Page 44 of A Dance of Lies

“Answers? Of course I want them. Can you blame me? But I have other reasons as well.”

“Such as . . . ?” I let my fingers slide along the tube. It’s cool against my touch, sending shivers along my arms.

“You aren’t from my court. I’d certainly know about you if you were.” A shrug. “Thought you might enjoy a taste of the East.”

“And this gown?” It must be expensive. Why bother?

“Carefully selected and paid for, just like you.”

I lift my gaze.

He believes someone is paying me off. He had hinted as much after my dance.

He might as well be right.

His eyes are dark in the low light, shadowed, and here he looks so much like Illian that it unsettles me. It’s in the arch of his brows,that all-seeing gaze, the way it feels as if he’s raking hands over me, twisting and turning me without the barest touch. I don’t dare let my gaze flick to my glass, there on the ledge.

But I can’t appear as if I’m hiding something, so I unknot the lump in my throat and unclench my sweat-slicked fist. He misses nothing, eyes dipping to my hands.

I swipe them against my skirt, idly reaching for my glass. “Would anything convince you that I merely wished to impress you when I pulled you into that dance?”

He smiles, and any hint of Illian vanishes. “If I thought you’d tell me the truth, I would ask.”

“Then we are at an impasse, Your Majesty.”

“It was confirmation I sought, Miss Moran. My brother has been seeking an invitation to one of my receptions for some time now; souls, he’s attempted with several others. Pretty cooks, half-dressed noblewomen, the like. But you . . . you are exceptional. I had a difficult time denying you.”

His words splay between us, a truth I hadn’t anticipated. My pulse careens—a bird taking flight.

He seems to notice that, too, and releases a soft laugh. “Easy, now. I have no proof that you are under his thumb, merely suspicion. But before you throw in your stake, Miss Moran, think carefully. Get to know your opponents. You may find you like them better than you do your allies.” He sweeps his chin in the direction of the party. “Stay a while. Drink my wine. Get to know my friends. Think about them the next time you are asked to infiltrate my court.”

Gustav’s image unfurls in my mind. I understand King Anton’s tactic now. He thinks he can appeal to me. Thinks that if I see the faces of those I could harm, I might not move against him. That I might reconsider.

He doesn’t know how much it’s working. The glass in my hand becomes heavy, weighted, as if the poison has turned to lead. I don’t want any of this.

I hope he doesn’t notice the way I haven’t taken a sip.

I shake my head, regaining a bit of sense. Whatever he shows me, it’s curated. Carefully selected. But I know the rumors, the whispers about his Glory Court and those he’s lured inside. The fact that he’s probably slept with and then discarded more women than I’ve met in my entire life. Does he really think I’ll believe him to be some bastion of goodwill after the convivial show he put on tonight with the Razami court? I admit he’s intelligent, that he’s contributed to Miridran in his own deluded way, but I am no fool.

He says, “Speak freely, I bid you. I am not the type to take offense. Whatever it is you’re refraining from saying, let it out.”

He wants honesty? So be it. “You paint a pretty picture, Your Majesty—”

“Anton is fine.”

“—but I’ve heard otherwise,” I say.

“And you believe everything you hear?”

“Rumors are like threads. They unspool from a skein of truth, do they not?”

“Then let us get to the truth, shall we? The skein is here before you.”

Perhaps it’s because I feel cornered like a mouse, with little way out—but if I can turn this back on him, I will.

“The Glory Court,” I say, dropping the accusation before him.

“Do you think I need to hire someone to sleep with me?” He gestures at his perfect face. My fingers yearn to smack his smirk right off, but it only grows when he sees my expression. “What have you heard, exactly?”