A retort gets jammed in my throat, and I clear it out before turning away. “I must be going. I’ve got things to do. Places to be.”
Youto avoid.
“Orlaith ...” His voice chases me down the hall, grips hold of my ankles, and bolts me in place.
Slowly, I turn.
He hasn’t moved from where I left him, but the intensity in his eyes has returned, solidifying those aqua pools into something that strikes a much harsher blow. “Will you be at the ball?”
A storm of unbridled energy swarms my heart, battering it while I consider the event Rhordyn is forcing me to attend. As if making me sit next to him in that room today wasn’t enough for everyone to see I’m ...just me.
Nothing more.
“Yes,” I bite out, watching his mouth hook at the corner.
“Your excitement is palpable.”
“How very perceptive of you,” I mutter, spinning. “Not just a pretty face, after all.”
His deep, rolling laughter batters my back as I stalk away.
Clinging to the shadows, I peek into the ballroom, trying to blend in with one of two large urns gushing Night Bloom vines that creep across the wall, framing the grand entrance.
It’s not often I seek Rhordyn out, but I need answers, and for once, the bastard is going to give them to me.
The huge space is half-dressed for tomorrow night’s ball. Long, gossamer strips of silver material drape from the high ceiling, transforming it into a billowing cloud. Thousands of thin, metal strings shoot down from between the pockets, tipped with tear-drop bulbs of light as if the rain is something to worship.
A swarm of servants are buzzing beneath the pretty canopy, moving furniture into place—large, round tables I’ve only ever seen stacked in one of the many storage rooms. They’re being swathed in inky cloth that puddles at the base, their surfaces decorated with gray flower arrangements too big and lush for one person to carry.
I frown, nostrils flaring, scenting the floral perfume the grand ballroom is bathed in.
Those flowers should have been left in the garden, but at least they’re using the grayslades. There’s an abundance of them around the castle.
If it were any other, I’d be showing my teeth.
Noticing movement in my peripheral, I glance along the hall to see Sophia approaching—a maid with large, pretty eyes and midnight hair, arms laden with a stack of silver platters.
I wave at her. “Excuse me!”
She startles, almost losing her cargo, then drops into a tight curtsy that makes me cringe. “Miss! Good grief, I didn’t see you there.”
“Do you know where I can find the High Master? I expected him to be here ... I don’t know,overseeing,” I say, batting my hand toward the ballroom.
Her brows almost collide. “No, Miss. And I’m not sure, Miss.”
She curtsies again, then hurries through the doors as if she can’t get away from me fast enough.
The staff aren’t usually so skittish around me.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I whirl to face a burly guard with dark eyes and a mop of ebony hair smoothed off his face with a lubricated sheen.
I lift a brow. “Jonas.”
“Orlaith. What were you ...” He glances over my shoulder. “What were you and Sophia talking about?”
I jerk my thumb toward her. “You mean just now?”
He nods.
