Page 112 of Black Sea

My heart leaped.

A shocked buzz arose in the hall.

Even though I had my back to our table, Father’s gaze was so furious it pierced me like a million blades.

Dei Musa was a dance used by witches during their mating rituals. I had seen it just once, when a queen from previous centuries had invited us to witness her union with her husband. It had been so unsettling that Araton had teased me for weeks afterward. Since that experience, whenever a new sovereign had invited us to her wedding, I had always let my family go without me.

And now Amlach wanted to perform Dei Musa with me.

Here, before my subjects. My family.

And I had no intention of refusing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the musicians’ attention was fixed on the King of the Elves, awaiting his approval to proceed.

Seconds passed, perhaps stretching into minutes. Maybe into ages. I wasn’t sure. My universe had narrowed to the man standing before me. So irresistible, so forbidden, so dark.

Amlach suddenly looked away from me, and from his small nod, I realized he had just thanked my father for his approval.

The lead singer began to emit a deep vocalization in a fluctuating key, echoing throughout the hall with such force that the sound bounced between the columns, causing the water to vibrate.

I took a deep breath, shivering with excitement for what we were about to do.

Amlach glanced at the goosebumps on my arms, then focused on my chest, which was rising and falling faster and faster. His greedy eyes snapped back to mine, and he bowed. “I hope you know you’re playing with fire.”

Yes, and I had no fear.

“Then burn me,” I countered, heedless of others hearing me, making a curtsy brimming with malice.

Amlach’s mouth lifted to one side. “I’ve been doing that since we met, Elf.”

He moved closer, aiming to grab me, but I dodged him with a pirouette just as the musicians started tapping their percussion and the singer began singing the verse in the ancient, passionate language of witches.

Amlach bowed his head with an amused half-laugh. I provocatively circled him, keeping myself at arm’s distance. His vulturine eyes followed me, inciting me to seduce him with more sinuous movements I didn’t think I could do. I clapped my hands in rhythm with the drums, signaling the moment he would make his move.

And when the other two singers joined in a cathartic choir in a much higher key, Amlach quickly wrapped his arm around my waist and caught my right hand in his left, pulling me into a couple dance that was completely different from the ones I knew, where partners barely touched each other’s fingers.

I held onto his shoulder with my free hand and let him lead me across the dance floor, my legs intertwining with his in swift, complicated steps I didn’t know. Yet, somehow, I managed to follow them.

I followed him.

Araton was right. Amlach had become the center of my world, and I no longer wanted to hide that.

That’s why I let a radiant smile brighten my face, laughing with my heart as he, returning my smile, guided me in a twirl that made my skirt bloom open like a flower bud.

The audience gasped at that visual effect and then applauded.

But in the next moment, happiness vanished from my gaze and Amlach’s, as the silence of the singers and the entrance of the flute marked the start of the second part of the piece.

More tribal. More haunting.

I pushed Amlach back from me, and the carnality I saw in his eyes took my breath away. We stayed very close, circling each other like two wild beasts prepared to pounce.

And when I reached out to touch his cheek, he caught my wrist and grabbed my throat with his free hand.

Violently. Possessively.

In time to the music, he made me recoil to the edge of the platform. His fingers gripped me as if he really wanted to strangle me, his irises burning like embers, and the slight bend in his smile was nearly wicked.