I imagine all of those people looking at me and I freeze. The very idea fills me with dread.
But then suddenly, the double doors to the ballroom are opening, and I am being ushered in. And there I am, at the top of the stairs, hundreds of faces turned toward me.
I can find my center. I should look for my mother. My sister.
But my eyes find him. He is looking at me. Those ice-blue eyes are filled with intensity. His jaw is clenched, and so are his hands, held at his sides in fists.
I can’t take my eyes off of him. I don’t know if he makes me feel grounded or more terrified. I don’t know if I want him to keep looking at me or if I want him to turn away.
I take a deep, gasping breath. Dimly I’m aware that my name has been spoken. The people are clapping. I hate this. I feel dizzy. I was never made to be in front of people. I’ve never wanted to be. And then, he’s ascending the stairs, coming toward me. That wasn’t part of what we discussed. It wasn’t part of what they told me. I was supposed to walk down to him. But he’s coming to me. He extends his hand, and I take it.
I’m ashamed of the feeling that washes through me. Intense. Earth-shattering.
This isn’t scientific. It’s visceral. I was so convinced I’d survive here by using my wits, and that I’d figure him out. Instead I’ve managed to make myself into a puzzle.
He holds my hand in his and begins to lead me down the steps, into the ballroom. I find that I want to lean against him. To hide against the vast, muscled wall of his chest, let him wrap his arms around me and keep me shielded.
My jailer. My protector. I’ve never felt the two things quite so strongly. People are still clapping, and they’re looking at me like they’re pleased with me. But I still can’t find my center. I feel out of body. And it is the feeling of his strong, calloused hands around mine that brings me back to the moment.
In the middle of that crowded room, we stop, he takes my other hand and looks at me. I’m lost. Held captive in this arcing current between us. Lucian.
And then suddenly I feel hands on my shoulder, and I release my hold on him in turn. My sister is there, gripping me, looking at me excitedly. “Oh, Lilith,” she says. “You look extraordinary.”
I look back at Lucian, who is gazing at my sister as if she is a creature from another planet.
“This is Eve,” I say. “Eve,” I say and direct my sister toward him, “this is Lucian.”
“Goodness,” she says, looking all the way up at him, and I fight the urge to step in front of him. I don’t know why. Whether I want to protect him from the reaction that my sister might have to his scars, or whether I just don’t want her all that close to him.
“He’s the king,” I remind her.
I look at Lucian, who seems amused. He finds it so funny when people are scared of him. But I’m not entirely sure that Eve is scared of him so much as in awe. His presence is magnetic; that can’t be denied.
Soon, my mother joins us. “Your Highness,” she says, barely able to look up at him. “It is such an honor to meet you. And such an honor that you have chosen my…my daughter to marry.”
Lucian chuckles. “Yes,” he says, drawing his arm around my waist and bringing me in close to him. “I have chosen her.” He touches my face, wrapping a curl around his finger, and I shiver.
I’m not sure if he’s making a mockery of the situation. Of how hehadchosen Eve, and then I stepped in, or if he is trying to reinforce the fact that I’m with him now. I hate that it makes me feel insecure. But it makes me feel less. I have always felt so firmly rooted in my world. The things that I’m good at. I’ve never felt like I had to compete with Eve. I don’t like the feeling now. I wonder if everybody in attendance is looking at us and thinking how I suffer in comparison to her. Because yes, as I feared, she is glorious. Her red hair is riotous and lovely, her voluptuous figure showed off to perfection by the green dress she’s wearing. She is so like Princess Emerald.
The other woman that he intended to marry.
His obvious and actual type.
I’ve seen pictures of his late wives. All of them were beautiful. Perfection. Much more like Eve than like me. Birds of paradise when compared to a small sparrow.
I blink, and try to hold back tears of indignation and insecurity. And rage. It is no small amount rage that I am being forced to care about this thing that I’ve spent my entire life not caring about at all.
And that it’s happening to me in such a public space. On a stage.
“Where’s Marcus?” I ask.
“He’s somewhere,” Eve says, giggling. “But I wanted to talk to my sister anyway. What a lovely party this is.” I look around the room, at the fairy-tale nature of it. The twisted golden branches adorning everything. Fairy lights all around. There is something romantic about it. There is something strangelyromanticabout Lucian. I’ve never been romantic. He bought me all those books. He’s trying to share his fiction with me.
I’m lost in that thought for a moment, before I snap myself back to the moment on a deep breath. “Yes,” I agree. “It’s beautiful.”
Lucian is waylaid by dignitaries, and I find myself being dragged around the room by Eve, who seems to have made friends with half of the attendees. She sparkles, and everyone around her shimmers in response.
Over the next two hours I meet more people than I think I’ve ever met in my life.
