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Evidently, she wasn’t.
“Citizen Winters. My apologies, I—”
Gideon’s incisive gaze flicked over her shoulder, drawn to the sudden movement of his younger brother emerging from the alcove. At the sight of Alex, his rigid form relaxed.
Gideon stepped around Rune as if she were not only disappointing but entirely forgettable. “Alex. What’s the matter? You look perturbed.”
“What? Oh.” Alex shook his head. “Nothing at all. Must be the terrible lighting.” He motioned to the gaslights glowing on the walls.
Gideon cocked his head, unconvinced.
Alex quickly changed the subject. “When did you get back?”
“This evening.”
The two brothers were inverse mirrors of each other. They had the same tall frames and handsome features: firm jaws, prominent brows. But where Alex was golden and warm as a summer day, Gideon was closed and dark as a locked, windowless room.
The two brothers were also the sons of the Sharpe Duet—a pair of lovers who started as humble tailors during the Reign of Witches. When their work caught the eye of the Sister Queens, Alex and Gideon’s parents were recruited by the Roseblood family to become the royal dressmakers, launching them to short-lived fame. Both died that same year, right before the revolution.
Anyone in fashionable circles still fell reverently quiet whenever someone spoke the dressmakers’ names.
“And?” Alex was saying, his voice a little strained. “Was your hunt successful?”
Gideon sighed and ran a hand roughly through his damp hair. “Despite an unfortunate incident, yes. We have the witch in custody.”
He’s speaking of Seraphine.
Rune felt her mask slip further as she remembered the torn clothes discarded in the mud. Had he and the others laughed as they stripped the garments off of the woman’s back? She thought of the red X smeared across Seraphine’s door, knowing whose blood he spilled to mark it.
Like a deer shaking off the paralyzing fear of its hunter, Rune reached for her voice, ironing out the hatred before speaking.
“What kind of unfortunate incident?”
Gideon glanced over, as if surprised she was still standing there.
He paused, reconsidering her.
This time, Rune studied him back, letting her gaze roam over him. The fit of his red uniform hinted at a hard, efficient form beneath. No softness. No warmth. Just unyielding muscle and strength, like an impenetrable fortress.
He had a strong, cruel mouth, and his black hair was still wet from the rain, or possibly a shower. And though he must have run himself as ragged as she had hunting down Seraphine, he stood before her polished and clean, from the pistol at his hip to the brass buckles on his boots, making Rune wonder if he had scrubbed off the blood with the same precision as his parents once sewed their elaborate garments for the queens.
The only disorderly thing about him were the knuckles onhis right hand. They were red and raw, as if from pummeling something.
Or someone.
Rune’s blood burned beneath her skin. Afraid he would see the fury in her eyes, she peered up through her eyelashes, knowing the effect it had on other young men.
“I dearly hope you weren’t harmed in this …incident?”
He seemed about to answer her when the sudden, final chime of the intermission bells cut him off.
All three of them looked to find the grand foyer transformed around them. Without the socializing crowds, its emptiness loomed large. The chandeliers overhead suddenly seemed too big and too bright, and the painted ceiling more glorious than their insignificant selves deserved.
The ushers began turning out the gaslights, casting annoyed looks in their direction. Beyond the auditorium doors, the orchestra started to play.
Taking the hint, Gideon began backing away from his brother. “I have the ring booked for tomorrow night. Want to go a few rounds?”
Alex nodded. “Sure. That would be nice.”
