I need to get Cinder alone, somewhere private, then I can get the truth behind her unexpected appearance.
The song comes to an end and instead of the melody flowing into the next, a silence falls over the room.
The dancing couples have parted and receded, and I find my father standing next to us.
My gloved hand tightens around hers as my spine stiffens.
The urge to haul Cinder over my shoulder and get as far away from him as possible grips me by the scruff of my neck.
Because despite the years apart, some part of me still feels responsible for Cinder. And I'll be damned if I let any harm come to her, not while she's within the reach of my admittedly limited power.
“Your Majesty,” I force myself to say, turning us both to face my father. I take a step forward, putting myself in between my father and Cinder. I keep hold of her hand, gripping it tight behind me. I feel it tremble against my fingers.
The King regards us with an appraising look, but I recognize that expression. He is a shark scenting blood. “Ah, I did not recognize your first choice of dance partner for the evening. The two of you danced beautifully together and I simply could not stay in suspense as to the identity of your companion.”
We both stand there, stock still.
Cinder was right. I shouldn’t have put so much attention on her. Going to her had been thoughtless, my feet carrying me to her like a magnetic pull before I fully knew what I was doing. She’s not welcome here, not by the Midnight court, and not by my father who views humans as a mere means to an end.
My hands clench and release as I throw all my effort into maintaining a neutral demeanor.
I meant what I said. I won’t let anyone hurt her. Still, there is no going back now.
I reach forward and my fingers pinch the edges of black lace that cover the top half of her face. Slowly, oh so painfully slowly, I peel it back, revealing that pert little nose and violet eyes that always held an undercurrent of violence and defiance. The downward angle of her dark lashes gives her eyes a mysterious, half-lidded allure.
Her graceful, almost ethereal Korean beauty contrasts sharply with her forbidding, gothic allure, creating a striking duality. It’s a contrast that draws me in, making me want to discover all her hidden facets. She’s like a beautiful graveyard of secrets.
Fuck, when did I get so poetic?
Still, it feels like I’m looking at a ghost. And in her dress, she certainly resembles a spirit that might roam the halls, intent on haunting the palace.
A sharp intake of breath comes from my father beside me. “Why you are my old friend, Byung-He’s, daughter.”
The collective gasp around us lets me know I’ve fully and completely blown Cinder’s cover.
Good job, Charming.
Cinder tenses as if awaiting the backlash. In fact the entire room holds its breath as if everyone is waiting for the axe to fall.
Which is mildly hilarious, considering almost no one here but Cinder needs to breathe.
My father takes Cinder’s hand in his. Lifting it to his lips, he brushes a light kiss along the back of it. I want to rip his hold off her. Judging by her tight expression, she doesn’t care much for the attention either.
I have no doubt the second the King is out of sight, he’ll be rubbing his lips to get them clean. But he’s trying to keep the peace, especially with the ambassadors here. If a spectacle blows up, he could draw the wrong kind of attention from the Common World. It would also be more difficult for the ball to proceed which would delay my finding a bride. Nothing is done without calculation.
My hatred slithers through me like an old familiar serpent chased by another swell of protectiveness toward the woman by me.
I am determined to protect Cinder, even after all these years. Despite my attempts to always keep everyone at a distance, I couldn’t help but always feel drawn to her.
Like now. I couldn’t resist being near her, and I’ve created this mess.
The King’s eyes drop to her bare fingertips stained with what appears to be red paint. The top of his lip twitches, and I know he is suppressing a sneer. To him, red is vulgar. Feeding is private. Even though we sip the finest, richest blood at the parties, the color must always be obscured by tinted glass. The fairy court is careful not to let it stain their lips or teeth.
It doesn’t do to arouse the thirst publicly. There’s a difference between sipping a glass of blood thinned with liqueur and an actual feeding.
Even I know it’s a piss poor attempt to hide our monstrous side in a farce to exhibit civility. My father and I both know what we are. The only difference between us is I don’t relish it like he does.
For a moment, I think his controlled demeanor will snap and he’ll express his displeasure in all his favored ways.
