Chapter 3
Three
A DREAMLIKE WORLD
The flamboyant stagecoach the Duchess had sent for me made the trip from my tower to the castle in record time. Upon landing, its wheels rattled on the usual pebbled path around the castle grounds.
I almost couldn’t bear to look around.
I’d only been here once before.
What used to be a lively green garden, sprawling with color and whimsy, had been reduced to gloomy rows and columns of uniformly cut hedges that, if I squinted ever so slightly, looked almost like a giant chessboard.
Freshly mown grass and fragrant, dewy earth overwhelmed the air, which used to burst with the scent of roses.
The castle towers still spiraled toward the sky, but the entire structure nearly blended in with the darkness of the evening.
Only the hint of fog and shadows covered its stone stronghold, barely discernible, but unmistakably there.
Everything was a stark contrast to what the castle used to be—reversed, backward.
If not for the flickering torchlights at the cavernous entrance where all the courtiers were promenading inside, the event would have looked bleak indeed.
Or perhaps that was one of the goals of this evening, to further intimidate the citizens of Wünder.
Taking a deep breath, I picked up my skirts, invitation clutched in hand, and followed a group of courtiers through the entryway.
A snap of warmth, of concentrated power, shuddered through me as I crossed the threshold into the castle. An enchanted security barrier, I guessed.
The invitation parchment trembled between my fingers before dissolving into a whisper of warm dust and silver sparks, vanishing into the air.
I looked around at the pockets of magic glowing among the guests as their attendance was likewise validated. I couldn’t imagine anyone risking entry into the castle without a formal invitation.
As I trailed along toward the Great Hall, the inside of the castle glittered like precious jewels—a stark contrast to the darkness of the castle’s exterior.
Steam curled along the vaulted ceilings of the ballroom as I crossed the threshold, copper pipes veined with gold hissing overhead.
Clockwork chandeliers spun in lazy orbits, their crystal prisms catching the light and shattering it into a thousand false dawns.
Every surface gleamed—polished brass banisters, marble floors, mirrors framed in whirring cogs that reflected and refracted the crowd until it looked like an army of shining ghosts.
I slowed, letting the sensation wash over me.
Platters drifted past on gyroscopic trays, laden with sugared fruits, gleaming pastries, and cuts of smoky meat. Women in silks and satins, filigreed corsets, elaborately puffed-up skirts. Men in tailored coats with brass buttons and monocles that clicked and whirred as they adjusted.
Like preening birds, a cluster of young women caught my attention.
Feathers fluffed, giggles both demure and pitchy, their eyes flicked toward the dais at the far end of the hall.
They fussed over their overcomplicated, much too revealing dresses, some embellished with wings, or lace threaded with silver wire and jewels.
It was a wonder none of them choked on the thick perfume overwhelming their own air, their eyes gleaming with a mix of hope and apprehension.
They were here for him.
For the King of Wünder.
The thought tightened my chest, and I forced myself to keep moving, boots whispering over marble. I told myself I was a mere observer. I was here to lie low, soak in the experience of this rare night out, before heading back to my bed.
I swiped a pastry from a towering display of profiteroles and caramel-glazed cream puffs. The luxurious, creamy goodness melted in my mouth as soon as I popped it in. I had to tamp down a moan of pleasure.
Then a ripple moved through the crowd.
Laughter faltered. Conversations softened as if the hall itself had drawn a breath.
My heartbeat easily quickened, though I didn’t dare look toward the dais. It was clear who had arrived.
I studied a nearby table stacked with confections shaped like miniature airships, sugar-glass windows glowing from tiny chemical lights inside. Even as the curious murmuring grew in waves over the crowd, huddles of people shifted as if to get a better look.
I closed my eyes.
I had once stood in this grand hall as a guest. Under the watchful gaze of every other courtier’s eye, being whisked to dance across the floor by several prospective partners, and showered with smiles and compliments.
And the sharper memory beneath it: heat, yearning, a voice like gravel and silk intertwined. The haunting music echoed in my mind, fragments of memories, twirling in a haze, arms holding me tight. And also…vivid flashes of passionate nights spent together as if each one was our last—
I opened my eyes as the music shifted.
“Pardon me.”
I turned to meet the eyes of a male courtier wearing a dashing pin-striped tuxedo and a brilliant white smile.
His eyes wandered up and down the length of me in appraisal and visible admiration as he lifted his hand in offering. “Might I beg a dance from the most beautiful woman here tonight?”
My throat went dry. His compliment was flattering, but the shivers running up my spine were not the pleasant kind. “Ah…” Flustered, I couldn’t even put together enough words for a reasonable, polite excuse. I whirled away with a mumble, “Apologies.”
Slack-jawed, the gentleman’s startled gaze followed me.
I avoided meeting his disappointed frown, moving to slip away, ducking my head to avoid further encounters with eager potential dance partners.
The orchestra swelled into a darker key. Brass horns sang alongside copper violin strings. The sound threaded through me, winding tight.
I looked then. I could not help it.
The king stood beneath the great clock-face at the far end of the hall, time looming behind him like a judgment. Tall. Forbidding. His strong chin set, sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he cast his gaze across the crowd.
His hair looked different somehow. But from across the way, his glittering crown, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with sorcerous light, mostly obscured it.
His coat, cut with ruthless precision, stretched across his broad shoulders and firm chest, the dark fabric broken only by the glint of metal at his throat and wrists.
His gaze swept the room, slow and measuring.
It passed over me like a blade.
My breath caught—not because he looked at me, but because some traitorous part of me remembered how it felt when that gaze had once been mine alone.
The women leaned forward as one, overwhelmed by curiosity, all their hearts set aflutter.
It struck me as fascinating how a heartless tyrant of a king could still inspire such interest in the fairer sex. Despite knowing what he was, knowing all he’d done. Were they simply attracted to his power? His position?
With piercing eyes that could weaken knees, cheekbones that could cut, his figure was striking, strong. One could not deny his objective beauty. But it was a cruel kind—one that would draw women closer, never minding their well-being, like the proverbial moth to an ever-destructive flame.
The man didn’t need to cast a spell for everyone to easily fall under his.
Heart hammering, I drew back into the shadows.
What was I even thinking coming here? I shouldn’t have let the Duchess talk me into this at all. Granted, I couldn’t remember much of my real life, but I was sure I’d always let logic run my decisions. It was highly improbable that I would have been so easily swayed by frail emotions.
Had I been in Wünder so long that the madness was starting to influence me too?
I slipped sideways, melting into the press of bodies and velvet shadows. I ducked behind a column thick with copper piping, my pulse so loud I was certain the pipes would answer it. Steam hissed. Somewhere, a gear caught and corrected itself with a soft metallic click.
I held my breath, cautiously peering out.
Across the ballroom, the king stilled, his gaze sharpened, fractionally, dangerously.
His jaw tightened, a faint crease forming between his brows.
He scanned the crowd again, slower this time, eyes narrowing as if the air itself had offended him.
For one terrible second, I was certain he could feel me—that same unerring sense that had once found me in crowded rooms and quiet ones alike.
Then his gaze slid past my hiding place.
He exhaled, just barely. Straightened. Clasped his hands behind his back.
He seemed to decide he was mistaken. I could see it settle over him like armor. Of course. How could he possibly have spotted me amongst the crowd? Why should I ever appear before him again at all?
The music swelled again. Conversation resumed in cautious trickles.
I stayed hidden until the ache in my lungs demanded air, then eased away, letting the current of guests carry me toward the outer edges of the hall.
I kept to the shadows, to corners where the light fractured and the mirrors lay.
I passed beneath archways shaped like interlocking gears, past tall windows fogged with heat and night air.
I told myself to leave.
I had seen him. That was enough. More than enough. I could slip back to the clock tower before anyone noticed I had been here at all.
The heart in my chest pounded—erratic, hard.
What the…?
I let out a short grunt and clutched at the sudden stinging in my chest.
Danger. Intent. Direction.
Something was wrong.
Inexplicable fury burned in my chest, squeezing my heart.
A sudden commotion from across the room turned many of the guests’ heads, grabbing the attention of all the guards on the dance floor.
The back of my neck prickled with discomfort. Instead of turning to look toward the disturbance, my breath slowed as my mind snapped into focus.
Back across the ballroom, I followed the invisible line which tugged my eyes forward.
I scanned faces, hands, and postures. Ladies giggled behind feathered fans.
Men clinked glasses of champagne. Couples drifted through the crowd, whispering and mingling before bowing to their partners and leading them onto the dance floor.
Then my gaze caught on a woman standing motionless beyond the ring dancers. My gasp caught in my throat as her brows snapped together in determination, and she withdrew something from hidden folds of her dress.
My stomach dropped.
She had chosen the perfect spot on the floor. The king stood framed beneath the clock. Unaware. His position wide open. A blade thrown from that distance would reach him before his magic could react. And somehow, the king’s armed guards were all conveniently distracted.
Panting at the stabbing sensation in my chest, I struggled to remain standing.
The death of the tyrant king would be celebrated across the land. I knew that. It was whispered in the forests, in the markets, and in taverns. It crackled beneath polite conversation.
The entire land would cheer.
We would all be free.
I would be free.
The thought tasted hollow.
Because beneath the hopelessness, beneath the fear and the fracture in my mind, something else stirred. Undeniable. A memory of warmth. Of laughter shared in darkened rooms. Of steady arms holding me close, soothing, reassuring.
“Ah, crap,” I mumbled at my weakness.
My hidden corner was too far from anything, from anyone.
I had no weapons.
No magic.
I bit my lip.
I had boots.
I slipped one off without looking down, fingers moving with precise calm even as my heart tried to tear free of my ribs. I weighed it in my hand. Leather. Heels. Enough mass.
I measured the room in a blink, calculating distance, velocity, timing, trajectory, the angles, and the currents stirred by steam vents and spinning chandeliers.
I threw.
My boot spun through the air in a perfect, ridiculous parabola.
It clipped the king’s crown.
Not hard enough to wound—just enough to startle.
Eyes wide, he ducked on instinct, his power coiling as his shoulders dropped—
—and the dagger screamed past the space where his heart had been a beat before, embedding itself in the backrest of the imposing velvet throne with a muffled thump.
The world exploded.
Gasps turned to screams. Guests scattered, gowns tangled, platters dropped with a clatter as servers ducked or halted, frozen mid-step. Guards surged forward, weapons drawn. The magic in the air flared, lighting the hall in violent golds and yellows.
The king straightened, fury blazing, his gaze snapping toward the trajectory of the boot. Stunned, his darkened eyes searched the crowd for the perpetrators.
I bolted for the nearest window, shoving past panicked bodies, my heart still throbbing like a second pulse.
Cold night air slapped my face as I leapt onto the balcony and vaulted the railing without slowing.
I landed hard, rolled, and disappeared into the maze of waiting stagecoaches and attendants in the courtyard.
Behind me, the masses reeled.
And somewhere in the Great Hall, a king who should have died tonight stood very much alive—because I had loved him once.