Chapter 3 #2
Okay, she hates me. I’m sure of it, as soon as she fastens the instrument of torture at my back, it’s even tighter than the last one. How is anyone supposed to breathe in that thing, let alone dance?But at least I don’t have to worry about my posture.
Two hours later, I descend the staircase to the ballroom, and Tate’s expression, when our eyes meet, makes all the torture worth it.
I hold his gaze while walking down the steps, and everything else melts into the background. I wish we were just two skyriders, with no pasts, no ties, no expectations. Maybe then—
“You look stunning, Ara.” My thoughts come to an abrupt halt at Frederick’s words. I look at him and only now notice the offered hand. Dammit.
I slip my hand in his while I descend the last few steps and can’t help but notice how much smoother his hand is compared to Tate’s. Alec , I berate myself, his name is Alec . But I’m not sure I will ever get used to it.
While Frederick guides me over to a group of people, everything in me pulls in the other direction toward Tate. I want to know what he’s doing here. Why did he come? His threatening Morgan, the way he held me… It has to mean something, right?
Frederick’s hand settles on my arm, and I look up, startled. His questioning look tells me I zoned out.
“Uh, could you repeat that, please?”
“I asked if your stay is pleasant so far.”
I’m completely out of my comfort zone. I knocked out one of your guards to protect a cursed girl. I'm gauged and judged like a broodmare, I want nothing more than to throw myself into your brother’s arms while technically still promised to you…
“Yes, I’m splendid,” I say with the fakest smile in history, but he seems content. Tate would have seen through my bullshit. Speaking of which, he is slowly coming closer, and all the hairs on my body stand on end.
I smile and nod distractedly to the phony pleasantries strangers whisper while their fake smiles are even worse than mine. There is no doubt that none of them are pleased I’m here, even if they pretend otherwise.
I take in the splendor of the ballroom around me.
It’s majestic. The soaring ceiling is hung with dozens of crystal-encrusted chandeliers, their light multiplied by the night-darkened windows and sparkling mirrors.
The floor is polished wood, the walls covered in shimmering creamy silk, while the hundreds of people milling around are works of art themselves.
Precious fabrics gleam and shine, while stones encased in glinting metals compete with the glimmering light from above.
“You shuffled the cards, and they can’t place you yet.” Tate’s whispered words send a shiver down my back, and I suppress the urge to lean into him. His body’s heat seeps into my back despite us not touching.
“Do you care to dance?” Tate asks, and my eyes widen. I look at him over my shoulder.
“You want to dance with me?” I whisper.
“A dance is the least I can offer after everything,” Tate says loud enough for everyone to hear, holding out his hand.
To them, it sounds like he is talking about our broken betrothal, but to me…
My heart flutters, and a nervous buzz starts in my belly and works its way up while he leads me to the dance floor.
We fall into the rhythm of the music with ease, both of us moving seamlessly in the crowd of dancers around us. Content in each other’s silence.
“You look stunning,” Tate whispers while he guides me effortlessly over the dance floor. “I still prefer you in fighting leather, but you look beautiful in a dress, too.” His eyes run over my arms. “Why the long sleeves? You must be melting in here.”
“The seamstress was appalled at the thought of showing my scars.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He shakes his head.
The thought that he knows exactly how many scars are on my skin makes me evade his gaze. He lets go of my hand and tips my chin up so I look at him again, his feet not faltering even for a second.
“Your scars are nothing to be ashamed of. When we were kids, you told me they were your badges of honor, and you were right. They are signs of your strength, your resilience. And I love every one of them.”
“Don’t say things like that,” I say, and swallow when my voice comes out hoarse.
“You are the most beautiful woman in this room, inside and out,” he tells me. “I’m sorry about how I left things. I just…”
“Sweet-talking my future bride now, brother? You always were a competitive bastard.” Frederick is suddenly next to us.
“May I have the next dance?” he asks, smoothly intercepting.
Tate’s hand flexes on my waist before he steps back.
I want to object, but humiliating the prince in public probably isn’t the smartest move.
So I grit my teeth and nod, even if it is the last thing I want.
I want to hear what Tate was about to say. I want to hear him grovel, and then I want him to whisk me off to his rooms, not dance with his brother.
But we dance, and if my thoughts hadn’t been otherwise occupied, I may even have appreciated his efforts to draw me into a conversation. He is charming, and not as guarded as his brother. But that is the problem. I constantly compare him to Tate, and what can I say? I know who I’d choose.
I finally manage to excuse myself and make my way toward Tate, but I hardly take a few steps before someone intercepts me.
I’m probed with questions under the guise of superficial chitchat, and I barely escaped the first before I’m stopped by the next.
I nearly growl when I realize it will take me forever to reach him.
“You look like you need saving again.” Morgan smoothly intercepts the next courtier and blocks me by turning his broad shoulders to the room. I exhale through my nose, and he chuckles.
“Not one for being swooned over all night?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
I laugh. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“You ran from the library as if it were on fire when I started talking to you,” he deadpans.
“You should have asked me to spar instead if you wanted me to stick around,” I tease, but then sober and shake my head. “No, I was already late and hiding from Dar that I joined the academy.”
His eyebrows jump up. “How did he take the news?”
I shrug sheepishly. “Not so well.”
“By the waves, my sister would adore you.” At my raised eyebrow, he continues. “She is a half siren and sure to bring me into an early, wet grave.”
“I’d love to meet her.” I grin at him.
“Ura be us hold, if that ever happens.” He groans mockingly, making me laugh again. And I pester him for information on his half-siren sister. Marina sounds like fun, and he promises to introduce us when she’s in Avina.
Unfortunately, he’s called away by a group of men on the other side of the room.
Five encounters later, I’ve affronted at least three of the people I talked to. They don’t seem to appreciate my kind of humor around here, and I’m close to screaming or threatening people at this point anyway. When I notice a balcony door, I slip outside.
On the balcony, I draw in what feels like the first full breath in hours. Or at least as much as I can breathe in this dress.
Despite the summer being close, the night air is still chilly up here in the north. Rustling lets me whirl around, my hand reaching for a dagger that isn’t there, grasping layers upon layers of fabric instead. Then I remember I secured it once again at my waist.
Wide brown eyes meet mine, followed by a nervous laugh when she follows my movements, landing on my father’s dagger.
The girl in front of me is delicate and beautiful. Dark curls tumble onto a stunning black dress that drapes perfectly over her petite figure. Her plush lips form a delicate O. She radiates class and elegance, and I’m a lump next to her.
“That is a pretty … knife,” she says nervously and swipes at her cheeks.
“Thank you.” I trail my finger lovingly over the distinctive hilt, which depicts a bird taking flight. I look up again and only now realize she has been crying.
“Sorry, I’ll find someplace else,” I say, stepping back.
“No, it’s fine. There is enough room for both of us.” She is only being polite, but I need a minute, so I stay.
She fidgets with a pendant around her neck that depicts three grouped mountains, one in front of the others. When she notices my look, she slides it into her dress and stills her fingers.
“Are you in mourning?” I gesture to her black dress, so different from all the bright colors competing with each other inside. She looks down at her dress, running her hand over the rich fabric.
“In a way.” One corner of her mouth lifts. When she looks up again, there is no judgment in her gaze, and she doesn’t launch into probing questions either. I like her.
“You are the first friendly person I’ve met tonight.” I give her a small smile. “And that’s despite intruding on your privacy.”
“They feel threatened by you.”
I laugh before realizing she’s being serious.
“By me?” I ask. “Why would anybody feel threatened by me?” I look at her incredulously.
She chuckles.
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Please do.”
“Alright, you are going to marry Fred. Your brother is the commanding general of our army. You flew here on a Phoenix.” She ticks off the things she says on her fingers.
“You are a skyrider. You walked through flames and emerged unharmed, bonded to a Phoenix. You challenged a dragon and lived to tell the tale. You are beautiful, and you manage to befriend not only Alec but also the head of guards and the admiral of our navy while only being here for less than a day. How should anyone not feel threatened by that?”
“But that’s not—” I disagree. She waves me off.
“It doesn’t even matter if you’ve never met a dragon…”
“Well, I did, but it was Tate—I mean Alec—who fought him.”
“He fought a dragon for you?” Her eyes grow big as saucers. “That is exactly what I mean. How is a girl supposed to compete with something like that?” she cries out, throwing up her hands.