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“Carl Westmiser.”
“Hi, Carl.” Color covered fingers trailed down his torso, smearing paint over his belt line. Idalia’s pulse raced a little faster as his breathing hitched.
Men all around the room were finding their way to the various paint cans. Soon bodies were crowding around the queens. They hovered waiting for their turn to touch and tease. Soaking in all the attention, Idalia laughed and spun through the space. Touching and letting them touch her in return until she became a rainbow of color and the red gown was hardly recognizable.
Even as she made her rounds, her gaze continued to return to her sister. The worry and guilt that had gripped her so fiercely moments ago dissolved into something else. She kept an eye on Ambrose who showed little attention to anyone other than Burke.
Burke was hers. Though she allowed this act to help her sister do what was best for the entire family, she loathed watching him touch her. He was meant to worship her, to love her…not her sister.
Hands dripping in violet paint, Idalia spun with a giggle away from the dark haired man that chased her with red fingers. Purposefully, her shoulder met with Burke’s. She gasped in mock surprise as they turned to face each other.
Ambrose’s body was covered in his touches. Idalia tried not to let herself find each and every spot his hands had been on her, she couldn’t allow her own demons—the jealousy that consumed her—to show. Instead, she fisted the sweat drenched fabric of his shirt in her hand and pulled him closer to her. He blinked, his face wiped clean of any and all emotion. Was this part of the show too?
The bitter scent of coffee still lingered on his breath. It was barely distinguishable around the chemical smell of paints. Something rolled down her back, paint or perspiration, she wasn’t sure. She ignored the sensation as she brought her lips to hover over his. With perfect posture and tensely held muscles, Burke was still.
Chatter had begun to fill the space. Suitors mingled as they painted over the walls, furniture, and each other. All of them faded away when her mouth brushed his.
“Mine,” Idalia whispered against him.
Committed to this game and the show he played for Ambrose, the only response he gave his queen was the slightest and quickest kiss she’d ever received. It was hardly even a kiss. Not really.
Ambrose had turned away at her sister’s interaction with Burke. Idalia was pleasantly surprised to see her happily painting some other man who’d stepped up in hopes of earning her good graces. As long as she could keep those voices at bay she would be fine.
For the remainder of the event, Idalia kept one eye on whatever man was before her and the other trained on Ambrose and Burke. For all Burke had done last night, she couldn’t help but think every interaction he had with Ambrose was more….genuine.
It wasn’t until Idalia was about to consider the event over that a man appeared as if he’d been born of the woodwork. Ephram was nearly spotless as he took Burke’s place when he left to find more paint. Idalia had never dropped a conversation with a suitor so quickly before but when she saw him step up to her sister’s side she knew she needed to protect her from this evil man.
The haze of his image came and went, the glamor he used to hide himself was strong, that much she would expect from a Fae prince. Still, she was able to see his long pointed ear behind it, because she knew exactly what he was, even if no one else did.
“Ambrose?” he said her name as if it was a lullaby, so sweet and gentle. Ambrose’s gaze flicked to him. Recognition bloomed in her spelled-brown eyes.
“Ephram,” she breathed. That was as far as Ambrose could get before Idalia stood at her side.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ephram’s voice was too quiet for most of the men around them to pick up. His fingers found Ambrose’s chin as he gently turned her face this way and that as a lazy smile lifted her cheeks.
“Nothing is wrong with her,” Idalia snapped.
“Are you okay?” His question was directed at Ambrose.
“I said she’s fine.”
He stepped a little closer. “I wasn’t asking you, Queen Idalia. The question was for Queen Ambrose.”
Ambrose’s mouth opened as if she might answer. Before whatever she’d meant to say could escape her, her gaze drifted up to the ceiling for a moment. “Someone’s here.”
“What?” Ephram leaned forward.
“Someone is here to see you.” Ambrose turned to Idalia seconds before the lock on the door clicked out of place and a guard appeared in the doorway.
“Queen Idalia.”
Trying not to gape, Idalia straightened her dress, making sure every bit of her was concealed as best as it could be. Her back straightened as she set forward toward the door. With a single snap of her fingers, she pointed guards to her sister’s sides, commanding them to have her escorted back to her room.
Compared to the space she’d been painting in, the rest of the castle was quite chilly and the cold air licked away her sweat. Someone offered her a towel to wipe the paint from her face and hands.
“Get me my staff!” she barked and within a moment it was in her grip and all the paint that had been on her was gone, her skimpy dress made whole and respectable.
She’d worry about Ephram later.
