Page 66 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Even though she shouldn’t, she liked that while Roremar also wanted to protect her, he trusted her to watch over Lola. He thought of her as a partner. Their time working together on Lyra had forged them into a team.

The music deepened, long slow notes dragging over her skin. For a moment, she stood there, looking out the window at the stars high above, flicking in their rearranged constellations and spelling out tales she’d never dreamed of. In his cage, she knew Roremar did the same, talking to the stars from behind silver gilt bars.

And she wondered if that’s all their own story was ever meant to be. If they were not the fated fairytale in this ballroom but the cursed. If she was always to be a pawn for her power while he was scorned for his.

The consideration splintered through her, ripping at her scars one by one.

She whispered, “I should get back.”

Before she could walk away, Roremar asked so softly, he could have been talking to the stars, “Why won’t you look at me?”

And finally, she cracked. Barely turning her head, Emmeline flicked a glance out the corner of her eye. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she met his silver stare, as passion and longing bled from it.

And she whispered, “Because we’re only ruin.”

Setting her glass on the window ledge, she turned and wove between the tables back toward the dance floor.

She was only feet away when Roremar called after her, “I won’t rest, Huntress. I meant it.”

Because now I won’t rest until I get you back.

She stiffened as the memory of kissing him crashed over her, and the pull that forever lived in her chest dug its hook in and tried to drag her back. To sate the need the stars had woven within her.

But she didn’t give in, didn’t turn around. Didn’t stop until her toes met the edge of the dance floor, prepared to stumble back into her nightmare.

“Collect yourself,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

Emmeline jumped, more easily shaken than usual. “Perry,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”

“You’re lucky they were playing such a raucous song when you snuck away.”

“I needed a drink.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “No one important noticed where you went, but they would have soon.”

Emmeline maintained her disinterested tone. “What do you mean?”

“Be smarter, Emmeline.”

“He isn’t dangerous,” she said, indignant.

“Truthfully, I don’t care if he is.”

The music paused, couples swapping on and off the floor, men turning toward her. As the wolves descended, she briefly wondered which she’d overheard with Rocarri today. Which had suggested Roremar’s cage? She hadn’t placed a voice, but she’d been far enough away and under enough duress that she wasn’t positive she’d recognize it. While she knew she should speak with more of them, that strangled, trapped feeling returned.

Emmeline needed to move, needed to make her own choice.

She faced Perry, assuming her most charming smile—a tainted lie. “Dance with me.”

He matched her grin, holding out a hand with a meddlesome glint in his eye.

She didn’t look back at Roremar as she placed her hand in Perry’s. Her guard was up, but the favored competitor led her onto the dance floor, and as the slow ballad picked up, he spun her gracefully between the other couples.

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t care if he’s dangerous?” Emmeline asked, voice low as Perry’s hand rested at a respectful height on her back.

He laughed. “I know what you truly want from this competition. It’s not one of us fools spinning you around a dance floor and murdering one another for your hand.”

Emmeline’s skin prickled at being so exposed, but she gave him a skeptical look. “You care what I want?”