The gears embedded deep into the polished wood whirl and groan. The vibrations hum through the stone floor and up through my feet.
I’m pretty sure I’m hyperventilating.
Alder takes my hand, and his thumb sweeps over my knuckles.
The tension in my shoulders eases just a little. My pulse doesn’t stop racing, but it shifts, no longer sharp-edged panic, but something else. Something warmer.
I exhale, and the massive doors groan open.
The air inside hits me like a wave—warm, heady, and thick with the mingling scents of spiced wine, salt, and musk. It clings to my skin, sinking into my senses before I even step forward.
Quiet bubbles of laughter and the clinking of glasses mingle with music that pulses like a heartbeat, too slow to dance to but too seductive to resist.
My gaze locks onto the massive machine dominating the center of the grand hall, a monolith of gleaming silver and steel. A steampunk style Trojan horse. It looms silent and imposing, its intricate gears frozen in place. The hiss of steam and the clatter of metal we heard from the devices outside are absent. It’s silent. Dormant. Everything that thrummed with life before—the humming contraptions, the pulsing energy—has been smothered by the castle.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. What has to happen to awaken it? And what happens when it does?
The thoughts linger, floating like steam in my mind, but I tear my eyes away, drawn instead to the tide of movement that flows through the room. Dozens of bodies sway and mingle. Sheer skirts ripple like water, teasing glimpses of sculpted thighs and bare skin as the women move. Shimmering silver corsets wrap around waists, the boning inlaid with glittering blue gemstones that catch the flickering glow of countless candles.
The honey-colored tapers have been lit and replaced so many times their melted wax forms stalagmites throughout the room and thick, frozen waterfalls across the buffet tables lining the walls.
The men are equally decked out, their waistcoats embroidered with threads of silver and midnight blue,their collars open and shirts unbuttoned to reveal chiseled chests and the hint of muscled torsos beneath.
Female attendants glide through the crowd, their naked bodies painted entirely in gleaming silver. Their faces are hidden behind smooth metal masks that reflect the flickering candlelight like living mirrors.
One attendant holds a tray with deep garnet-colored wine. Another displays delicate crystal goblets filled with a golden, fizzy liquid that sends trails of vapor curling into the air. There are flutes of blue cocktails, the rim of each glass dusted with silver sugar that shines like stardust.
Tiny pastries shaped like cresting waves are filled with glistening creams in shades of navy and aqua, their petals dusted with edible glitter. Miniature towers of glazed fruit rise in stacks and are covered with threads of spun sugar as delicate as spider silk.
An attendant walks past, her silver-painted skin gleaming like polished metal. She stops beside a man dressed in an unbuttoned blue waistcoat embroidered with delicate silver chalices. The fabric clings to his broad shoulders, and the cut of his jaw is softened only by the devilish grin curling his lips.
Without a word, she extends the tray toward him. Its surface is covered in tiny orbs, like liquid sunsets trapped in glass. He inclines his head, and she plucks one from the tray with slender, silver-painted fingers. Slowly, she lifts it. His smile widens as he opens his mouth, and she places the orb on his tongue. As it dissolves, his eyelids flutter shut, and he tilts his head back. A low, contented sigh escapes him, and the tension in his shoulders ebbs like the ocean receding with the tide.
Alder steps closer, his voice a soft tickle against myear. “Told you no one’s getting sacrificed. Looks like we’ve been invited to a party.”
I watch as another woman throws her head back, moans spilling from her lips as two men practically devour her with their hands, their mouths, their touch. My stomach twists.
“A party…” I shake my head. “This doesn’t feel like a party. It feels like a trap.”
Alder laces his fingers through mine, anchoring me in place. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tease. Just squeezes, firm and steady.I’ve got you.
His attention drifts to the far corner of the room where a tangle of bodies lounges on a nest of deep blue velvet cushions all pressed against the dormant machine’s cold, gleaming surface.
A woman cranes her neck, exposing the long, elegant column of her throat. The man behind her traces his mouth along her jawline, his hand disappearing beneath the shimmering fabric of her skirt. Another woman sprawled across the cushions sighs as two men press in closer, their mouths teasing against her bare shoulders. Bodies shift, lips meet, hands roam. It’s a tide of movement, a slow, rolling wave of pleasure.
I feel Alder tense beside me, and I’ve known him long enough to know what he’s thinking.
“Oh no,” I mutter, cutting him a look. “Absolutely not.”
“But, Gemma…” He pulls me closer, his lips sliding into a smirk as he licks them, already savoring the idea. “It looks like fun.”
“It looks like way too many balls.”
As if on cue, there’s a sloppy, slapping sound and oneof the women lets out a moan, her head falling back against the shoulder of the man supporting her.
Alder chuckles, dragging his knuckles down my arm, a featherlight touch that makes my breath catch. “Lucky for you, sweetheart, I’m the only one allowed to touch this.”
The words hit like a spark against kindling. My body betrays me, heating instantly, and my stomach tightens at the sheer finality in his tone.
