“And I’m justpropertyto you.”
“Fucking exasperating woman.”
I smirk.
The song ends, and the musicians strike up something much more lively. Neither of us feels like dancing to it, so Reave escorts me to a row of refreshment tables instead, procuring drinks for both of us.
“To satisfaction,” he toasts, locking his eyes with mine.
I clink my glass against his.
Chapter Twenty-Six
We leave the dance floor, making our way to a large open space beside the main pavilion where a performance is about to begin—an artistic representation of the legend that this celebration is centered around.
And just like that, I’m reminded, all over again, of where I am. Of the bloody and wicked history of this brutal kingdom, and what a dangerous game I’m playing by pretending I could be its queen.
My head throbs and my stomach aches, but I carry on, sitting down with the king on one of several benches that have been arranged for viewing purposes.
Prince Arlo makes his appearance just before the show starts, wiggling himself between the king and me. He watches everything with a wide-eyed expression, and I try to pay attention to his reactions more than the performance—becausehedoesn’t make me sick to my stomach.
But despite my best efforts, I find my gaze drawn far too often to the dazzling display before me.
The dragon-shaped kites rise as the last bit of the sun bleeds from the sky, silk panels of red and gold catching what remains of the light. There are dozens of them, their tails curling and snapping against the darkening blue. A hush falls over the area as the performers begin to work their lines in tandem, guiding the kites in sweeping arcs to tell their story.
There are dozens of staked torches outlining the perimeter of the performance area. When the finale arrives, they flare to life all at once, igniting the colors of the kites, and for a blinding moment, it really does seem as if the dragons have harvested the sun in the name of the king.
Arlo falls asleep soon after this fiery display, his body curled against his brother and his hand holding mine. A servant eventually comes and gathers him up to carry him inside; he’s so exhausted, even after so little interaction, that he doesn’t even stir as the servant jostles him about.
Concern gnaws at me as I watch his too-still body be carried off. I can tell Reave is worried, too, though he says nothing.
We sit silently for a while longer. His hand rests casually on the bench beside my own. People come to us in waves, making small talk and offering endless compliments, trying to curry favor with us.
As the hour goes on, Reave’s touch inches closer, until one of his fingers is curled around mine. Not for the sake of appearances—because no one else can really see our hands, hidden in the shadows of our bodies and the cascading fabric of my dress.
I wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.
Or if he realizes what it’s doing tome.
An involuntary shiver courses through my body when heeventually stands, trailing his touch over my hand as he goes. It’s more than just the chill of the settling night, but I don’t protest when he takes off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders. He’s walking away before I can find my voice, anyway, off to give a short speech to his guests.
I sit alone, wrapped in the wintry-sweet scent of him, studying my surroundings.
Briar appears to have made several friends. She’s surrounded by a group that includes the princess—who’s actuallylaughing. Briar is probably more than a little drunk by this point, but I don’t begrudge her the chance to have fun. It’s been too long since we’ve relaxed at all. There’s always tomorrow for more strategic talks and scheming, I suppose.
That group of nobles who cornered me earlier do the same to Reave as he finishes addressing the gathering, pouncing on him the second he steps down from the platform he’d been speaking from.
I try to tell myself I don’t care; we’ve given a convincing enough performance for the evening, haven’t we? I don’t have to be the center of his attention at all times.
But then I notice Lady Desna throwing a glance my way, her hand smoothing the collar of Reave’s shirt as a chirpy, annoying little laugh bubbles out of her.
Something flares in my chest, something hot and…gods, I don’t know. I don’t want to think too hard about what thatsomethingis.
So I don’t.
I just follow the urge to get to my feet and march myself over to them.
Reave tenses as I place a firm hand on his wrist. The conversation comes to an awkward halt, and for a brief,terrible moment, I think maybe he’s gotten tired of our game—that he’s going to pull away from my touch and reprimand me for stepping out of line. I swear the music has gotten quieter, and dozens of heads have turned to watch us, waiting for my humiliation.
