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Daein doesn’t flinch at my tight, piercing grip.
Elden hisses, “When will you have your fill of her and be done?”
I lean into Daein, resting my forehead on the underside of his shoulder blade.
“I want to leave,” I murmur against him, quiet enough that no one else but him and Elden can hear me.
“Smart,” Elden comments harshly. “But to outrun a dokkalf, one must be wise enough to avoid us altogether.”
My face pales against Daein’s back.
Ignoring me, the prince faces his brother. “When does one tire of their evate?”
Elden is struck silent.
I peer out from behind Daein’s shoulder.
Elden stares at me with wide eyes, disbelief clawing its way up his slackening face. “Impossible,” he whispers, then looks to his brother as though he’ll find the answers he seeks in him. “No human has ever been the evate of a dokkalf prince.”
Aloof, Daein shrugs in answer.
“Excuse us,” he says, flippant.
Securing his hand around mine, he steers me around Elden who just stands there, stunned. I frown at him before I follow Daein to the curtains that hide the Court.
A slave parts the drapes for us as we advance. And when we enter, my attention is so focused on the smirk on Daein’s face that I don’t really see all that’s bustling around me—the dances in the centre of the room, the skirts swishing over the black marble floor, the lights flickering above as they do outside, even the thrones on the podium ahead. I see nothing but his all-knowing, suspicious profile.
“What does that word mean?” I insist, squeezing his hand.
He hushes me with a quiet shhh. Without looking back at me, he says, “Take heed of the advice I offered you earlier.”
Fleetingly, I think of all the rules he bombarded me with.
My mouth twists. “That was advice?”
His smirk returns for a heartbeat before it drifts away.
The prince takes me up to the podium, where some other royals are scattered around. He doesn’t introduce me to any of them, but their gazes are well fixed on me, and his hand doesn’t stray from mine.
He makes my presence known, my position announced. But he holds true to my slavery by making no introductions, and I have to admit, that twists my chest with a spike of pain.
What did I expect, though? That he would shout my name from the tallest tower and present me to the king and queen on the highest thrones, the two sets of eyes that follow me wherever I go.
No, it’s best that he keeps me in the shadows as much as he points to me. At least I can keep my head down this way.
Don’t make friends, don’t make enemies.
Just stick to his side and make it through the party in one piece. I already have Elden to worry about.
Elden watches us from his inky throne, hands gripping the armrests tightly. His gleaming eyes shadow me as the prince takes my hand and guides me to the dances.
Drawing me against him, he leads a slow and steady dance. A dance that attracts the attention of all around us.
I bow my head, resting my forehead against his collarbone, just to avoid the looks that linger over us.
“You love stories,” he says as we slip into our third dance. He moves slowly still, as though he knows all too well that I can’t dance and if he tried to pick up the pace, I would spill all over the floor.
I nod against his collarbone. “I do.”
