The prince placed a hand on my waist. I set mine on his shoulder. But this dance was no courtesy. He led, I followed. The violins screeched, falsely melodic, stretching their notes until they rang hollow.
Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. But it was too late to step back.
“Do not worry,” the prince murmured, pulling me closer. Against me, I felt the cold metal of the sword strapped to his costume. “The witch invited me under the pretense of forging a financial alliance with my kingdom. My father had accepted. I declined. Since then, attacks by the Cursed have only worsened. And when I learned that her right hand, that infamous sorcerer, had returned to her side, I knew I had to stop him.” He paused, searching my eyes. “Tell me the truth. Is he holding you hostage?”
I stiffened, my fingers tightening instinctively on his shoulder. “Arawn is not a monster,” I defended fiercely as he spun me. “You should not judge what you do not understand. That is unworthy of a sovereign. He has no alliance with Zelda anymore.”
The prince’s lips pressed thin. “There are capture warrants for him in my kingdom. A villain of the worst kind.”
“That’s true,” I admitted with a faint smile. “Yet tonight, I am not afraid. If there is one person capable of protecting us, it is him.”
The prince exhaled, glancing at the guests swaying on their feet, mouths ajar, eyes glazed. “For your sake, I hope your faith is not misplaced. I would avoid a war between kingdoms, but negotiations have failed. I know no one at this ball. I walked into a trap of my own will… and I fear it is worse than I imagined.” He pulled me closer. “Mademoiselle, you must flee. My guards await my signal. I can buy you time?—”
A hand landed on the prince’s shoulder. “Your Highness.”
The prince paled, as if a blade pressed against his throat. That blade was Arawn. My Arawn. Straight. Unflinching. Mist curled around him, tendrils of black ink spilling from his hair. His horns had grown, sharpened like daggers, and thorns pierced through his fine suit.
My heart jumped. The guards who had blocked the terrace entrance moments before now lay limp, their limbs protruding from the heavy curtain, hastily shoved aside. Arawn hadn’t even bothered to hide his work.
He took a single step. Just one. Enough to make the prince taut as a bowstring.
“I advise you to leave,” Arawn commanded, his velvet voice steeped in steel. “Your loss will be heavy. Your army will fall. I have cleared the way for you.”
The prince’s throat tightened. His fingers twitched, ready to draw his blade. “Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “You cannot face this alone.”
Arawn didn’t flinch. He tilted his head slightly.
“Do you not see that I am occupied?” Slow words. Measured. Suffocating. “A prince—or shall I say, a new king—dead is of no use. Leave. Unless you intend to kill me.”
Something broke in the prince. His chest rose with short, ragged breaths. Then he spun, cape snapping, and strode away, dragging his pride in reluctant steps.
Arawn didn’t even grant him a glance. Instead, he extended his bare hand. A silent command. I didn’t hesitate. My fingers closed over his. A sudden pull, and I was swept against him, pressed to his chest, caught in his shadow.
“Arawn…”
“We’ve never danced.”
His arm locked around my waist, yanking me tight against him. No escape. No retreat.
He danced as he fought. Mastering every movement. Demanding every breath. That I be his, and his alone. He possessed me without a word, a blaze held beneath cold elegance.
And my world shrank to Arawn. I loved him like a blade between the ribs. Sharp and inevitable. I loved him like a star. Distant, burning, a light to guide me through the blackest night.
“My Sugarplum, you are exquisite.” His voice was low, almost breaking.
He spun me. The momentum stole my breath.
His grip tightened, his lips brushing my ear, a breath of fire against my skin. “Thank you for loving me.”
Words clogged in my throat. “You’re welcome.”
Arawn pulled me against him, erasing the last breath of air between our bodies. His arm circled my waist, and with that same arm, he lifted me effortlessly until my feet left the ground. His thumb brushed my chin, then slid upward, slowly, along the line of my jaw. He tilted my head, forcing my gaze up to his. Our lips were merely apart from each other.
“The first thing I noticed about you,” he confessed, “was your smile. You smiled even when your eyes were sad.”
Something was wrong. Arawn was not the kind to lose himself in confessions. He was talking too much. Words that sounded like an ending. I wanted to protest, but the movement behind him froze me.
The faces of the guests were falling apart in bloody slabs, a swarm of blackened veins, swollen like overripe fruit. Multiple amber pupils rolled inside gaping sockets. Their jaws unhinged in inhuman gurgles. Some collapsed, their legs snapping like dead wood, their bodies crawling toward us, twisted, boneless, driven by a hideous slowness. Even the apples fell from the trees in putrid shards.
