Six
Ariadnne
There were two hours until Lord D’avant’s ball and sweat slicked Ariadnne’s brow as she made her way back to her room. Melixanthe trudged behind her, nursing bruises after the morning’s training. Servants hurried past, voices raised. It wouldn’t be long before guests arrived from the city.
The expectant atmosphere increased Ariadnne’s dread. She could, in fact, dance, but the idea of having to remain civil to the somewhat lecherous High Lord while she did didn’t sit well, no matter how used she was to being somebody’s pawn.
The door to Ariadnne’s suite opened, and Kayla emerged, jumping in surprise.
‘Shards! You scared me.’ She clutched her chest. ‘The butler fellow asked me to drop off a gift from the High Lord. I’m supposed to pass on that he humbly requests you wear it.’
Ariadnne’s brows rose, already able to tell that she wasn’t going to appreciate the ‘gift’.
‘I’ll come and see,’ Melixanthe said as Ariadnne pushed open the door, probably to stop Ariadnne from destroying whatever it was out of pique.
Laid out on the bed was an exquisite dress of silver, iridescent fabric. It had a plunging neckline at the front, and very little material at the back.
Ariadnne froze. Every one of her scars would be on display.
‘I’m not wearing it,’ she said flatly.
‘Unfortunately, I think you have to.’ Melixanthe’s brow crinkled.
‘It is not in our contract for me to wear dresses like that and dance.’ Ariadnne didn’t even want to touch it.
There was a small, wooden box next to the dress. Ariadnne picked it up and lifted the lid. An enormous sapphire gazed back at her. Resting on a deep blue cushion, it was set in a silver clasp and attached to a delicate chain. Matching earrings sat on either side of the necklace.
‘You can’t tell me this isn’t too much?’ She held it out to Melixanthe, who sat.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘It looks like our High Lord wants to court you, Ariadnne.’ She raised a hand to cover a smile.
‘I’m glad you find this amusing.’
‘Lordlings want every shiny thing they see. I wouldn’t worry. We’ll play nice until it’s time for us to leave as we don’t want to impair Guild relations with the Kingdom, but the Guild will never allow him to pursue his interest. It will be done soon enough.’
‘I’m not going—’
‘Unfortunately, yes. You are. We all have our parts to play in this, Ariadnne. You will let him have one dance. Then you can stay with me.’
Ariadnne groaned. ‘Fine.’ She perched on the corner of the bed, irritation mounting.
With a last look at the dress and a shake of her head, Melixanthe let herself out.
Ariadnne sat until the hunger in her belly spurred her to get up and get ready. She brushed and braided her hair, then painted her eyes with thick kohl.
Satisfied that she had made enough effort to appease her handler, she turned to the dress.
It slid easily over her head, the silky fabric clinging to her body and accentuating her curves.
It was tight over her legs, but at least there was a slit that allowed her to move freely.
Feeling rather naked, she dug out a dagger and fastened it to her thigh.
If the fae in military attire could bring weapons, it was only fair that she could as well.
The sapphire jewellery was the final touch. After placing it around her neck, she barely recognised herself in the mirror—so much marred skin on display.
Letting herself out of her room, she went across the corridor to knock on Melixanthe’s door. Finnick stood guard, his eyes popping from his head at the sight of her. Ariadnne shot him a look laden with threat.
Melixanthe answered in her dress uniform. She looked Ariadnne over, making an approving noise.
‘You scrubbed up okay,’ she said, her lips curling with amusement.
‘Don’t. Please.’ Ariadnne glowered.
‘Okay, okay.’ Her handler held her hands up in apology. ‘I take it you’re ready?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
The halls of the castle were bustling with activity and filled with every kind of fae as Melixanthe led Ariadnne through the corridors.
A tall, willowy spriteling—at risk of being toppled by a stiff breeze—drifted past a pair of wolfishly furred priskan shifters, their brilliant blue eyes shining like moons.
Two Flames from the southernmost province passed, wearing the red and orange colours of their elemental affinity, and Ariadnne spied what she swore was a true woodland nymph sliding between clumps of foliage, almost invisible.
Ariadnne would have given a lot to be invisible for the next few hours.
Lord D’avant’s staff had pulled out all the stops.
Leading to the ballroom, a master illusionist had coated the ceiling in a misty, ethereal sky.
Artificial starlight illuminated the walls and cast faces in shadow, highlighting the crowd as it surged towards the ballroom’s wide-open doors.
Ariadnne followed Melixanthe through the crowd, following the soft thread of music that wound between bodies.
Her feet stumbled as she crossed the threshold, and Melixanthe had to pull her along. Between vine-decked pillars, the sky was full night, perfectly rendered down to each constellation and planet. She blinked and a distant star shot into view before burning over the horizon.
The hit of a savoury-sweet aroma shook her out of her awe, her rumbling stomach reminding her that she’d not eaten since breakfast. She ripped her eyes from the sky, fixing them on a long table running along the far wall.
The source of temptation—mini cheese tarts, stuffed figs, olives and every kind of shellfish.
Ariadnne licked her lips and wondered how long she’d have to exchange pleasantries before she could eat.
‘Stop salivating.’ Melixanthe took her elbow and led her away from the table towards a cluster of fae from their company.
Dantro smiled, brow lifting as he took in her dress before turning back to the twins. Lucile was more obvious in her shock, twiddling with a strand of white hair as she watched Ariadnne tuck herself behind a floral column, away from less welcome eyes.
She mourned the shellfish she hadn’t yet tasted and gazed back at the table.
There was already an assortment of nobles filling plates, and Ariadnne could have crumbled with envy.
She glanced at Melixanthe, who was already engrossed in conversation with Regulus’ captain.
It was going to be a long and—hopefully—boring evening.
She entertained herself watching the sky and listening to her companies’ conversations when a feather-soft tingle plucked at the back of her neck and she spotted Nieve almost immediately, ensconced between laughing knights.
Her crystal gaze cut through the crowd and unhelpful butterflies exploded in Ariadnne’s belly.
She stomped them down. Yes, Nieve was… nice.
Generous in how she’d let Ariadnne win. Talented.
Interesting… but she was still out of bounds.
Ariadnne tried to look away, telling herself that path would lead nowhere good, but her eyes slid back.
Nieve’s mouth twitched. Captivating. As was the way her silver locks spilled over her shoulders, and—gods help Ariadnne—the way her form was hugged by a dazzling crimson dress that made Ariadnne’s mind race with thoughts that were entirely forbidden.
A flurry of dancers passed between them, and Ariadnne strained for another glimpse, cursing the sudden rush of fae onto the floor.
Melixanthe nudged her as Kayla was speaking. Ariadnne snapped back into focus.
‘What’s that?’ she said, having missed Kayla’s comment.
‘I was saying that dress looks lovely,’ The knight smiled. She wore a backless blue dress herself, at which Josef snuck glances every few minutes.
‘Thank you.’ Ariadnne replied, vainly seeking another glimpse of Nieve. She politely declined as a slender fae, reminiscent of a forest nymph, offered her a glass of golden wine from a tray.
The band picked up their pace and Kayla clapped her hands, grabbing Josef by the lapels. His mouth opened like a fish as he was whisked onto the floor, the rest of the company whooping their approval.
Jealousy twinged, but Ariadnne forced it from her mind as she watched the knights dance.
Melixanthe drifted into deep conversation with a nearby guardsman, and Ariadnne turned her attention back to the refreshments.
Her stomach was a wild thing, needing to be fed, and she began to question how important avoiding D’avant truly was.
When Melixanthe showed no sign of slowing her conversation, Ariadnne gave up and, slipping free of the shadows, drifted over to look.
It wouldn’t take much to sate her appetite, then she would be back at her handler’s side—for whatever protection that afforded.
She helped herself to a small plate and filled it from a delicate display of little clams and cockles. Crisp breads spread with olive paste followed. And she had to try a few of the miniature fruit tarts—
A light brush tickled her elbow and she turned, thinking to move out of someone’s way.
Instead, she found herself face to face with Nieve, close enough for Ariadnne to breathe in the crisp edge of winter’s frost that rolled off her skin, settling around her like a blanket, creating an aura of calm amid the flurry of dancers.
‘Hi,’ Nieve said softly. ‘I didn’t get a chance to speak with you at training this morning, but I’d hoped…’
She tilted her head, light falling on the dusting of freckles bridging her pale nose.
She took in the daring cut of Ariadnne’s dress without pity for her scars.
There was something else in her eyes. Something Ariadnne wanted to explore.
She found herself inching closer when they were interrupted by a booming voice.
‘Ariadnne! I was starting to think you were hiding from me.’ Lord D’avant’s gaze filled with mock chastisement as it swept over her body. ‘My gift looks exquisite on you.’
Nieve’s forehead creased.
Ariadnne gave him a tight-lipped smile. ‘It really wasn’t necessary—’
‘My word!’ The High Lord stared at the scars that adorned her arms and chest, frowning. ‘You’ve seen your share of battle already, haven’t you?’
Ariadnne was about to make a scathing comment when Nieve stepped forward, saving her from herself.
‘Varanyen bear the brunt of the fighting. It’s hardly surprising it leaves a mark,’ she said with a sweet smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
‘I suppose not.’ Lord D’avant barely offered Nieve a glance before holding out his hand. ‘Now, Ariadnne, how about that dance?’
The Lord didn’t give her a choice, leading her by the elbow even as she strained for a last glimpse of Nieve. Melixanthe was nowhere to be seen.
The band struck a waltz. Lord D’avant smiled as he took her hand in one meaty grasp and gripped her waist with the other.
Ariadnne fought a shudder, his whiskered breath too close to her face.
None of her training had prepared her for this.
In survival mode, she avoided his gaze and stared over his shoulder for the first circuit of the floor, following his steps with mechanical grace.
A flash of crimson caught her eye and there was Nieve at the edge of the hall, gaze burning into her like a brand.
Her brows furrowed deeper each time the High Lord pulled Ariadnne close.
‘You truly look beautiful tonight.’ D’avant’s wet lips left spittle on the side of her neck. She jerked back.
He smiled. ‘Make sure you return from the battle in one piece.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine…’
‘I find the prospect of seeing you in action quite exciting,’ the High Lord continued, barely acknowledging her words.
Ariadnne swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The end of the song couldn’t come fast enough. As the waltz finally ended the band struck a new, lively tune.
‘Ah, one of my favourites! Shall we?’ Lord D’avant held out his hand.
‘Oh, I definitely don’t know this one—’ She tried to excuse herself, but the High Lord was insistent.
‘Ariadnne.’ Nieve appeared, eyes wide and innocent. ‘Lucius wants a word about tomorrow’s plan.’
Lord D’avant’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not sure that’s necessary…’
‘Oh, but he insisted,’ Nieve said with a smile, holding out her hand for Ariadnne’s.
Taking it was the easiest thing.