Chapter 14 #2
Her magic brushed mine, a faint hum under her skin that made my throat tighten.
“You shouldn’t antagonize your court,” she said.
“They antagonize me first.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to—”
“Yes, it does.”
Her laugh slipped out. “You’re impossible.”
“So you’ve said.”
Her smile came real, and it hit like sunrise through a dark cloud.
Around us, other couples joined us on the floor, but I barely saw them. Her hair smelled of citrus and something sweeter I couldn’t name. Her skirts fanned out in a golden halo when we spun, and the air filled with the sparkle of her magic.
Whispers rippled through the hall. Some admiring, some scandalized.
“You’re staring at me,” she said.
“I’m allowed.”
“Are you?”
“I’m this court’s king.”
“And I’m your queen, apparently.”
“Precisely why staring is permitted.”
She rolled her eyes, but the color in her cheeks deepened. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I’m enduring it magnificently.”
Her laugh brightened the space around us. Even the oldest vampires leaned forward, drawn despite themselves. Her joy was infectious, even to those so old they thought they no longer cared.
We didn’t make it three dances before Lord Rathley intercepted us with a predatory smile. “Majesty. A delightful display. I never thought I’d see the day our king danced with someone as exquisitely beautiful as our queen.”
Cyrene inclined her head. “Careful, Lord Rathley. Compliments look foreign on you.”
Pride surged through me. This was the same fierce woman I’d known six years ago. Back then, she’d worn simple dresses instead of silk, and her hair had been caught in a practical braid rather than tonight’s elaborate style.
“Your king may intimidate me,” she added softly, “but you certainly don’t.”
His laugh came out too sharp. “Touché. Tell me, is it true your kind can sense emotion? If so, it must be overwhelming here.”
“Not as overwhelming as condescension,” she said sweetly.
I nearly applauded. Rathley blinked, trying to decide whether he should be offended or not. Before he could choose, I stepped between them.
Quandary appeared at Rathley’s feet, weaving between legs with exaggerated affection, leaving what I suspected were bits of scales across the man’s immaculate boots and pants.
“Your creature seems confused about who its master is,” Rathley said, struggling not to glare at the drake.
“Quandary knows exactly what he’s doing, don’t you, darling?” She stooped down to pet the creature’s spine.
The drake looked up at us before leaping into the air and soaring back to his perch, his tail held high.
“Lars,” I said. “Find someone else to pester. I believe the chandeliers are available.”
He bowed, his lips twitching. “Of course, sire.”
When he drifted away, Cyrene exhaled. “Does everyone try to bait you?”
“Only when they’re bored.”
“And tonight?”
“They’re terrified. Boredom is their armor.”
She looked around the hall, taking in the glittering crowd and the careful smiles. “They think I’m temporary.”
“They’re wrong.”
Her gaze snapped to mine. “Are they?”
“Yes.”
I pressed a finger lightly against her wrist, feeling her pulse jump. “Don’t argue with your king, wife.”
Her lips parted in a soundless retort, but the musicians hit a triumphant chord, and the court’s attention swung back to us. Perfect timing. I swirled her around the room in another dance.
After the music ended, I guided her to the buffet table where a line of goblets waited.
My advisors had arranged a toast as proof for the nobles, a public statement of unity between Cyrene and me.
But as I lifted my glass, I saw how poised but pale she was, how she strained to smile.
She’d endured enough of being on display for one night.
I raised a goblet high, waiting for silence to settle throughout the hall.
“My friends and family.” I lifted my voice. “Tonight we celebrate more than an alliance. We celebrate renewal. For too long, this kingdom has thrived in shadow. It has been strong, enduring, yet unyielding. But even the strongest need light to see where they stand.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. Cyrene’s eyes widened.
I turned to her, still holding the glass up. “Queen Cyrene brings that light. She reminds us what it is to feel, to hope, to remember the warmth we were never meant to lose. She brings light where even years of rule could not.”
Everyone froze.
Cyrene’s composure slipped. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. The vulnerability in her expression made my heart clench. This woman had woven herself into my life without even trying. If only I could tell her.
Tears shone in her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Knowing I’d pleased her was worth every suspicious glance that would follow.
Worth the political complications and the questions from my advisors.
Worth everything to see her look at me as if I’d given her something special when I was only speaking the truth.
Among the musicians, a bow squeaked across strings.
Her eyes met mine, and I forgot what I’d planned to say next. The chandeliers flared, the candles bending toward her. A shimmer passed through the air, the faint glow of her joy magic, throbbing once, twice, like a heartbeat.
A warmth that didn’t belong to a cold, stilted vampire surged through my veins. My instincts screamed to look away, to break the spell before the court saw too much, but I couldn’t. The kingdom could burn around us, and I would remain where I was, watching her glow.
I’d rehearsed diplomatic phrases, calculated words to appease the court while establishing her position. But looking at her now, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever believed that would be enough.
“My queen doesn’t need my protection,” I said, my voice dropping lower, more intimate, though it still carried across the hushed room.
“But she has it. Unconditionally. Eternally.” My gaze never left hers.
“In a world of shadows and cold calculation, she reminds me what it means to burn. What it means to want. What it means to feel for something worth fighting for.”
The words hung in the air, revealing too much. I didn’t care.
She inclined her head, her smile smoother than I felt inside. “Your Majesty honors me.”
I lowered the glass, my throat tight. “Always.”
Our gazes remained locked, and I saw vulnerability flash in her eyes. She was wondering if my words were part of the charade or something more. I wanted to pull her from the room and press her against a wall. Then I’d whisper the truth against her mouth until she believed it.
Instead, I placed my glass on the table and offered her my arm.
Her hand settled in the crook of my elbow, and she leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “You’re shaking.”
I covered her hand with mine. “Only with you. Only ever with you.”
The orchestra stumbled back into tune. Conversation resumed in a flurry of nervous laughter, but the air felt different now.
For the rest of the evening, I barely left her side.
She played her role flawlessly, laughing with the nobles, asking polite questions, and charming even the ones who’d mocked her.
But every so often, I caught her looking at me with that same bewildered expression, as if she couldn’t decide if I’d saved her or doomed us both.
When the final dance ended and the nobles began to leave, I escorted her through the quiet corridors toward our rooms. We stepped inside, shutting the door behind us.
“That toast…” Her voice came out much too careful. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
Turning in the middle of the sitting area, she faced me, her hand braced on the back of the sofa. “Then why did you?”
“Because they needed reminding.”
I strode to the doors to our bedroom and opened them, gesturing for her to enter.
She passed me, her light scent making my head spin with longing.
“What exactly were you reminding them of?” she asked.
“That you’re not a pawn. That you’re my equal.”
She stared at me for a long moment, something fragile flickering across her face. “Thank you.”
I shook my head. “I meant it.”
Her lips parted, and neither of us moved. Then she stepped closer, the hem of her gown whispering across the floor. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” My voice had gone rough.
“Because people might start to believe you.”
I took another step, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “Let them.”
Her pulse quickened, the sound filling my ears like the sweetest music. My gaze dropped to her lips. She wet them with the tip of her tongue. The gesture nearly undid me.
“Kieran,” she breathed my name like a question.
I raised my hand, letting my fingers hover near her cheek, not touching. Restraint was exquisite torture.
One of us would have to break first.
I leaned forward.
“Tell me to stop,” I said softly, giving her the power, even as every bit of me begged her not to use it.
I cradled her face between my palms, tilting her head up with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger coursing through me. I was a king, trained in patience and restraint since birth, but all my careful control frayed now that she was warm and willing in my hands.
“You deserve better than a stolen moment in the dark,” I said, even as I lowered my head, our lips a breath apart. “You deserve poetry and daylight and everything I never thought I’d want to give anyone.”
Her hands came up to grip my wrists. “I just want you.”
The truth in her voice unraveled me completely.
Her golden eyes darkened, and for one moment, I thought she might—
A disgruntled meow came from the doorway as Quandary padded in, looking thoroughly put out at being left behind in the ballroom. He jumped onto the dresser, knocking over a crystal vase that clattered when it hit the wooden surface.
“It seems everyone wants your attention tonight,” I said, easing away.
Cyrene sighed. “He’s probably hungry. Judging vampires all evening works up an appetite.” She flicked her hand toward him. “Go outside and hunt a meal.”
He huffed but leaped off the bureau and soared through the open window.
I smiled, doing my best to recapture the mood.
The air chilled.
Cyrene’s eyes widened, and she frowned to her right. “Not now, Cordelia. Please, not now.”
“She’s here?” I gazed around but saw nothing. “What does she want?”
“To gossip about the evening.” Her frown deepened. “Can we talk in the morning?”
Air burst across the room, followed by silence.
Cyrene nibbled on her lower lip. “I think she’s mad at me.”
“Does that upset you?”
Her sigh bled out, and the sadness in her eyes gutted me. “I don’t want to offend her. Other than Quandary, she’s my only friend in this place.”
“That’s not true,” I croaked. “You also have me.”