But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. A flicker of something I can’t quite read shadows his gaze. It must be the tension he’s feeling about the upcoming confrontation with the woman who destroyed his family. Anyone would be anxious facing such a moment, no matter how much they’d prepared or how deeply they wanted it. I’m positive that once he unburdens himself and gets everything off his chest, that weight will lift, and he’ll feel a thousand times better.
Then maybe we can explore this connection between us before I set off to find the wizards who can get me back home.
Chapter Twelve
Ronan
I’ve heard rumors about the legendary Mabon Festival within the Kingdom of Pentacles, so I expected the decorations to be extravagant and for the guests to be engaging in all manner of overindulgence. But the reality of Lady Clayton’s annual celebration surpasses even the most exaggerated tales that have rippled throughout the kingdoms of Towerfall.
The grand ballroom is a spectacle of wealth and excess. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, their countless facets scattering candlelight like a shower of stars. The walls are adorned with velvet and stitched with threads of gold, and marble columns are wrapped in lush garlands of autumn leaves and flowers.
Banquet tables stretch along the far wall, overflowing with roasted pheasant, glazed boar, cheeses, fruits, sweets, and goblets of the finest wines. Guests draped in luxurious fabrics mingle and dance, their faces half-hidden behind ornate masks embellished with feathers andjewels. Laughter rises above the notes of a full orchestra nestled in a gilded balcony.
My nerves are frayed from anticipation and the relentless passage of time that seems to stretch each minute into an eternity. I can’t decide if I’m eager to finally confront and kill the woman who destroyed my family or if part of me dreads the irreversible step I’m about to take.
I press my palm against the dagger concealed beneath my coat as I move through the throng and exchange pleasantries, offer polite smiles, and sip sparingly from a goblet of wine I have no intention of finishing. All the while, my eyes discreetly scan the room.
Elara moves gracefully among the other pawns. Dressed in a simple yet elegant linen gown, she appears every bit the obedient servant. But I know better. Our gazes meet across the room, and her green eyes steady me more than I care to admit.
If anyone dares to lay a finger on her, I will end them where they stand.
I tell myself the thought is part of the ruse, but deep down, I know it’s more than that. I care for her more deeply than I ever intended. It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before.
I catch her eye once again, and she offers a subtle nod, a silent assurance that she’s managing without me. Yet I don’t want her to manage without me. I want her to need me, to desire me, to love me. Warmth spreads through my chest, momentarily easing the tension coiled around my heart.
But the relief is fleeting. My gaze shifts, and I spot Lady Clayton gliding through the crowd. Emerald silkspills against her slight curves, and diamonds catch the light, glittering from her upswept pile of dark hair. Her laughter rings out like clinking glass, and I shudder as shards splinter beneath my skin.
Amid the swirl of silk and laughter, Lady Clayton slips away from the ballroom, exiting through a set of ornate double doors. This is my chance.
Taking a steadying breath, I follow her at a distance, my footsteps silent on the plush rug. Her emerald gown shimmers as she moves down a dimly lit corridor, the din of the festivities fading to a muffled hum as we get farther and farther away.
I used to dream of this moment—the satisfaction and joy I would feel when I finally confronted her, avenged my family, and bathed in her blood. But now, my fingers are slick with sweat as they find the hilt of my dagger. I’m torn. If I kill Lady Levina Clayton, I will surely be put to death.
And then what of Elara?
Lady Clayton turns into a quiet room lined with shelves of leather-bound books and furnished with plush chairs. I step inside, closing the door softly behind me.
“Enjoying your party, my lady?” I say, my voice carrying a sharp edge.
She turns, surprise flickering across her features before settling into a mask of polite curiosity. Her dark eyes meet mine, a slight arch to her brow. “I wasn’t aware I had company,” she replies smoothly. “Have we been introduced?”
“Not formally,” I say, taking a measured step forward. “But I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite some time.”
Her gaze narrows, assessing. “Is that so? And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Ronan Greve,” I state, watching for any sign of recognition.
A delicate frown mars her brow. “Greve…”
“Does it sound familiar,Lady Clayton? It should,” I bite out, my fists clenching at my sides.
“Edgar—” she begins, a hint of realization dawning.
“Myfather.”
“Your father?” She blinks, confusion twisting her features. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” I snap. “Why would someone like you remember the lives you’ve destroyed?”
