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To be fair, neither was I. Not even when the Canciller brought it up. But it was impossible to come up against a sanction from the Marriage Council.
I walked over, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.
“Buenos días,” I intoned.
Everyone but Isaac said it back. It was fine. I saw a few people with their plates piled high and smirked. Flamenco was rigorous, and they were going to feel sick in no time if they finished all of that.
Like me, they should’ve eaten earlier.
“I hate dancing. It’s the worst part of all of this,” Isabela said.
Liliana laughed. “I enjoy dancing, but I’m sure they’ll put me in the back. They told me that all the solo parts had already been picked based on the most popular candidates.”
She glared at me.
“Rena,” Isaac said lazily. “You are a practiced dancer, aren’t you?”
I looked up at him. He was smiling, but his eyes were hard. Ally. Our marriage wasn’t fully approved yet.
“I do enjoy Flamenco.” I surveyed the spread of food before us, trying to change the subject.
Isaac stepped closer. “It’s so curious. Where did you learn to dance while living abroad?”
Isabela stepped in. “I’m sure that she would’ve learned before going to Eskosia or wherever the hell she went. She was still born in the Quinta Isla, unlike some of you.” She scowled at Santiago.
I huffed a laugh. “I’ve loved to dance ever since I was young.”
Isabela looked at me. “Did you meet a Fae lord when you were abroad? I never see them here, xenophobia and all that, but I have heard they are tall.” She practically shivered when saying the word.
I paused, glancing at Isaac. “Uh, Élite men are tall.”
She shook her head. “I’m talking seven feet. I would climb him like a tree.”
Liliana choked on her food, and I looked up at Isabela. She had been so polished up to this point.
“Where did you come from?” I asked.
She shrugged. “The tournament starts in two days. I’ve played the part I needed to play. Now I can relax.”
I smiled at that and turned back to the table. My experience with Élites had shown me that the formality most of them outwardly exhibited was also present on the inside of their souls.
It was nice to meet someone who wasn’t like that. I cast a sidelong glance at Isaac, sure that he had brought up the dancing for some reason. Was he reminding me of the secrets he held?
How could I forget when they were written across my skin with the ghost of his mother’s blood? I was scarred and broken. He didn’t need to remind me of that.
Someone stepped and the clack of flamenco shoes made me pause. For a second, I was back in Maestra Cecelia’s Theater, surrounded by other dancers. I blinked, and the moment passed while I settled on a small glass of water and a seasonal orange.
My winter orange—just for the winter solstice. It was small, so unlike the fat juicy ones grown in Hacienda Rosa de Oro.
"Buenos días, señores y señoritas,” a warm, very masculine voice called.
I frowned and turned around to see a tall Artista wearing dancing clothes. Some part of me wilted, and I realized I had been expecting Cecelia. It felt like years since I’d seen her, and I wanted her to return to my life. I wanted to see Magda every day, craved the hole inside of me to be filled with family.
If I could’ve, I would’ve returned.
“Soy Lucas. I work with the Canciller’s personal staff, and it’s an honor to help prepare you all for tomorrow.” His back was straight, and he held his muscular arms at an angle, as if showcasing his carefully maintained form.
No one said anything to him, and I winced at the air of separation and superiority. He was still a person.
