Lady Desna giggles, covering her mouth with a dainty hand as she whispers, “Could you imagine coming fromdirtinto a place like Lucindris?”
Briar starts to step forward, but I place a hand on her arm, stopping her.
“I'm from a place called Hell, actually,” I tell Lady Desna, while casually examining the ring Reave gave me. “A place much lower than dirt. So I can understand how vexing it must be for you to see me ascending so far above you now.” I lift my gaze and give a sympathetic shake of my head. “If only you were moreinterestingyourself, hm? Then maybe you could have had a chance to bait and snare a king for yourself. Such a pity.”
Her saccharine smile stays in place, though she looks momentarily stunned, as though she isn't used to people responding with any sort of bite to her bullying. She opens her mouth to reply, but Briar interrupts.
“Unless you'd like me to carve some interesting things into your ugly face, I suggest you all keep moving.”
“How positively barbaric,” Lady Desna says, still smiling even as she lets out an indignant huff.
She exchanges a purposeful look with her entourage. They seem to reach a collective, wordless agreement and quickly flounce away, leaving Briar and me with only two of the group—two men who introduced themselves as Lord Hest and Lord Ferris, if I recall correctly.
“Don't listen to them,” Lord Hest says, shoving his handsinto his pockets and giving me a good-natured grin. “I think it's fascinating that you come from the Ashlands.”
“Agreed,” says Lord Ferris.
“Fascinating.” Briar snorts. “Like an exotic animal in a cage is fascinating?”
Lord Hest's smile wilts a bit. “Well, erm, no, not exactly, but…”
“But that's more or less what you meant,” she finishes, tilting her head at him with a vicious smile.
Before he can reply, someone clears their throat behind me. Something like fear flashes in Lord Hest's eyes as a hand comes to rest on my lower back. A familiar scent washes over me, along with the subtle tingle of power that often precedes Reave.
“Gentlemen,” he says in a cool, dismissive tone.
They both give hasty bows before hurrying away.
Briar continues to seethe as she watches them go. “Just out of curiosity,” she says, glancing at Reave, “if I were to slap a high-ranking visitor on behalf of our Lady Arowyn, would I be granted immunity?”
“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you ask that question,” he says, pulling his hand away from me and adjusting the cuffs of his coat, “and I'll be conveniently looking the other way should you choose to do anything of the sort.”
A corner of Briar's mouth curves slightly before she dismisses herself and heads off in search of something stronger to drink.
“I hope you know she's entirely serious about slapping people,” I tell Reave. “And you'll be lucky if she stops at a slap. You should be careful about encouraging her.”
“I've dealt with worse scandals.” His hand settles againstme once more, this time around my side, his eyes tracking the two men he chased away.
“You're being awfully possessive for a man who's only pretending,” I comment.
“I'm merely trying to make our act believable.” His fingers tap thoughtfully against me. “I have a reputation, after all; it's no secret that the Mouren King protects what's his.”
A little thrill winds through me at the way he sayshis.
I can't help it.
I try to guard against the heat spreading out from his touch, but it's impossible. I couldn't stop it earlier, and the haze brought on by alcohol and exhausted nerves has done nothing to dull the effect.
The musicians strike up a cheerful waltz, luring several dozen couples onto the dance floor. Eager to move toward something with more expected, predictable steps, I ask, “Does the Mouren King dance?”
Reave cants his head. “He does. For the sake of keeping up appearances.”
I hold out my hand. “Then let's continue our ruse, shall we?”
We take to the center of the pavilion's polished floor, parting the crowd as we go. I don't pay much attention to anyone watching us. I can't. My good eye has to remain focused on the king in order to stay in sync with him, to not lose my footing. It's one reason I don't care much for crowds; it's hard to orient myself within them when I can hear and sense—but not see—all of the bodies pressing and shifting around me.
But as long as the king is holding on to me, people keep a wide, respectful distance, which makes it easier to remain steady.
