I'm pregnant."
That last one makes me grin. I don't even know who said it, but I appreciate her honesty.
"Is that a goose?"
Bastard honks at the crowd, asserting dominance. Several people flinch.
And then I see her.
Lady Cinder.
She's at the head of the room, seated on a throne that looks more like a judgment seat. Black silk dress, neckline plunging to her navel, a slit up the side that reveals miles of leg. Dark hair tumbling over bare shoulders. The kind of beauty that doesn't ask for attention, it demands it.
She's in the middle of dismissing some poor bastard in a wrinkled doublet. He's clutching a piece of parchment, a poem, probably, and looks like he's about to cry.
I watch her lips move. Can't hear the words from here, but the man's face crumples. He stumbles away, dabbing at his eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Brutal. Efficient. Magnificent.
She reaches for her wine glass, clearly done with the interaction, and that's when the shift in the room hits her.
I see the exact moment she notices us.
Her hand pauses, glass halfway to her lips. Her spine straightens. Her eyes, dark, sharp, predatory, lock onto our little group and stay there.
She's not looking at just one of us. She's looking at all three.
I watch her gaze travel from Ash, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, the sheer mass of him, to me, my face, my smile, the way I hold myself, to Wreck, who's somehow already making a nearby duchess nervous just by existing.
And then something fascinating happens.
Her thighs press together.
It's subtle. Most people wouldn't notice. But I notice everything. It's my gift. It's my curse. It's the reason I know exactly how to take a woman apart piece by piece until she's begging for more.
Lady Cinder just got wet looking at us from across a crowded ballroom.
This is going to be fun.
She sets her glass down with a soft clink. Her lady-in-waiting leans in, murmuring something. Cinder doesn't even glance at her. Her attention hasn't left us.
"She's staring," Ash says.
"She's interested," I correct. "There's a difference. Look at her posture. She's leaning forward. Look at her hands. She just gripped the arm of her throne. And unless I'm mistaken..." I let myself smile, slow and knowing. “Her pupils just dilated from across a crowded room."
"How can you possibly see her pupils from here?"
"I can't. But I know what a woman looks like when she's imagining what I can do to her." I straighten my cuffs. "We have her attention. Now we just need to keep it."
Wreck bounces on his heels. "Should we go over there? I feel like we should go over there. Gerald wants to meet her. Gerald's a great icebreaker."
"Gerald bites people," Ash says.
"Exactly. Icebreaker."
Before we can debate strategy, she moves.
Lady Cinder rises from her throne with the fluid grace of a predator who's spotted prey. The crowd parts for her automatically. Her hips sway with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
And apparently, what she wants is walking directly toward us.
"Incoming," I say. "Everyone look devastatingly handsome. Wreck, maybe hide the ferrets."
"Never."
She stops close enough that I can smell her perfume. Something expensive and dangerous, like jasmine mixed with sex. Her gaze travels from Ash to me to Wreck, lingering on each of us like she's sampling a menu.
"Gentlemen."
Her voice is lower than I expected. Huskier. Like she's already imagining what we'd sound like in bed.
I catalogue every microexpression as she looks at us. The slight parting of her lips when her gaze lands on Ash's chest. The way her breath quickens when she meets my eyes. The spark of surprised delight when she takes in Wreck's unhinged grin.
"I've been watching every man in this ballroom for the last three hours," she continues. "They've all disappointed me profoundly. You three are the first ones who look like you might actually be worth my time."
Ash stays silent. Brooding. Letting his presence speak for itself.
Wreck is vibrating with barely contained chaos.
Which means it's my turn to charm.
I execute a bow, not the stiff court bow the princes use, but something looser, more suggestive. The kind of bow that says I know exactly what I'm doing and I'm very good at it.
"My lady. We're honored to be worth your consideration."
"Don't be honored yet. I haven't decided if you're actually interesting or just better-dressed than the usual disappointments." Her attention shifts to Ash. "You. Big one. You haven't said a word since you walked in. Is that because you're the strong silent type, or because you're boring?"
I watch Ash's jaw tighten. Watch him consider his response. My brother isn't good with words, but when he uses them, they land.
"I find that most of the men here talk too much and deliver too little," he says, voice low and rough. "I prefer to let my actions speak."
Cinder's eyebrow arches. Her lips curve. I catch the slight hitch in her breathing. She liked that answer. A lot.
"Bold." She turns to Wreck. "And you? You look like you're planning something illegal."
"Always," Wreck says with a grin that probably should be classified as a weapon. "But I promise it's the fun kind of illegal."
"The fun kind?"
"The kind where everyone involved ends up satisfied and slightly out of breath."
Cinder laughs.
It's real. Surprised. Delighted.
Something shifts in her expression. The careful mask of the bored lady cracking to reveal something hungrier underneath. She's intrigued. She's interested.
She's ours.
"Tell me, gentlemen." She steps closer, close enough that I could count her eyelashes if I wanted to.
Close enough that her perfume wraps around me like an invitation.
"I've spent a year listening to princes fumble through courtship while demonstrating all the passion of a limp handshake. What makes you three different?"
We exchange a glance. A silent conversation happens in the span of a heartbeat, the kind of communication that only works between people who've survived years of shit together.
Ash speaks first. "You're tired of men who don't know what they want. I know exactly what I want. And I'm not afraid to take it."
Her pulse jumps in her throat.
My turn.
"You're tired of men who can't keep up," I add, letting my voice drop to something intimate. "I can keep up. And I can make you forget every boring moment you've suffered through tonight."
Her eyes meet mine. Dark. Hungry. Challenging me to prove it.
Wreck leans in, just a fraction too close, eyes bright with chaos. "And you're tired of predictable. I've never been predictable a day in my life. Ask anyone. Actually, don't. I've made a lot of enemies. But the fun kind of enemies."
Cinder looks at us and I watch the decision form behind her eyes. She's been searching for one man who could match her.
But what if one isn't enough?
"The night is young," she says slowly, a smile curving her lips that probably makes lesser men weep. "And I find myself... intrigued. By all of you."
She glances toward the dance floor, where the orchestra is starting up something slow and sinful.
"But let's start simple, shall we? One dance. Each of you. And then we'll see who's worth keeping."
In Ash's pocket, I hear Squeak having a tiny aneurysm. "She said all of us. She said all of us. This is not a drill!"
From somewhere near the ceiling, One-Eye's voice drifts down like divine judgment. "Five hours and forty-three minutes remaining. And they're already competing for her like dogs with one bone. I'm going to need therapy after this."
Bastard honks softly from my shoulder, a sound that somehow conveys both approval and the promise of violence if anyone ruins this.
Susan and Gerald have already disappeared into the crowd, presumably to steal something irreplaceable from someone important.
And Lady Cinder, who's rejected every man in the kingdom, extends her hand toward us.
"Well?" she says, dark eyes glittering with challenge. "Who's brave enough to go first?"
I watch Ash step forward. Watch her hand disappear into his massive palm.
And I smile, because I know exactly how this night is going to end.
With all three of us.
And her.
And absolutely zero regrets.