Bergamot and Citrus
SERAPHAE
When the sun disappeared over the horizon, I left Xander at the inn and marched toward my demise or his liberation.
Half of the estate stood out of the cliff as if the mountain had simply grown over it. Balconies and courtyards stacked up the cliff face. Lanterns hovered between them, burning gold against the rocks.
Normal people would live somewhere on top of the cliff. The Prince of Twilight preferred living somewhere that could kill his guests with a strong breeze.
Beautiful, probably.
I was too busy counting steps to appreciate it properly. A fae kingdom with magic in abundance, and still legs had to be used. I was in a dress that had not been designed with altitude in mind.
Two oversized planters flanked the large double doors that loomed ahead.
The flowers in them were something I'd never seen before.
They had white and silver petals that curved into a bell shape.
The silver caught the lantern light and flung it back with more than it had been given.
I made a note to borrow a stem on the way out.
The ballroom opened up to me like a dream I wouldn’t want to wake from.
White, bare trees cascaded from the ceiling as if the forest had come inside to see what all the fuss was about.
Chandeliers hung above them, gold light catching every surface, every mask, every carefully arranged person below.
The air was warm, carrying candle smoke and expensive perfume.
Underneath it were notes of stone and earth and the metallic edge of magic being spent.
The polished floors reflected everything back.
Stars below. Stars above. The entire room suspended between two skies that weren't real and a crowd that very much was.
I stood by thew, entranced by it all, for longer than I had intended.
Everyone wore a mask, which was expected for a masquerade. Different shapes, different colors, different designs. Mine was gold, which had seemed unique at the inn and now felt like a liability where half the women were wearing something similar.
The biting winter air blew in from the open front doors, and I let out an involuntary shiver.
I had never seen Caelan Vaelor before. I'd only been in Twilight a handful of times and had never gotten close enough to catch a glimpse of him. Even if I had, the masks still made it a problem.
I did a peripheral sweep of the room. There were about two hundred guests. At least half of them were human, which was honestly surprising. I expected human attendees, but I had not expected it to be this balanced.
The front doors behind me slammed shut, sealing the warmth in the room. I watched as the guards closed the doors earlier than I thought they would have. There had still been a couple of guests outside.
A cluster of women stood at the center of the room. All dressed in different cuts of fabric that were one wrong movement from indecency. Their eyes scanned the room as if they were looking for someone. We were likely looking for the same person. They were just more strategically dressed for it.
There were three exits, including the front doors.
One in the eastern wall and another behind the musicians.
There was a doorway in the west wall that looked like it led down a corridor.
Two Twilight guards stood before it, their armor dark like obsidian.
Six guards wandered the room in pairs. Possibly more that I had yet to notice.
I moved past a cluster of diplomats. Past a table of wine that I did not touch and was particularly proud of my restraint.
Past a painting I clocked as expensive. I mingled with four groups in twelve minutes.
One talked about the Kingdom of Tide and their lucrative trade.
Another about the people of Crown dressing like royals but behaving like decorations.
A third had complaints about the Prince of Verdant making the importation of flora difficult.
The musicians were human, a small detail that I noted.
An auction was taking place in the parlor that connected to the ballroom.
I stood by the doorway and watched as nobles from different kingdoms called out ridiculous numbers.
The prize was a sword displayed in a glass case at the center of the room.
It looked old in a way that carried history.
Weathered as if it had seen war. It probably had.
According to the auctioneer, the proceeds were going to the farming settlements in Crown. If Crown needed charity, I’d start looking for cracks in the sky.
A long table stood against the south wall. The surface was lined with carefully arranged appetizers, fruits, and bread. Everything seemed simple, but in a way that felt thoughtful without excess.
I picked up a skewer of berries and grazed on it despite myself.
A man moved through the crowd differently than the rest. Tall, dressed in a tailored dark coat. The posture of someone who had never once questioned whether they belonged somewhere.
I found a seat at one of the side tables and watched.
A servant passed with a tray of wine, and I plucked one off before setting it down.
The man was talking to someone. A merchant, by the coat. The merchant was human, by the way his skin wrinkled. The tall man nodded once, said something brief, and the merchant laughed too hard. The laugh of someone trying to make an impression.
Another man with striking white hair approached him. Delicate bone structure, sharp eyes, and high cheekbones. He looked expensive, if that was a way to describe a person.
My guess would be Mallas Vaelor, prince of Winter. Famous for that hair of his.
Which meant the man in the dark coat had to be the prince.
I finished the rest of my berry skewer and wiped my sticky fingers on the silk of my dress. Then I picked up my drink. The mistake was not smelling it first.
Whiskey hit the back of my throat and kept going. It was not cheap whiskey. Not bad whiskey either. I choked on it in the way that involved my whole body reacting at volume.
It was very unattractive and definitely not quiet. At least three rows of heads turned in my direction.
The man beside me, whom I had not noticed, watched.
I held up one hand and spent several seconds in a deeply personal negotiation with my own lungs. When I straightened, my eyes were watering and my dignity was somewhere on the floor behind me.
He was still watching me.
The mask covered most of his face. Below the edge were the chiseled jaw and mouth. The set of it compressed around a smile.
“That,” he said, “was my drink.”
His voice was patient, as if he knew I was going to drink it and watched me do it anyway.
“I know that now,” I said before coughing one more time.
The compressed smile deepened.
“Fifteen-year single malt,” he continued. “Northern distillery. Closed twelve years ago.” He looked at the glass, still in my hand. “Forty bottles left in existence. Perhaps.”
I looked at the glass. I looked at him. “It's very good,” I rasped.
He reached over and took it back. Took a measured sip before setting it on the table between us like a line drawn.
“Yes,” he said. “It is.”
I picked up a wine glass from the table and drank from it. Wine was familiar. It had none of the character of whiskey. The musicians shifted behind us into something slower.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked.
I glanced at him. Black mask. Black coat. “Everyone's looking for someone,” I said. “It's a party.”
We were sitting close enough that our shoulders brushed. I wasn't sure when that had happened.
“You’ve never been here,” he said in a way that made me unsure whether he was asking or implying.
“I’ve never attended.”
“No.” He tilted his head slightly. “I would have noticed.”
His eyes caught the chandelier light. They were a glacier blue that seemed to deepen the longer you looked into them. Vivid against his raven-black hair to the point that it almost felt unnatural.
He held out his hand.
“Dance with me,” he said, low and certain. “You owe me a glass of whiskey. This seems fair.”
I looked at the hand.
I thought about the job and cast a glance at the prince, who looked like he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Then I looked back at the face, the eyes, the jawline. Dancing with him would help me blend in. That was the only reason.
One dance. The prince lived here. He wasn't going anywhere.
I took his hand. His fingers closed around mine, and he led me to the floor.
He towered over me. My face barely reached his chest, which was an irritating detail to notice, but I noticed it anyway.
His hand settled on my waist, and he hadn't looked away from me. Not once.
I had to stretch to rest my hand on his shoulder. Apparently, the gods thought the jawline wasn’t enough and decided he needed every advantage. He felt solid beneath expensive fabric. The kind that had nothing to do with posture and everything to do with muscles.
He pivoted us, and then my back was briefly against his chest. He smelled like bergamot and citrus with a hint of something like smoke underneath.
If I noticed one more detail about this man, I was going to forget why I was here.
“You never told me your name,” he said, breath warm against my ear.
“Why do you need it?”
“So I know what to call you when I convince you to stay.”
I turned in his hold to face him. Our hands shifted, fingers threading more than the dance required.
“You don't need my name,” I said politely.
“Then I'll have to call you something else.” He considered this seriously. “Thief.”
The laugh came out before I could do anything about it. “Drinking from your glass hardly counts as theft.”
He tilted his head. “Who said I was talking about my drink?”
The room felt smaller and the music slower. Neither of those things was actually at fault.
“Does that work for most women?”
“You're not most women.”
That was a terrible line. I smiled anyway.