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“Well, all the better, because now you can have my daughter all to yourself! You’ve met Ahehu, haven’t you?” he asks, thrusting a girl who I would only imagine is Ahehu forward. The poor thing stumbles, ire flashing in her father’s eyes as she manages to right herself and then drop into a deep curtsy that I’m sure has her toothpick legs trembling from the effort.
“I don’t know that I’ve had the pleasure,” I say smoothly in an effort to rescue the girl from herself. She rights herself with some effort, and it’s only when she looks at me that I realize she can’t be much older than fifteen. It’s an effort not to recoil in disgust, and even more of an effort not to whirl on her slimy father.
What kind of a man would try to marry off his daughter when she’s still a child?
I bite down on the rage that swells behind my chest and do my best to offer Ahehu a gracious smile. She offers me a wobbly smile back, and all I can think is that I’d rather the ground swallow me whole than try to romance the literal child before me.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business with the Prince,” I finally say, trying to make as graceful an exit as possible without chancing Rostra turning his rage on his daughter. The male opens his mouth as if to object, but I’m already turning away, bent on making my hasty exit.
I get little more than a few steps away before an older woman is stepping into my path, her hair pulled back so tightly that her lined skin is stretched, the powder coating her face settling into the lines around her overly-colored lips.
“Denve Thuvrol, what a delight!” she simpers in a voice that nearly makes me wince away. I know that I’ve seen her before and certainly heard that ear-piercingly shrill voice, but I can’t for the life of me remember the woman’s name.
“Ah, yes –”
“My dear daughter has just been dying to meet you!” she cries over me, shoving another young woman in front of me. This one, unlike Ahehu, is age-appropriate and practically vibrating with excitement. She’s batting her eyelashes at me so feverishly it’s a wonder she hasn’t taken off.
“What with our families being so terribly close, I cannot imagine a better match for you, my lord! Plus, she does carry her mother’s beauty, does she not?” The woman blathers on, screeching a laugh. I don’t imagine our families are nearly as close as she’s claiming, considering I haven’t the vaguest idea who she is, but correcting her would likely go poorly.
I fall into a stilted, politely vapid conversation with the woman’s daughter, whom she introduces as Pucnapi, while the woman circles us like a rabid batlaz. My eyes stray from the young woman in front of me more often than is probably polite, scanning the room for any available distraction or exit.
All I manage to find are more sets of hopeful women and families, lingering nearby and ready to swoop in the moment I step away. My jaw twitches in irritation at the sight.
This is not how tonight is supposed to go.
For what must be the hundredth time, my gaze falls on the entrance to the ballroom as I begin wistfully imagining fleeing this torturous evening and returning home with a bottle of zhisk to lick my wounds. Rather than finding the cavernous doors empty, however, my eyes settle on something that makes my heartbeat ratchet up inside my chest.
A woman – ahumanwoman. Alone.
A deep, blood-red dress clings to her smooth curves, pooling at her feet as if it were truly made of blood. Glossy black hair cascades around her shoulders, her golden eyes smoked with kohl and sharp and glittering as they drink in the crowd.
No one accompanies her or lingers beside her, only heightening my immediate curiosity. Taking human mates has become something of a fashion within the cities. Surely a woman as beautiful as her must be claimed, but I see no male hovering around her to enforce his claim.
She’s drawn plenty more attention than just mine as heads begin to turn in her direction, and yet somehow, inexplicably, it’s my gaze that she meets from across the room. A coy smile plays at her full, bow-shaped lips as she seems to take my measure, and then, just like that, she disappears into the throng of the crowd.
“Lord Thuvrol?”
My attention drops back down to the poor young woman in front of me, snapping me out of my daze. I have no idea how long I was ignoring her, but her impetuous displeasure is written all over her features.
“Forgive me, I… excuse me.”
Any reasonable excuse dies on my tongue, my mind still stuck on the woman who’s just entered the ballroom as I turn my back on Pucnapi and push past the other hopeful families in pursuit of the woman.
I thought tonight was destined to be dreadfully dull, but now, I can’t help but think things are about to get much, much more exciting.
9
SALINA
It’s been far too long since I’ve gotten to go to a real party.
Distant music and conversation mingle together as they seep out into the cool night air from the yawning palace doors. I lift my chin, striding up the stairs of the palace and daring one of the few lingering zagfer to stop me.
Had there been miou stationed, I might’ve thought twice about coming in the front door, but thankfully the ego of dark elves, especially a dark elf King, knows no bounds. One of the first lessons I learned in Nakam is that confidence will get you anywhere, especially if it’s combined with the right kind of pandering and the right kind of bias.
Tonight, I’m nailing all of my lessons, and a part of me wishes Sythar or Callista could see me now. In addition to the confidence I’m wearing like a shield of armor, I look every bit the part of the sexed-up, trendy human mate.
The list my contact supplied me with upon my arrival was thorough beyond my expectations, and the discreet and extremely talented tailor he included was my saving grace when I made plans to attend this ball.
