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Two days later,I’m in a hansom cab in the city of Lumenas—Star Court’s most popular destination for entertainment—heading for the Galaxy Theater. The evening streets sparkle with spotlights and glowing marquees, the sidewalks crowded with tourists and street performers. I notice most of the former are human while the latter are more commonly fae. But as much as I try to focus on the dazzling sights the city offers, my mind continues to drift.
I fidget with one of the lace rosettes embellishing my skirt in an attempt to channel the frenetic energy coursing through me. The only correspondence I’ve received from Dante since he canceled our last date was a short letter that assured me he’d meet me inside the theater’s atrium. Still, part of me worries he won’t show.
My cab slows as it rounds the corner of the next street, one far less boisterous than the last. Here, street performers and awed tourists give way to subdued aristocrats in evening finery. This part of town caters to the upper class. Instead of raucous music halls, clubs, and daring fae performances, this street hosts opera houses and elegant theaters. My cab pulls to a stop behind a long row of other coaches. Up ahead I see a brightly lit marquee that readsAcross the Glittering Plains Starring Holly Abercrombie. On each side of the marquee stand brass stanchions draped with velvet ropes to segment the dozens upon dozens of reporters and photographers from the guests who exit their coaches to attend the play.
Across the Glittering Plainsis said to be an epic tale of romance and betrayal, and is insanely popular in Bretton. It’s making its debut in Faerwyvae tonight at this very theater and even stars the same leading actress that brought the play to fame in Bretton. Needless to say, this is a major event, and with the play’s popularity amongst humans, it will be brimming with my ideal clientele. More importantly, it’s been deemed worthy of a red-carpet premiere, replete with a walk down the aisle for the most elite guests in attendance, and will be captured by press from all over Faerwyvae.
I just so happen to have snagged a place for myself and my fiancé on that coveted red carpet—a golden opportunity to show off my work in a way that will garner attention far and wide. But if Dante isn’t here…
Panic crawls up my throat, but I do my best to swallow it down. He said he’d meet me in the atrium, which means he’s already inside. Or will be soon. Either way, I can do this without him. Some may speculate on why we’ve arrived separately, but I’m hoping my gown—and the other famous guests—will overshadow any such rumors that may arise.
I angle myself closer to my cab window and watch as a couple emerges from the coach parked before the theater entrance. Nausea turns in my stomach as I recognize the familiar profile of Maureen Vance. Of course she had to be here tonight. At least enough coaches stand between hers and mine that I don’t have to worry about encountering her or her lecherous husband. Red carpet walks are slow processions. Tonight’s walk will start with each guest’s exit from their vehicle, followed by a stroll down the stairs from the lobby to the atrium, then ending with a round of questions from reporters before we move on to find our seats in the auditorium.
I narrow my eyes as Mrs. Vance starts off down the red carpet, pausing to wave as flash bulbs go off. She’s the same age as Mr. Vance—about ten years older than I am—but carries herself with a far more regal bearing than her libertine husband. I hate to admit she looks fetching in her black satin gown and mink stole. Her gray-brown hair has been curled and pinned in a low twist, showing off enormous pearl earrings. I see no sign of Mr. Vance, so at least I’m not the only attached woman who arrived alone. Besides, it’s expected for couples to walk separately down the aisle during the grand entrance, as it’s meant to display one’s ensemble in full detail. The interviews in the atrium, however, are often held with couples—should they attend with an escort—and I’d rather not address any questions regarding my lack of fiancé.
Which means Dante damn well better be inside.
With each coach that pulls away from the entrance, shortening the time until it’s my turn, it grows harder to steady my breathing. This won’t be my first time walking a red carpet, but my previous experiences were for fae events, which are often more whimsical and chaotic than what I see presented beneath the theater’s marquee now. And this is certainly the first that feels like it carries such high stakes. My reputation. My career. My future.
The coach-and-four in front of my cab pulls up to the red carpet, deposits its well-dressed cargo, and exits the queue far faster than I’m ready for. My hansom takes its predecessor’s place, making my heart slam against my ribs. I almost expect a steady hand to fall on my shoulder or a whispered voice telling me I’ll do fine, but then I remember Dante isn’t here to settle me with his cool confidence.
It’s just me.
Alone.
For decades, I’ve liked being alone. And while I still value my independence and personal renown, something has changed. There’s a hollow pit inside my chest, growing wider by the day. A pit that once was filled with rage and hatred, then was masked with apathy before I sealed it off and buried it to die with my past. The pit has somehow been revived and is now eager for the sustenance that brought it back to life.
But what is that sustenance? What nourishment do I crave? I don’t dare try to answer.
Closing my eyes, I steel myself against such soft and aimless musings.
The previous guests have now entered the theater doors, which means it’s my turn to make my grand entrance. A human usher dressed in a red and black suit steps toward my cab and opens my door. With a steadying breath, I gracefully slide from my seat and take his hand. As soon as my heeled shoes meet the plush red velvet lining the ground before me, flash bulbs begin to pop. Keeping my steps slow and swaying, I saunter down the aisle, pausing to pose every few feet, angling my body this way and that to give the photographers several angles to admire my dress. My bustled train trails behind me while every inch of the dragon silk lace that adorns my bodice and skirt ripples with fluttering movement, as delicate as the wings of a butterfly. A gasp comes from a nearby reporter, followed by awed mutterings containing the wordsstunning,gorgeous, andphenomenal.
A bright feeling loosens inside me, and my confidence flares with it. My next steps down the carpet feel easier, my hips swaying, my chest lifting. The latter helps draw attention to the latest addition I made—a lower neckline, plus a keyhole cutout in the fabric at the center of my bust, revealing a glimpse at the inner curves of my breasts. It’s a bit daring for a dress meant to attract human favor, considering their propensity for more modest designs, but as another reporter exclaimssexyandprovocativein the most admiring of tones, I think I added just enough sensual allure after all.
By the time I reach the theater doors, I’m exhilarated, burning with a sense of pride and confidence I haven’t felt since I was younger. The ushers inside the lobby direct me toward the stairs that lead down to the theater’s atrium. More photographers line the steps, catching shots of the woman currently walking down them. At the base of the stairs, dozens of patrons gather, loitering about in the most graceful of ways—chatting, making introductions, or merely standing around looking fashionable. Beyond them, the queue for the interview begins.
The woman in front of me reaches the bottom of the steps and heads for the back of the queue. I’m about to take my first step down the crimson carpeted stairs when something catches my eye. Something—orsomeone, I should say—I was too distracted to notice before.
But I notice now, for there at the bottom of the steps, staring up at me with a dimpled smile, is Dante.
16
For a moment, Dante seems entranced. Or perhaps I’m the one who’s captivated. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the spy looking so dashing, so incredibly handsome, as he does now. His black suit fits his body like a glove, showing off his tall, lean frame, the wide cut of his shoulders. His golden hair is swept back from his face, drawing attention to his glittering blue eyes and sharp jawline. Like always, he carries his cane, but his poise makes it seem more like a scepter. If I didn’t know Dante was a spy or that his cane doubled as a lethal weapon, I would think he was the most regal man alive.
Has he always been this beautiful? Or am I simply wrapped up in the elegance around me?
An usher gestures to remind me it’s my turn to descend the stairs. I give him a gracious nod, then slowly make my way past the photographers, stopping to pose and smile for the cameras. Halfway down the steps, I catch Dante’s eyes again. I’m so caught off guard by his expression that I nearly lose my footing. His mouth hangs on its hinge as his gaze sweeps over every inch of me. When our eyes lock, his still-parted lips curl into an even wider smile, and he brings a hand to his heart as if he’s been overcome with emotion.
I know it’s probably an act—no, itisan act—but I can’t help relishing his response just the same. In this moment, I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Warmth courses through me, so pleasant and euphoric, I feel like I’m glowing with it. I hold Dante’s gaze as I take the remaining steps, basking in the heat of his admiring stare.
As soon as my feet touch the floor, he makes a beeline for me. My heart races as we meet each other in a familiar yet formal embrace—his hand at my lower back, my palms propped on his shoulders—the way a madly-in-love engaged couple would be expected to meet. We didn’t plan to embrace like this for the public eye, but it feels natural. Better than natural. Based on the flash bulbs that shine our way, the press is enjoying it as much as I am.
Dante’s mouth brushes my cheek in a chaste kiss before I have the good sense to comprehend it’s the first time his lips have touched anything but the back of my gloved hand. Just when I expect him to pull away, I feel him linger.
“Gods, you look amazing.” The slight growl infused in his tone has heat burning low in my belly.
He releases me, leaving me flustered at the sudden space between us. Then I feel the warmth of his hand lingering at my lower back, a touch that is both steadying and exciting at once.
