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“Beeta,” she returned.
“Why do the men wait for the king to leave before trying to touch his heir?”
Beeta snorted. “Because misplace a hair on lovely Livia’s head, and her father will have yours. The man would go to war if she asked it of him. The king adores her.”
Gods, how I hoped that was true. My next steps would depend on it. If I could not go to the king, I’d make him come to me.
Down the road, her laughter rolled through me again, like falling without knowing how it would end at the bottom. From here I could still make out the profile of her face, the slope of her nose, the sly way she bit that full lip.
A step away from Beeta, I gripped Larsson behind the throat. “How well do you dance, Larsson?”
His sneer showed the glisten of his white teeth. “As well as you need, My King.”
“Then take the coin I gave you and see to it we are suitable for a royal ball.”
I stepped out into the road once more, watching her. Studying her.
She was never theirs anyway. Not really. From the moment the songbird tried to appeal to a serpent, she was mine.
CHAPTER7
The Songbird
The great hall was blazing.
The feathers of my fan fought against the muggy air of too many bodies packed in one space. I scratched my damp cheek beneath the black mask over my upper face. A dainty thing made of black and silver lace with raven feathers splayed out over the brow.
“Do not let me drink like last night, Liv. It doesn’t agree with me.” Mira lifted the golden mask and tipped a flute of sweet cherry wine to her painted lips. She winced against the burn.
I chuckled and took the horn from her hands. “You sweet, little thing. Shall I get you some milk instead?”
Lips pinched, fighting a grin, she elbowed me, then faced the ebb and flow of couples in the ballroom. Ladies of the various courts donned vibrant gowns of all colors—midnight blues, silver and gold, moss green trimmed in black, and rich burgundy like the sweetest plums.
Men wore groomed furs on their shoulders, or tunics made of soft linens and wool. They boasted blades of all sizes on their polished belts. Some preferred axes like my father, others a powerful seax, but most came prepared to dance the night away by keeping only simple daggers at the ready.
The festival was rife with sweetness. Pomes dipped in thick sugar sauce. Glazes over honey rolls, cakes stuffed full of sweet berries, or cream, or tart syrups. Pheasants roasted over racks in the cooking rooms down the corridors. Savory hints of rosemary and sea salt perfumed the sweat in the great hall. Sweet wines, sharp liqueurs, or foamy drinks were kept on a constant flow.
Lanterns flickered over the gray stone floor from tallow candles in the silver cages, and a layer of glimmer powders over the floor made the entire hall appear to be made of gold.
Masks shielded faces, some more than others, but I could recognize the faces that mattered most.
Near a banquet table, Aleksi stood with more than one Rave and even more ladies seeking the warmth of a warrior for the night. Sander sat ten paces from us with a drinking horn and more than one written trade agreement from his realms in hand. His mask was askew on his face, and he hardly seemed to realize he was here to have fun.
Jonas, as expected, was nowhere to be found.
“Last I saw of the rake, he had a lady with a goat mask on his arm heading for the gardens,” Mira told me when I pressed. She rolled her eyes and snatched the horn from my hand again.
We wouldn’t see him until the noon sun, no doubt. The bridge of my feet ached from standing in place so long. I’d taken my turn about the dancefloor, desperate to be carefree, desperate to hole away with a man for the night and discover, at last, what it felt like to be a little bold and risky.
The trouble was, for every man who’d asked for their dance, all I wondered was if they were one who’d spoken to my father.
Were they thinking of power, prestige, and nothing of me? Did they even care to know I painted windows across the whole of the castle back home in Night Folk territory?
I doubted any of the men who’d asked me to dance cared my paintings were done so when the dawn light struck, rooms burst in color, and it drew smiles from our staff and my family. Would they mind if I woke screaming from the Mare demons placing cruel images of shadows and serpents in my head? If I chose to let them kiss me, touch me, to have all of me, would they know they were the first?
I shuddered and let out a breath. Too much thinking, not enough doing. I’d promised Alek—and myself—I would forget nerves and nightmares, and I’d live tonight.
A man with curled horns like a ram’s on his mask approached. He bowed at the waist and held out a hand for Mira. “Princess—”
