“Get off me, you giant troll!” She yanked her hand back so hard she nearly stumbled. “Caelith would not be happy seeing you manhandle me like this.”
Deyric stood taller, and the smugness dulled, his easy amusement cooling into something harsher.
“What doesLordCaelith have to do with this?” His voice was quieter now, rougher around the edges.
Emmaline blinked at him, incredulous. He couldn’t be that stupid.
She searched his face, looking for the joke. Was he… was he actually trying to flirt with her?
She belonged to Caelith. It was obvious.
He chuckled at whatever he saw in her face, slow and thoughtful, running his fingers along the stubbled edge of his jaw, thumb resting against his chin. Then he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Lord Caelith couldn’t care less what I do with you, little killer. He doesn’t even know your name.”
“That’s not true.” Emmaline’s fists clenched, small sparks of light crackling at her fingertips as her temper flared. “He’s just… just afraid of angering Lady Isolde.”
Deyric snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was warding off a headache. “Why?” He let the word hang, but before she could answer, he dropped his hand and shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You’re delusional. Why not? Life’s been so easy, so far. Why not this?”
“De… de… delusional?” Her voice pitched high with rage. Both hands shot up, light surging from her palms in a burst of raw energy so bright it flooded the dim hallway.
“Ahh, fuck!” Deyric staggered back, one arm snapping up to shield his eyes, his other hand gripping the wall for balance.
“I’ll show you delusional.” She spun on her heel.
“Emmaline!” His voicechased after her.
“Just leave me alone, Deyric!” she snapped over her shoulder, though the sound of his name on her tongue sent a strange, unwelcome tremor through her.
But she didn’t stop.
She flew through the corridors, ignoring the startled looks of passing servants, her feet barely skimming the stone floors. The moment she reached her study, she shoved the door open, slipped inside, and slammed it shut behind her, pressing her back against the wood as she caught her breath.
Pressing a hand to her chest, she willed her heartbeat to slow, but it was no use. Deyric’s voice still echoed in her head. His touch still burned on her skin.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself, straightening.In two weeks, it’ll all be over. One way or the other Caelith would be hers.
Her hand hovered over her wrist, where Deyric’s lips had barely grazed.
This was nothing. She slammed the offending limb back into the wall. He was nothing. And yet, as she stared at the closed door, it wasn’t Caelith’s touch she could still feel.
Chapter six
“Rotandruin,Fergus!I sent the gold two weeks ago as requested. If you don’t show up with the twenty ice sculptures Lady Isolde ordered, I will personally come down there and yank your intestines out through your nose!” Emmaline barked into the speak-easy.
Ursula always came up with the best threats. Emmaline had never quite had the nerve to use one in earnest before, but gods, it rolled off her tongue beautifully.
“You can’t possibly—” The apprentice for the Vale’s most prominent ice artist balked on the other end of the line.
“Oh, but I can.” Emmaline leaned forward, her free hand tapping against the desk. “Just get it done, Fergus. We have a contract. I don’t care if Lady Dandelion offered you her daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange for my sculptures—you will honor your contract with House Greymane.” Her voice dropped lower. “My contracts are binding, Fergus. That’s one of the many reasons why Lord Greymane hired me, as you well know.”
Silence.
Then a weary sigh. “Lord Icefall will not be happy, Emmaline.” Fergus’s voice was tight with stress. “Lady Isolde insulted one of hismistresses at some high tea event over the weekend. He’s looking to return the favor.”
Emmaline rubbed her temples, willing away the headache forming behind her eyes.That woman. Always making things harder than they needed to be.
Monday was nearly over, and she hadn’t even seen Caelith yet, let alone spoken to him. First, Lord Greymane had demanded a detailed accounting of the ball’s expected expenses. Then, one vendor after another had miraculously found an excuse to cancel on her.
She’d spent the entire day dragging them back from the brink—threatening, cajoling, sweet-talking, and in some cases, outright bribing. She couldn’t afford to let anything derail the ball. If things fell apart, she wouldn’t just lose her job, she’d lose access to Caelith. And that wasn’t an option.
