Chapter 51

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

MAEVYTH

R ykaia clipped the silver chain to my neck, letting the cold metal rest against my spine where it reached to the center of my back. “Dear gods, Maeve. You better pray my brother doesn’t see you …. This ….” She lifted the scorpion charm and let it fall against my back again, reminding me of its presence. “Well, I’ll just apologize now for any indecency on his part.”

I stared at myself in her mirror, the black roses etched in gorgeous, silk jacquard, the bodice cinched at the waist. Off-the-shoulder sleeves elegantly framed my collarbone and shoulders, cut low enough that the whole of my back was left exposed. “You’re sure this isn’t too much? I feel like I’m hardly dressed.”

“That’s the point!” Rykaia stood beside me in her blood-red gown, the bust of which was cut just as low, but at least her sleeves covered her shoulders. Regardless, Rykaia looked effortlessly stunning, as usual. “You look good enough to eat.”

Pulling my hair to the side, I turned to see if I could get a glimpse of the glyph that’d glowed when I’d taken a bath. Only bare skin, from what I could make out.

“What is it?” Rykaia tipped her head, staring back at me in the mirror.

“There was something on my left shoulder I noticed while taking a bath.” I awkwardly pointed to where I’d seen it. “It looked like a glyph, the way it glowed.”

“Your sigil.”

“Sigil?”

“The symbol of your bloodline. It can be anywhere on the body. Mine is at my ribcage, but also at the nape of my neck.” She dragged her hair to the side, rubbing her finger over the spot.

“Why would it have glowed the way it did?”

Shrugging, she turned toward her bed and lifted a silver and black jeweled mask with glittering black wings that faced downward. “Mine glows when the moon hits it. Or when I’m mad, or scared. Or uncomfortable. You say you were in the bath when it happened? Do you recall any particular thoughts you were having at the time?”

My cheeks burned at the memory of fantasizing Zevander’s hands and lips on my skin. “Nothing unusual.”

“Maybe the heat of the water, then.” When she placed the mask on my face, the wings covered my eyes and stuck outward at either side of my head, but I could still see out. The jeweled thorax of the insect covered the bridge of my nose, and its antennae pointed upward like two crooked horns.

“What is this?” I ran my fingers over the horns that stood above my head.

“This is the grotesque representation of the cicada who climbed out of the underworld with a message for the stag, convincing him to rape the Goddess of Fertility.”

“Why on earth would I ever dream of representing that?”

“Because we are a loathsome society. And technically, it also represents the dawn of mankind. The goddess gave birth to the sun and moon. The Solassions and Lunasier.” She placed a similar glittery black and silver mask with wings over her face, also covering her eyes. The only part of our faces showing were our lips and jaw. “The women wear the cicada masks, the men wear the stag masks.”

“I still think it’s a vile story.”

“Agreed. But I can assure you, the festivities will be marvelous. And tomorrow, I will cleave you to the woods, as promised.”

“So, what exactly happens at this Becoming Ceremony?” I ran my finger over the delicate flounced sleeves of my dress, so long, they nearly touched the floor.

“The king chooses a formidable group of men and women to fight for her virginity, essentially. The one who lives gets to claim her for the night. The fighting already took place, and unfortunately, as I mentioned, a Solassion won, so we’re just attending the reception.”

“Like a wedding?”

“Well, no. There is no marriage between the two.”

As revolting as I considered the ritual, I had no place to comment, having come from a world that burned men and women for who they chose to love.

Rykaia lifted a purple vial from her dresser and held it up. “This is to mask your scent,” she said, and poured it over me. Like before, it fell as a white vapor around my body. “I promise no pig shit this time, but it’s strong enough to mask your aura, as well. So long as you don’t murder anyone, you’ll be fine.”

“Strong enough to fool your brother?”

A sheepish grin stretched her lips. “We’d best keep our distance from him. He’s exceptionally good at seeing through my tricks, but only because he’s lived with me for centuries. And he happens to be a trained killer, of course.”

The humor withered inside of me. “Has he taken a lot of lives?”

“Do you want the truth?” In the mirror’s reflection, she dabbed a berry coloring onto her lips. “I don’t even know. He says nothing to me.”

How cold that must’ve felt.

When the girl from my village had gotten trampled in front of me, it’d taken years for me to process it, to reconcile the thoughts in my head, and I hadn’t even deliberately gone out of my way to take a life. Zevander must’ve suffered constant torment.

Unless he didn’t. I couldn’t fathom the kind of man who thought nothing at all about his kills.

At a knock at the door, both of us turned toward it.

“Rykaia? Is Maevyth with you?” Dolion’s voice bled through the wood. “I’d like to speak with her for a moment.”

“Sorry! I’ve not seen her!” Rykaia called out, before turning to cut loose a quiet snort.

“I’ve searched the entire castle, and I haven’t been able to find her.”

“Ah, perhaps she’s napping? Or bathing, as some of us do without wanting to be disturbed.”

Dolion cleared his throat. “Of course, my apologies. If you see her, please let her know I’m looking for her.”

At the sound of his retreating footsteps, I slapped her on the arm. “You’re terrible. I feel bad lying to him that way.”

“You didn’t lie. I did. And are you forgetting he lied to you first?”

I’d filled her in on Dolion’s plan to take me to Calyxar, while we were getting dressed.

“And his lie was far more terrible than that.”

True. Dolion hadn’t only lied, he’d left me feeling hopeless as a result.

“C’mon. It’s time to put all this misery behind us and have some fun.” Just as she had the day before, Rykaia drew a line on the wall to create a glowing seam.

“No fyredrakes this time,” I said as she pushed her arm through.

“We can only pray. What shit that would be trying to run in this monstrous dress. They’d have me by the ass before I knew what hit me.”

Just in case, I’d worn the whistle, the one that’d summoned Raivox. Rykaia had tried arguing that it took away from the simplicity of the scorpion chain, but I’d insisted. I liked having a link to him.

She stepped through first, I followed after, and the two of us found ourselves in a small copse of trees just outside of a stony wall, where a half-dozen guards stood before a gate. Another half-dozen flanked either side of them.

Brushing the dried leaves from my skirt, I asked, “Why not just cleave into the ballroom and avoid the guards all together?”

She snorted. “Are you familiar with wards? There is no cleaving into the ballroom. We’re lucky to have gotten as close as we did.”

We stepped over the bracken and sauntered up to the gate.

“Name,” the guard said in a flat tone, eyeing the two of us up and down.

With a giggle, Rykaia set her hand against the moody guard’s arm, as he peered down at the names. “Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis,” she said as easily and fluidly as if they were our real names.

He waved a hand over the back of hers, and a glowing heraldry appeared. With a flick of his fingers, he urged me to lift my hand, and when I did, he left the same mark.

Without a word, he stepped aside and gave a respectful bow. “Ladies.”

She must’ve read his mind as he’d skimmed over the names.

I studied the strange marking that didn’t fade when I rubbed my finger across it, and Rykaia placed a hand over mine, stopping the action. “It’ll be gone by evening’s end,” she assured.

The two of us entered what seemed to have been the outer court, given the stables that stood off to the side. The walled enclosure was filled with elegantly dressed guests, all of whom wore cicada and stag masks, and I searched what little I could see of their faces for Zevander. Not likely that he’d have exposed the lower half of his face, though. My guess was, he’d be the only one not wearing the blind masks.

Tiny flames flickered in glass bulbs strung across the courtyard, with purple and silver banners strewn between them and matching streamers that fell from the sky. A massive purple, black, and silver striped tent stood off to the side of it, flanked by two smaller tents on either side, from where the sound of music drifted out over the crowd. I visually devoured the mystically enchanting ambience, eyes feasting on every beguiling detail. So enthralled, I hardly noticed the masked faces that turned toward us as we passed.

The delicate shoes I wore clacked against the stones of the bridge, when we crossed the moat. I peered over the edge to see a black serpent beast slithering beneath the walkway. Gasping, I tensed at its size, and Rykaia grabbed my arm.

“It’s a Koryn. Stay away from the edge,” she warned.

Another stony wall stood guarded by soldiers. Rykaia lifted her hand with the glowing mark, and I did the same. The two guards nodded, allowing us passage.

We finally reached the inner courtyard, where more guests mingled about, and I scanned over the gorgeously kempt gardens, stark white statues set among the tall bushes like ghostly animals, and a beautiful fountain. Another purple and black tent stood propped open, and I could just make out bodies within, donned in elaborately colorful, tight-fitting suits, performing mesmerizing acrobatics. There were flame-throwers, and those dressed as puppets on strings, magicians, and men on stilts that walked among the crowd. The air was rich with the scent of mors mead and ginger pops, roasted nutkerns, and savory meat pies—foods I recognized from the few fairs and festivals that would pass through Foxglove Parish. An entrancing flurry of activity that ravished my senses, as Rykaia led me up a stone staircase, lined with flickering torches and snarling gargoyles, to a set of colossal-sized doors propped open either side of three guardsmen.

“Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis,” Rykaia said with a curtsy.

A man in a silver, brocade jacket and trousers, wearing a white stag mask shuffled us inside. “I present Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis!”

A few heads turned, setting my nerves aflame, but most remained engaged in conversation. Descending the staircase into the ballroom, I leaned into Rykaia and whispered, “What happens when those two guests turn up?”

A smile curved her lips. “It will be a most unfortunate situation for them.”

My conscience withered, as she took my hand and led me to a dimly-lit grand room, with stone pillars and another fountain. Vines hung from the ceiling, draped around candelabras, from which beautiful, white streamers dangled alongside diamonds. White roses decorated the room, along with sparkling white branches in vases that stood like eidolic silhouettes in the shadowy corners.

Masked women dressed in shimmering chiffon fabrics, their breasts clearly seen through the thin material, and men clad in only masks and silver loincloths danced sensually around the guests. A few of them danced with each other, in the motions that reminded me of the night I’d found Uncle Riftyn and Aleysia together, their hips thrusting against one another, hands groping. My breath caught in my throat, and a tingle of arousal stirred in my belly as I watched them.

The room seemed divided into groups, with those bearing blond hair and bronze skin on one side, those with dark hair and pale skin on the other.

“Solassions and Lunasier,” Rykaia said, as if reading my thoughts.

Perhaps she was.

I had to remember that annoying ability of hers.

She chuckled, releasing my arm. “You’re worried I’ll know what you’re thinking when you see my brother.”

“I’m thinking no such thing.”

As she reached for my arm, I yanked it quickly away, and she laughed harder.

“Well, then, I won’t bother to tell you that I’ve already spotted the tyrant.”

“Where?” I asked, not wanting to sound too eager, but my voice betrayed me in that respect.

“The only splotch of black in the back corner.”

I scanned the crowd, and though there were a few clad in black, my eyes fell on the tall figure standing alongside a regally dressed man wearing purple and silver. Zevander wore a black brocade jacket and trousers, the fine clothes making him look every bit a noble instead of an assassin. A full-sized stag mask with horns completely covered his face—as expected, no part of his jaw exposed. Strange that, for as much of him that was covered, I could still tell that it was him, just based on his rigid stance and the way he stood off from the crowd. Watching. Always watching. An unsettling worry left me wondering if he’d recognize me, as well. Perhaps more of a preoccupation than the mages hunting me.

“Beside him is Prince Dorjan. Keep track of the prince, and you’ll always know where Zevander is.”

I’d always know where he was anyway, as wickedly distracting as he looked in his suit and mask. “He’s going to be furious if he sees that I’m here.”

“It so happens I have a spell that can make him forget his anger,” she said with a smile. “If you were to get close, just whisper the words in his ear and all will be forgotten, I promise.”

“You’ve got a spell for everything.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, what is it?”

“ Rapiuza’mej et rapellah’mej. Forgive and forget.”

“ Rapi-oo-zah-meh. A. Rapell-ah-meh,” I sounded it out in a far less elegant accent.

“Close enough. You whisper that and I promise, he won’t remember a damn thing.”

“Got it. Hopefully I won’t have to use it.” I needed to tear my gaze away or risk that he’d sense me ogling him. “And which is the princess?” I asked.

She pointed across the room, to where a young girl stood, wearing a long, hooded, stark white gown, her hair coiled in soft brown curls. Hers was the only face not covered in a sea of masks, and I could see that she only looked to be about fifteen years old, at most. A somber preoccupation claimed her expression, and the way she fidgeted told me she was nervous.

“She’s so young,” I whispered.

“Yes. As was the goddess.”

“This feels so wrong.”

“Having gone through it myself, I can agree with that. However, if you gave her a choice right now, she’d undoubtedly continue with it.”

“Why?”

Rykaia sighed. “Because men decided that the future of the bloodline was solely a woman’s burden to carry. If she refuses, she will bring both shame and misfortune to her family. And, of course, the entire city of Costelwick will see that as a problem.”

A masked man carrying a tray of champagne flutes strode up to the two of us. Rykaia lifted two from the tray and gave me a nod.

With a small bit of hesitation, I grabbed one of the drinks, as well. “After last night, I’m not entirely sure this is wise.”

“The liquor I gave you last night is far worse. This is practically water by comparison.”

After a quick sniff, I sipped the sparkly fluid, which sent a rush of deliciously crisp apples and a hint of cinnamon across my tongue. “Mmmm,” I said, swallowing it back.

Mixed within the crowd were those wearing long purple robes and black masks, making them all look similar, as their hoods concealed their hair.

One of them passed, and I glanced over, noticing whoever it was looking back at me.

“Who are they?” I whispered to Rykaia.

“The Magestroli. The king’s mages,” she answered casually.

Studying their robes, which set them apart from others in the room, I nodded. “And you’re certain these mages, I’m guessing the most brilliant mages in your world, would have no clue that the one they’re hunting is right in front of their faces?”

“You’d be surprised. The most brilliant minds can be incredibly imperceptive. Come, I’ll show you.” She took my arm, tugging me after her toward one of the robed guests, who stood with their back to us.

Wriggling from her grasp, I ground to a halt. “This is foolish. If I’m going to be here, I’d rather not make that known to everyone.”

“I’m attempting to put your mind at ease so you can enjoy the evening. Your scent is what identifies you as human,” she said in a quiet voice. “They will not detect it.”

“Wouldn’t they be expecting trickery to hide it, though?”

“Perhaps. But unfortunately for them, there’s no antidote for this potion. No way to undo or breach its cloaking effect. Now come.” As I drew back my arm, she swiped it up again, giving an impressive tug that splashed some of my drink across my hand. Without slowing her pace, she leaned into my ear. “You remember Propulszir?”

At my nod, she added, “Good. Use it. An added layer of protection.”

For god’s sake, this was reckless. A thought that urged me to run in the opposite direction as we neared the mage, who stood before a painting of an ethereal figure holding two orbs of light in his palms. I summoned the glyph to mind, focusing on its distinct details as hard as I could, but a strange sense of familiarity washed over me as I studied the image on the wall, a feeling of dread heavy in the pit of my stomach.

The moment the mage turned to face us, the drink in my hand slipped, nearly falling to the floor. If not for Rykaia’s quick reflexes, it would’ve made a clamor that surely would’ve drawn attention to us. Instead, there was only a minor spill.

The unmasked mage looked to Rykaia and back. “Excellent catch,” he said, his smile too familiar.

The scribe from Foxglove. The one who’d pried into Grandfather’s business and who I’d seen again at brunch with Moros, when he’d asked about the white stones.

Fortunately, the mask seemed to do a decent job hiding my identity and the shocked expression on my face.

“Are you ladies enjoying your evening?” he asked.

“Absolutely. The entertainment is top notch!” Rykaia sipped her drink, nudging me in the arm.

“Absolutely.” While I held a vague awareness of their conversation, my mind had wound itself around the possibility that he might’ve known what’d happened to my sister. The scribe would’ve surely been present for her Banishing. Asking outright would’ve been foolish, though. Clearly, he was one of those hunting me, based on the robe he wore. Perhaps he’d been hunting me all along.

Rykaia tilted her head back toward the painting. “Magekae, the God of Alchemy and Father of Immortality.”

“Yes. The embodiment of eternal life.” The mage glanced back at the painting. “Our most blessed savior.”

“As I understand, he was entirely obsessed with the Goddess of Death. Did he not imprison and rape her?”

At the mention of the goddess, I snapped out of my thoughts. “Morsana?”

“Yes.” He smiled back at me and turned to Rykaia. “Some believe as much. Radicals, mostly. Others believe it was he who saved her. Her true lover was said to be the God of Fear and Destruction. Deimos.”

“Was he not a mortal?” I asked, recalling the story Allura had told me.

“Prior to being cast into sablefyre, yes.” His gaze swept over me again, lingering at the whistle around my neck, then trailing downward. “Your masks are superb.” Except that his eyes weren’t on my mask, nor Rykaia’s.

I cleared my throat, trying to imagine something clever I could say to get him to tell me about what’d happened after I’d fled to the woods, the night of The Banishing. Anything I said would’ve revealed my identity, though. Instead, I bit the inside of my lip, the desperation clawing through me. An opportunity. A perfect opportunity to know if anyone had seen her afterward.

Except, I refused to do something foolish. More foolish than having walked up to one of the mages, anyway.

A second mage strolled up, that one wearing the hood and mask, making it impossible to see their face. Panic gurgled at the back of my throat, with two of them in close proximity, and I glanced away, focusing exceptionally hard on the Propulszir glyph.

“I see you’ve made friends, Anatolis.” The deep, articulate voice of the masked man, along with the respectful bow of the other mage, hinted at his stature.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your names.” Anatolis tipped his head, expectantly.

“Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis,” the other mage answered. His lips, exposed by the mask, stretched to a smile. “Did you miss their introduction entirely?” He chuckled, patting Anatolis on the hand, and I glanced down to see an onyx ring on his finger, his nails long and black to match.

“And this is our most esteemed Magelord, Akmyrios,” the lesser mage said.

“What a lovely charm, my dear.” Akmyrios reached out for my neck, but paused when I clasped my hand over the whistle.

“It’s a family heirloom.” I gave a feigned smile. “My apologies. I’m very protective of it.”

“As you should be.” The Magelord spun the ring on his finger. “Mine is an heirloom, as well.”

A third man strode up, in a white tunic and black surcoat, with embellishments of purple heraldry. The regal angle of his chin and thrust of his chest told me he was an authority figure. A disciplined man, the way he carried himself, perhaps military, given the weapons strapped to him.

“Captain Zivant, have you had the pleasure of meeting Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis ?” The way he emphasized the names struck me as odd.

“No.” In a clipped tone, the captain turned dismissively, but I caught his pale blue eyes staring out at me from the holes in his mask. He turned to the scribe beside him. “You wanted to speak with me about something?”

“Yes. Both you and Akmyrios. Privately, if possible.”

Anatolis bowed and smiled, before slipping away with the Magelord and captain down one of the nearby corridors.

Instincts told me to follow after them, for the possibility that he might divulge something to them about my world. Instead, Rykaia squealed beside me, snapping me of the temptation.

“It’s them! Circ’Lunae!” Again, one hard yank of my arm had me following after her, as she weaved through the crowd before coming to an abrupt stop.

A dark figure blocked our path, and a tremor of fear shook me as I peered up at angry eyes staring down at us through a full-sized mask, before said eyes slowly trailed up and down as he seemed to take in what I was wearing. He gripped both our arms, pulling us toward a corner of the room. “What in seven hells are you two doing here?” Fury burned in Zevander’s voice, and while it should’ve terrified me, I felt oddly titillated by it.

Rykaia sighed. “It was her idea.”

I snapped my gaze toward her, the mask nearly flying off my face.

“You know me, Brother. I’d have much preferred being locked away in that lifeless tomb of a castle all night. But she insisted.”

I scowled back at her, but Zevander clearly wasn’t convinced, as he released me to pull his sister further away.

“Have you lost your senses?” Though fainter than before, I could still make out their conversation over the hum of voices at my back. He glanced toward me, his gaze lingering a moment, before he turned back to her. “The Magestroli are looking for her, and worse, you waltzed her right up to the captain of the fucking Imperial Guard! What were you thinking, Rykaia!”

“They have no idea who she is! The captain held conversation with us, without a single interest in Maevyth.”

“They don’t play a game of the obvious.” The muffle of his deep, angry breaths bled through the mask on his face. “You will take her back to Eidolon now.”

“You know we can’t leave before the ceremony, Brother. Don’t be silly. The guards are watching everyone who comes and goes. It’ll draw more attention than if we stayed. No one leaves before The Becoming.”

He gripped her harder. “Then, you will leave after. And you will not go near another mage. Is that clear?”

With as furious as he seemed to be, I didn’t understand why Rykaia didn’t use the spell she’d taught me moments before.

“Yes. No more mingling with mages. Leave after the ceremony. Spend another wretchedly uneventful night at home. Got it.”

The spell , I mouthed, leaning to the side to get her attention, but she didn’t so much as spare me a glance, her angry eyes focused on her brother.

“If anything should happen to her, by gods, Rykaia …”

“Shouldn’t you be with the prince?”

He let out a growl and threw off her arm.

Anxious, I strode up to him, gathering my dress to keep from tripping with my brisk steps, and placed my hand on his shoulder, as I rose up to my toes.

His muscles tightened beneath my palm.

Rykaia lurched for me. “Maevyth, wait?—”

“ Rapiuza’mej et rapellah’mej,” I whispered in his ear, as close as our masks would allow, and stepped back to observe, hoping I’d pronounced it correctly.

He shuddered and rolled his shoulders back. When he turned toward me, I glanced at Rykaia, who stood with her fingers pressed to her lips, as though trying to contain a smile. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, the question leaving me to wonder if I’d spoken the wrong words or forgotten them, entirely.

The heat of humiliation crawled over my cheeks, and I cleared my throat, taking another step back. “Nevermind.”

Not sparing him another minute, Rykaia sauntered toward me, swiping up my hand along the way, and tugged me to follow. Keeping my gaze on Zevander, who stared back at me, I turned to follow her, and noticed the bunching of his shoulders easing, his clenched hands loosening, his rage from moments ago unfurling.

Almost as if he’d caught sight of the scorpion dangling at my back. Or maybe I had spoken the words correctly, after all.

“I swear he gleans sadistic pleasure in making me miserable.” It was interesting, the way she constantly perceived him as a threat to her recklessness, much the way Aleysia probably perceived me.

“Or maybe he cares about you quite a bit.”

“If he cared so much, he wouldn’t lock me away in that horrible place.”

“And you still see fit to pair us together?” I wondered if our commonalities were obvious to her.

“It’s diverting to see him so provoked . And you, dear Maevyth, provoke him.” Through the crowd, she led me toward a man with black hair pulled back from a face that was painted in silver and purple. He also wore a skintight suit of black, purple and silver. Guests had gathered in a circle around him, as he performed strange contortions of his body, bending and stretching into positions that seemed impossible.

Light throughout the ballroom dimmed, and the guests gasped in unison, as something moved overhead. I glanced up to see ribbons falling from the domed ceiling, where they hovered just above the floor. Two men in skintight suits–one the pattern of a snow leopard, the other like iridescent green scales—dangled from the ropes at the top. Both of them dropped down the threads, and I held my breath. A few screams from the audience echoed in the otherwise quiet room. The men caught themselves about six meters from the ground, where they hung suspended in the purple and black threads. The green-scaled man held a glass globe of fire, which he kept undisturbed while balanced on his palm, as he flipped and twirled in the long ribbons. The leopard-skinned man spun impossibly fast in the ribbons, the speed of which left me dizzy as I stared, mesmerized.

The man in the circle below them bent backward, which thrusted his groin upward, drawing attention to a massive bulge between his slender thighs. Some of the guests whispered and giggled amongst themselves.

“Oh, my,” Rykaia said beside me, clearly enraptured by it, as she also stared.

While they ogled his anatomy, I found myself looking around in search of Zevander, and felt a slight tug of my arm. When I turned back toward the circle, the contortionist stood before me, twisting his body in a way that had me wincing. In his painfully disfigured form, he somehow managed to slide his hand down into the tight neck of his shirt and pulled out a black rose with silver edges.

Frowning, I stared back at the flower, which matched the one I’d discovered in the book Dolion had given me.

Straightening himself upright again, he stood and bowed as he handed it off to me, which I reluctantly accepted.

The crowd clapped, and the contortionist slid his palm across my stomach, his gaze lingering as he sauntered away.

“Well, you seem to be hard to ignore.” Rykaia chuckled, and when another servant passed by, she traded the empty goblets for two more, freshly poured drinks, one of which she handed to me.

Music rose above the babbling voices, and Rykaia darted forward, waving me after her toward a massive clearing. For a moment, my stomach gurgled, thinking we were about to witness The Becoming Ceremony, as Princess Calisza stepped into the center of the clearing. Her brother strode up to her, lifting his palm to hers, and the two engaged in a dance.

“As he represents the future, Dorjan will be the one to give her away,” Rykaia whispered beside me.

Others from the crowd joined the prince and his sister, forming a line of synchronized movements that complimented the music. In the dimness of the light that persisted after the acrobatic act, an enchanting seductive ambience blanketed the room. The more people joined, the more the clearing filled, until I could hardly make out the other side where Zevander stood. The line broke off into couples, performing the dance with each other.

Through gaps in the crowd, I saw the prince wave to the grump, who raised his hand to decline at first, but the prince seemed insistent, calling him into the circle. My heart shivered at the sight of him in his black jacket and breeches–a shadow in the crowd. A wolf in the birch.

A new song played, one whose drums pounded through my chest with a sensual rhythm, the beat so powerful, it vibrated my lungs.

Zevander’s gaze fell on me, and he flicked his fingers, calling me toward him.

“Do you know how the scorpion chooses his mate?” Rykaia whispered in my ear. “ Promenade à deux . By asking her to dance.”

My muscles trembled as I handed her the rose and stepped through the crowd toward him. On one hand, I was surprised he’d called me over, placing me in the center of the room with everyone. On the other hand, it made sense. Fewer were standing on the outskirts, as more guests joined in the dance, which would’ve eventually drawn attention to me.

“I’m not familiar with this dance,” I whispered, glancing around for some instruction by watching the others. Rykaia had only shown me the waltz, and this was far more seductive.

“Follow my lead.” With that, he banded his arm around my waist, his other palm against mine.

I managed to step on his boots a few times, and nearly tumbled backward before he tightened his grip around me, but his hands guided me with gentle force.

“I understand you intended to send me off to Calyxar.” I kept my voice low and between us, glancing around at the others, whose movements reminded me of a battle between the couples, circling, pulling, pushing.

“You’d have been safer there. Far safer than you are now.”

“What could be safer than dancing with a king’s assassin?” My whispered voice held a small bit of amusement, but he had no reaction. “You gave your blessings to see me go. You must truly want me out of Eidolon.”

“I don’t.” He dipped me backward, his masked face low to my throat. “But you clearly have no idea what hunts you here,” he said, guiding me upright again. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so foolish to come.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak behind your back.”

“It isn’t you who should apologize.”

“But you’re angry with me.” Palm to palm, we circled each other, and he paused to dip me again. “I can feel it.”

“Have you learned a new glyph to sense that?” He twirled me around, and we switched palms.

“I’ve not learned anything since you’ve decided to ignore me.” I dragged my finger across his chest as I circled him, like the other women with their partners. Stealing a moment to observe one of the chiffon dancers performing the moves in a much more sensuous way, I added a bit more sway and saunter in my steps.

When I came back around front, he dragged me into him, just as the other men did. Unlike the others, he dug his fingers into me, pressing me hard against his solid chest. “I am angry at you.” The deep timber of his voice rumbled in my ear, and he spun me around, keeping in time with the other couples. “For wearing this dress. For looking so painfully exquisite, you’ve managed to draw everyone’s attention. Including mine.” Still clutching one hand at my waist, we held the other above our heads, staring at each other as we turned.

A strange, magnetic energy simmered between us. With our gazes locked, his intensely evocative eyes seen through the holes in his mask somehow stripped me bare. As if I were the only person in the room. The sole object of his focus.

The unspoken desire that lurked on the fringes thickened the air and stirred my pulse, forcing me to look away. “I told Rykaia it was too much. But she swore I’d blend in. She masked my scent and aura.”

“Yes, she did. I can hardly smell you, and yet, I still knew it was you.” He gripped me with both hands that time and dipped his head to the crook of my neck. “You’re incapable of blending, Maevyth.” Again, we found ourselves palm to palm, repeating the same steps as before. “And the scorpion?”

“I like the way it feels against my spine.”

He slid his hand to the small of my back, and my stomach fluttered at the gentle touch of his fingers there. “I curse Rykaia for bringing you here. And yet, the thought of never seeing you in this dress is a torment in itself.”

As before, I dragged my hand across his chest, circling him. “Then, you forgive me?”

He wound my body into his, my back to his chest, his arms tight around me. “So long as you do not speak to another soul while you’re here, yes.”

“There is one I’m dying to speak with, though. The unmasked mage we were talking to earlier. Anatolis. I know him.”

Still keeping up with the steps, he made a quick visual sweep of the room. “Did he recognize you?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then, why are you so interested in him?” Hands clasped above our heads, I felt the tight squeeze of his grip nearly crushing mine.

“Were I more astute, I’d imagine that troubles you.” I twisted into him, then unraveled outward, palms clutched, and I smiled while imagining the ire in his expression right then. It wasn’t my nature to flirt, but Zevander made it nearly effortless with his obvious annoyance. I only wished I could’ve seen his face. “He’s handsome without being grumpy.”

“If you like boys who can barely lift their own swords,” he grumbled. “The words you whispered to me earlier. Where do you learn to say that?”

Lowering my gaze, I pressed my lips together, refusing to implicate her.

“Rykaia, no doubt,” he said humorlessly, and we switched palms, stepping in the opposite direction. “You’ve not spoken them to anyone else, have you?”

Confused, I frowned. “Why would I?”

The corner of his lips curved, as if he wanted to smile and pulled me closer, the possession in his grasp becoming ever apparent as he held me against him with both hands. “This juvenile mage you mentioned earlier. What is it that interests you?”

I chuckled and circled around him. “He’s a scribe in Foxglove. I attended a brunch with Mr. Moros, and he was there.”

His head tracked to the side as I came around him again. “Who is Moros?”

“He’s the one I was betrothed to. The one my step-grandmother sold me off to.”

He made a growling sound in his throat, wrapping me in his embrace. “You’re mated?”

“ Mated ?” Acids shot to my throat at the thought of being a mate to Moros. “No. I ran away. Into the woods. But Moros, he has mines in Lyveria, and he claimed to have come upon a chasm filled with white stones.”

Zevander froze. Clutching my arm, he dragged me away from the dance floor, and against the wall. Not far from us, two of the scantily clad dancers seemed to be caught up in themselves, their bodies moving to the motions of sex, as Zevander caged me against the wall.

“What did the stones look like?” he asked, his voice urgent but low, clearly not wanting anyone to hear us. “Did you see them?”

“Yes. They were white and glittery. He had two of them, but he gave one to the captain, and it turned him into a horrible looking creature. The other, he gave to the monster in the woods.”

His muscles tensed around me. “It was Anatolis you recognized?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I will speak with him.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You will do no such thing,” he gritted, and even through the mask, I could tell his teeth were clenched. “Stay with Rykaia until The Becoming has commenced, then slip away. No one will notice the two of you have left.”

I tipped my head to the side, looking past his massive body, to see Rykaia dancing with a man. “Wouldn’t I be safest with you?”

In my periphery, the erotic dancers moved faster, and I turned to see the man’s loincloth was flipped up. I quickly looked away, realizing they were actually engaged in the act not far from where we stood. A hot blush crept over my face, and as though he’d noticed it, Zevander stared down at me for a moment, his chest rising and falling. “Fine. You’ll come with me, but do not say a word.”

“I will not say a word, so long as you inquire about Aleysia.”

“Doing so would mean I’d have to kill him.”

“What? Why?”

“Because asking him about her would inspire him to think of you.”

“Neither of us know his motivations. Thinking is not speaking .”

“Thoughts can be extracted by a skilled mage.”

“Even past thoughts?”

“Even past thoughts. But I suspect he hasn’t stopped thinking of you since he saw you in this dress. Pairing you with Mortasia creates too much of a link.”

I sighed. While his reasoning made sense, I certainly had no intentions of having the man killed. “I have to know, Zevander. It’s killing me. ”

He traced his thumb over my lips and across my jaw in a way that felt intimate, affectionate. “The prince will be escorted to his chambers soon. I’ll have the opportunity to slip away then.”

“You make it sound scandalous.”

He lowered his hand from my face, only to take hold of my waist with a possessive grip. “Return to Rykaia until then,” he commanded, ignoring my comment. “I’ll have Torryn keep watch of both of you.”

The moans from beside us begged me to peek, but I refused.

As if sensing my temptation, he glanced toward them and back. “They make you uncomfortable?”

“I wouldn’t call it discomfort, per se.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “How are you so unaffected?”

“I wouldn’t call myself unaffected.” A downward sweep of his gaze, and he pushed away, releasing me from his muscled cage and his greedy clutch. “I’ll find you after the ceremony.”

As Zevander strode off, a woman dressed in gold armor, shorter, but equally muscled, stepped into his path. Clearly a Solassion, given her long, sunny locks and bronze skin.

His back rippled with tension, seen even through the tight jacket.

The woman’s lips stretched to a smile, and Zevander strode past her. When her gaze lifted to mine, I scampered toward Rykaia, who stood talking to the princess.

“Ah, Princess, this is Lady Anadara.” Rykaia took hold of my arm, and I schooled my face to avoid reacting to the fact that she’d introduced me with the wrong name.

I’d never formally met royalty before, had no idea how to greet her, but I curtsied, bowing my head, to which she offered a kind smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Rykaia has spoken very highly of you, Lady Anadara.” The delicate tone of her voice hardly carried over the obnoxious conversations around us, further reminding me of her innocence.

Clearly, she had a much closer relationship with Rykaia than I had originally imagined, using her first name to address her. In my world, the princess was untouchable and rarely seen by the public. It made more sense why Rykaia would want to be present at the ceremony.

“The pleasure is mine.” I smiled, my nerves slightly on edge after the encounter with Zevander. “I had no idea you and Rykaia were close friends.”

“She was designated to watch over me when we were younger. Something of a nursemaid, but horrible.” Princess Calisza giggled. “I think I was the one watching over her most times.”

Rykaia elbowed her and smiled. “Tell me we didn’t have the best adventures, and you’ll be lying.”

“I miss those innocent adventures.” The smile on her face faded, and once again, I was reminded of the impending ritual. “Will you be here for the ceremony?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it,” Rykaia lied.

Or perhaps she’d lied to me.

“Good. I’ll feel better knowing there’s a familiar face.” She kissed the back of Rykaia’s hands. “I’m afraid I must make the rounds and mingle.” On those parting words, she padded off.

“We’ll leave before it begins.” Rykaia leaned into me and spoke low. “Just let me show myself, so she knows I’m there.” The solemnity in her tone told me that she felt uneasy about the ceremony, too. “Once it begins, I doubt she’ll care to look at anyone in the crowd.”

“I still cannot believe that poor girl will be forced to do that as a spectacle.”

“How was your first?”

I snapped my attention from hers and cleared my throat.

“You’ve not had a first , have you? Perhaps my brother isn’t the best match for you, then. I understand, from the others at the brothel, he can be a bit on the rough side.”

“Perhaps we can change the subject?” Glancing around the room, I fought the curiosity that her comment had just stirred. “He visits brothels?” Not that there was anything wrong with that. Zevander just didn’t strike me as someone who got lost in the frivolities of sex.

She shrugged and looked out over the crowd. “Mostly during his moon cycle. Hasn’t been in a while, as I understand.”

“Moon cycle?”

She groaned and shook her head. “That’s the time to stay away from him. If you think he’s grumpy now, you’ve not seen him when both moons cross.”

Still without a clue as to what she was talking about, I frowned. “Why would he be cranky?”

“Imagine your body insisting on fucking more hours of the day than not. All Lunasier men suffer the dreaded moon cycle, which is why we have such a bountiful population and far more Nilivir than any other country.” She raised her goblet up. “Nature’s finest plan,” she said, and sipped her drink. “Would you like a first?”

I recoiled at the question. “What? Absolutely not. What does that mean?”

“The men in loincloths make themselves available to anyone who might become … aroused.”

“Aroused by a young girl forced to bed a man in front of hundreds of people? That’s repulsive.”

“People are repulsive. But your reasoning would be different.”

“I don’t feel the need, but thank you for your concern.”

Rykaia chuckled and sipped from her goblet. “I saw him corner you. What for?”

“The mage we spoke with earlier. Anatolis. I’ve seen him. In Mortasia.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very. Your brother is going to speak with him.”

“My brother is going to kill him. Mark my words.”

“What for?” He’d certainly threatened as much, but I was curious to know why she thought so.

“For having looked at you the way he did.”

“How could he have possibly–” But it occurred to me, it was entirely possible. In fact, it was quite possible Zevander had spotted us the moment we walked in.

“Nothing slips past my brother. Believe me.”

“Then, by that logic, you knew he’d find us here, and this was all a game of resentment?”

She chuckled. “You give me too much credit, but you’re not entirely wrong. He did insist that my name be removed from the guestlist,” she grumbled.

“Well, it was just a look. Harmless.”

“That was not a harmless look, Maeve. That was an I-want-to-rip-that-dress-off-and-fuck-you-silly expression. If I noticed it, you can be sure Zevander noticed.”

“I should hope he wouldn’t kill someone just for looking at me.”

Rykaia snorted and turned back toward the crowd. “Be grateful he didn’t inherit our mother’s gift for reading minds. I suspect half the guests here would be lying in a pool of blood.”

“What makes you so certain your brother thinks of me that way?”

“I’ve known him my whole life, and while plenty of women have taken to him, I’ve never seen him behave the way he does around you. Zevander is known for being abrasive and cold and positively heartless. Yet, since you’ve arrived, I’ve seen a side to him that I didn’t know existed.”

“I believe that’s aversion . Disgust. Loathing .”

She sighed and hooked her arm into mine. “I believe it’s called lust and a severely besetting attraction, but what do I know? I’m just his annoying little sister who’s lived with him for nearly two centuries.”