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“I’d turn you once more. And then I’d back you up, right against that wall behind you, and take you deep in the shadows, so I could….” He coughed.
“What?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“You know. Finish what we started…what I think about doing to you every day, and dream about doing to you every night.”
The song was over. Rhyan’s shoulders tensed, then he dropped my hand. After the last note of the song, he walked away. All at once, the guests seemed to speed up, moving through the room twice as fast as before—or maybe I was moving slowly.
“Lyr! Sorry!” Tristan called to me. The lights had also begun springing back to life, the flames crackling and licking toward the ceiling, each one shining in a different color so that a rainbow was cast across the temple. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Dance of Darkness…doesn’t always work.” I shrugged. Haleika was running, holding the skirts of her dress in her hands, right into Galen’s arms and laughing.
“Why don’t we get a drink?” he said, his gaze narrowed. His brown eyes were scrutinizing me, searching.
“What?” I asked, not hearing the next part of his question.
“Did you dance with someone?”
I pushed my hair over my shoulder. “No. I just…waited here.”
He cocked his head to the side, and sweat beaded at the nape of my neck.
“I think a drink would be good,” I said.
He nodded, extending his arm for me to take before escorting me off the dance floor.
A new song began to play as the bartender poured our drinks. Standing off to the side, Morgana drank another glass of wine, as Meera danced with a noble, looking uncomfortable and attempting to keep her distance.
Arianna, wearing a black mask, twirled past me and ended up in the arms of the Imperator, her expression going from joyful to severe. Someone spun on the dance floor wearing a black mask made of feathers with a peaked nose just like a seraphim—a black seraphim.
The mask vanished along with the dancer. I blinked. Had I really seen that? Or had it been a trick of the light?
There was another turn by the dancers. Another black seraphim flashed. Then another.
I pulled out of Tristan’s arms. The Emperor sat nearby in his Seat of Honor, his consort at his side sipping wine.
He narrowed his whitened eyebrows, frowning. The Blade stood behind him, head turning side to side, watching and observing every move made.
Three more black seraphim masks appeared and vanished.
Something was wrong. I wasn’t imagining these masks. The Emartis were here. Even with the presence of the Council, the Emperor, the Ready…they dared to show themselves.
I sucked in a breath.
“Are you all right?” Tristan asked.
“I think I got a little dizzy,” I said, scanning the room, trying to find the Ready. He was in the center of the dance floor, stoic and watching, looking everything like the God of Death. In every corner and in every shadow stood a soturion of Ka Batavia wearing freshly pressed green cloaks and golden armor sharpened into golden feathers at their shoulders.
But I couldn’t stop this nagging feeling. Something was wrong. Something was happening.
A shadow loomed behind me. “About that dance you requested,” the Imperator drawled. His hand was already on my waist. “The Emperor isn’t in the mood.”
“Well, I thank him for the consideration,” I said carefully, trying to shift my body out of his reach. His fingers pressed into my skin, as I tightened my grip on Tristan’s hand. “But I am otherwise with an escort.”
“An Emperor’s duty never ends. But he did not want you to be disappointed.”
“I wish not to disappoint his majesty either,” I said.
Tristan had gone still beside me, his eyes zeroing in on the Imperator’s hand on me.
