As I go, I glance back, catching the chaos Zyphoro has left in her wake. A mess of tumbled dancers, overturned goblets, Fae nobles brushing their embroidered sleeves with wounded pride. My lips curl into a grin.
I don’t get to enjoy it for long.
I barely reach the landing before I find myself staring into a pair of azure eyes.
Fuck.
“Your Highness.” Marlayna’s voice is smooth as silk. She stands flanked by guards, the hilts of their swords gleaming. “How honored I am to have Sundered Kingdoms royalty in my humble home.”
Despite my mask, she must have recognized me just as swiftly as I did her. I hadn’t even noticed her rise from the throne, so focused on the mirror, blind to the one who guarded it. I curse myself, frustration curling deep in my chest. In my hunger for answers, I’m growing careless. Still, I manage to summon a smile. Effortless, charming, the kind I’ve worn too many times to count, the kind that’s kept me alive far longer than I deserve.
“Lady Marlayna,” I say, inclining my head just enough to be polite. “You look well.”
Her gaze drags over me, unhurried.
“As do you, my prince. It has been some time.”
She tilts her head toward the wreckage below.
“Friends of yours?”
I follow her gaze, watching as Zyphoro, the cause of the disaster, twirls innocently away from the sputtering nobles.
“I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
Marlayna hums unconvinced, the corner of her glossy red mouth curling upward.
“You know, Your Highness, etiquette states that a visiting prince owes the lady of the house a dance.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Does it now?”
She extends her arm, fingers curling in silent command.
A test I can’t refuse.
I inhale deeply, and the scent of her is immediate. The charged pulse of her blood just beneath her skin, the sheen of sweat gathering at her collarbone, the way her breath catches ever so slightly.
If I deny her, I lose any chance of getting close to that mirror. But if I summon the shadows and reduce this place to rubble to get what I want, I risk drawing the attention of the void.
Which leaves only one option.
I take her hand.
“I would be honored,” I lie.
I guide Marlayna down the stairs, grinding my impatience into something passable for calm. I’d hoped this would be quick and simple. How arrogant of me to believe it ever could be.
As we approach the dance floor, her guards part the beaded curtain, and the din of the ballroom hushes just enough for the shift in focus to land on us.
This mask does little to shield me from their scrutiny, though I don’t think they recognize me as easily as Marlayna did. Their curiosity, no doubt, is aimed at the stranger who’s earned their lady’s favor.
The crowd parts, and we step onto the center of the dance floor. I take Marlayna into my arms with the kind of boldness I know she expects. Anything less, and she’d be suspicious. She knows my reputation far too well.
I pull her close. Her heartbeat pounds against my chest, a frantic, fluttering thing. She drags her nails slowly up my arm, tracing every flexed muscle, humming in approval before sliding her hand across my shoulder and curling her fingers around the back of my neck.
I fight the urge to flinch. To recoil from the sour churn of disgust rising in my throat.
Focus.
