You can usually tell a person’s territory simply by their garb, but this ball is a colorful, eclectic expression of personality.
Looking down at the ruby dress that’s tailored to the dunes of my curves, I almost lose my nerve. Almost hightail it back to Cook so I can beg for the key to Stony Stem. It’s only the sight of a raven-haired child notched on her mother’s hip that convinces me otherwise; her big, round eyes anchoring me in place.
She appears to be the only one who can see me standing in the shadows, and she’s looking at me like sheknows—like she can see into the chasm of my soul.
If I skitter back to my tower, her breaths are numbered, and I can’t bear the thought of the light bleeding from her eyes.
My hand whips up to the treasures hidden beneath a layer of red; a jewel that reminds me to strengthen my spine and a shell that shields my heart.
The lute changes tempo—becomes dense and beaty—and it jerks me into action. I peel from the slice of shadow clinging to the wall, my tormented toes bearing the weight of every step.
Heads turn and eyes widen, whispers dole out from between lips that barely move as I walk toward the grand entrance.
Admittedly, I didn’t consider how much this dress would make me stand out when Hovard came up with the sketch. I was pissed, off-kilter, and desperate to rattle Rhordyn in any way I could. But now that I’m here, dressed in nothing but a yard of silk that coats my skin like a lick of blood, I’m drowning in regret.
Everyone’swatching. Taking me in. And aside from the rouge and the powder and the kohl, there’snothingfor me to hide behind.
I’m not wearing a bodice like all the other women. My back is entirely bare. There’s a split in my dress that’s inviting peeks of flesh from hip to toe every time my right foot kicks forward a step.
The crowd parts like a split book, as if I’m emerging from the gutter. Though it makes my cheeks scald, it does allow me a clear view of the elegant ballroom cast in a pearly glow. A straight shot to the man leaning against the far wall near a raised podium, arms knotted over his chest that seems to have paused in its labors.
The music stops as the crowd drinks me in, assuaging their curiosity while cool, steely eyes regard me.
Needle me in the heart.
My skin may be blazing with the collective focus of a room full of inquisitive eyes, but it’shisthat leaves a frosty scar.HisI’m hanging off, despite it being barbed.
I take a moment perched on the threshold of my inevitable demise, certain I won’t survive his wrath for what I’m about to do. Not when he’s staring daggers at me simply for escaping my cage.
But he asked foreffort.I’m simply following orders.
I watch his eyes flare as I lift my chin and push my shoulders back. Because right now, wearing this dress that clings to my curves and exposes a shape that’s never been seen, I’mnotdamaged. I’m not the girl who’s afraid to step foot outside the castle grounds, and I’m certainly not the girl who’s uncomfortable in the sheath of her own skin.
I’m strong, composed,resilient ...
Rhordyn gestures to the musicians, and the music starts again, dissolving the spell of silence. The crowd slowly swirls into action, still pecking me with peeps while filling the empty space and cutting me off from Rhordyn’s prying eyes.
Releasing a jagged sigh, I plunge into the breath-stealing scene thick with cloying, exotic smells, barely five steps in when Baze spears through a gap in the crowd, clad in a black suit that accentuates the strong lines of his formidable form.
“What do we have here?” he grits out, stealing my arm, his face split with a smile that shows too much teeth.
He’s leading me with a hold so tight my arm loses circulation from the elbow down, so I dig my fingers into his side and pinch.
Hard.
“Ow,” he mutters without moving his lips.
I feign a diplomatic smile. “Sorry I’m late. I had a slight wardrobe malfunction.”
“I canseethat,” Baze says, steering me through the crowd, weaving between round tables embellished with floral centerpieces and platters of food. “And here I was thinking we were going to make it through the night without a hitch.”
I snag a flute off of a server’s tray and guzzle the contents in one thirsty drag, face pinching as the bubbly liquid wrestles its way down my throat. “Buckle up, buttercup.”
He snatches the glass out of my hand and waves it at my face. “This stuff isnotfor you.”
“And why the hell not?”
“Because you don’t know how to regulate yourself.”
