Chapter 6

M usic, wild and tempestuous, filled the air, a cacophony that her brain couldn't seem to organise. There was a beat and rhythm to it she recognised, something elemental and instinctual that spoke to her deep in her gut, but the melody was a collection of garish notes that didn't appear to make any kind of sense to Ember, who was more accustomed to pop music. But even if she had been a student of classical or orchestral music, this still would have sounded - off - tainted, disturbing. She couldn't tell where it was coming from; there were no speakers jutting out from the walls, no band hidden from sight behind a screen.

Half-naked dancers filled the ballroom, beautiful young men and women, all lean muscle and flowing hair, their lithe bodies bending and twisting to the beat. Wisps of smoky black fabric barely concealed taut flesh as the dancers moved. People, if you could call them that, thronged the room, some perched on velvet couches and some standing, chatting idly, and rocking to the music. They were clad in rich colours; many with flowing dresses like Ember's, elaborate jewellery glinting on fingers, wrists and throats, and others in military-style uniforms half concealed by capes and hoods. All were watching the dancers and talking behind their hands, and none paid any attention to Ember.

Silver clad guards stood in strategic positions around the hall. Behind their metal helmets, their eyes glittered as they observed those in the room, watchful and alert. At the head of the ballroom stood a dais with a single white throne that shone like the inside of a shell, and on the throne sprawled a familiar figure.

Cole.

As she recognised him, her heart thumped a little harder in her chest. Even from this distance, she felt his presence as a physical thing, could once again smell the scent of him, a fragrance that permeated the entire hall, warm and enticing. Under the candlelight, his fair countenance was striking, his hair much whiter blond than she remembered, his skin almost seeming to glow. Across the crowd, their eyes caught and held, and she felt her cheeks flush and a pleasant ache worked its way through her body, making her wish she was wearing underwear. It was a physical reaction she hadn't been prepared for and it flustered her. She backed away, determined to leave, and head back to the relative safety of her room, and Cole rose to his feet.

At once, the music stopped. Unnaturally fast, the dancers immediately ceased their gyrations and sank down to one knee. Conversation stilled. All was silent. Ember froze, wanting to sink through the floor, as one by one, the people around the room turned to stare at her.

Cole gave a flick of a hand. The dancers rose, moved seamlessly into line, and filed out of the room through a set of doors toward the rear of the room. They passed closely to Ember, and she smiled at them politely, but none even acknowledged her; their eyes fixed on the floor. Up close, their features were strong and angular, with high cheekbones, full crimson lips, and strangely pointed ears. They looked as if they had all come out of the same box off the same production line, with little variation between them. All were stunning, all were tall and fit, all were fair-haired with light complexions. Their eyes, however, were dull, and they appeared tired and morose.

The doors closed behind them and the groups of people in the room resumed their chatting and laughing. It was like a cocktail party of sorts, although there were no drinks or trays of food, and the music had ceased. Now and then, Ember caught one of them staring at her, and then they would gossip to their friends behind their hands.

She wondered if she should walk through them and approach the throne, and what should she do when she got there. Curtsey? Kneel on the ground like the dancers? Wave and say hi? But Cole was already stepping down off the dais and moving forward to her, and so she timidly approached him, uncomfortably aware of the unfamiliar skirts swishing around her legs, the stares of the others, the cool air against her exposed décolletage, the trembling of her hands. But as Cole neared, he gave her an intimate, approving smile, one that took her all in, showing what he thought of her in her new outfit, and her confidence rose.

He took her hands in his and gently kissed her knuckles, his lips barely grazing her fingers, his breath a whisper against her skin, and once again she felt a swooping in her stomach that was pure and physical attraction, the stirring of primal lust. This man did things to her she hadn't felt for… well, ever, really. He looked up at her, his eyes liquid, his mouth arched in a lopsided smile.

"Ember Bailey," he said. "Welcome to my home."

She tried to respond, but all that came out was an embarrassing croak, and so she cleared her throat and tried again, managing a faltering, "Thank you."

He tucked her hand under his arm and walked her to the side of the room, away from the stares of the others. He seemed as easy with her as if he had known her for years, and she couldn't help but lean toward him, arching into the warmth of his body as though she were a cat and he a cosy fireplace, until the vision of a sizzling slab of meat slipped into her head.

She abruptly tugged her hand away, aghast at the way her body had betrayed her so easily, when he had murdered Bruno in cold blood, right in front of her, with just a wave of his hand. This man must be evil. He was certainly not human. And here she was, practically rubbing up against him.

Cole didn't remark on her sudden recoil, merely nodding as though he knew what was on her mind, and confirming it with, "He was going to kill you. I could see it in his mind. And I can't let anyone hurt you, Ember. I won't allow it."

"You don't even know me," Ember said.

He nodded. "No." He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, low and enticing. "Not yet."

She looked away, trying to control the involuntary response of her body, telling herself sternly, ‘ you don't know this guy, snap out of it Ember, he's practically kidnapped you for heaven's sake' , and he chuckled, as if he knew exactly the dilemma she was struggling with as her wilful body argued with her brain. He courteously stepped away from her, putting some welcome distance between them, and she felt a measure of control return.

"Is your room and maid to your satisfaction?"

"It's lovely. And Lily is very sweet. Very good at her job," she added. Maybe she could get Lily a pay rise or something. She liked Lily, and besides, she knew what it was like to struggle on minimum wage.

"All my servants are good at their jobs. You only have to ask them for whatever comfort you want."

"What I want is to go home now. Please."

He looked surprised, clearly never having even considered that she might want to leave, and then his brows furrowed. "Why?"

"I've got a scholarship to an art school. It's my chance. It's everything I've ever wanted." She could hear the pleading tone in her voice. Even if he didn't know what she meant—what would a being like him know about scholarships or art schools?—he could surely hear the longing anguish in her voice and would respond to it.

An expression of chagrin flickered across his face. "I'm sorry, Ember. I can't take you back. Not right now."

"But … why?" Panic rose within her. She had to get back, she had to. She couldn't stay here in this strange place, with fairies and angels and … her eyes widened as she caught sight of someone in the crowd, someone with wild tawny hair, armour half-shielding a broad chest which ended in what looked like the lower half of a horse's body. Centaur, her mind helpfully supplied, and she looked away, not wanting to be caught staring at yet another extraordinary sight.

"You remember my cousin, Ashe?"

Cole's voice dragged her back to the conversation, and she blinked, trying to process his words. Ashe. Of course, the other one, dark as Cole was fair, the one who had thrown fire at her. She nodded.

"We can only tear the veil around Earth together, and Ashe is … not happy with me right now. He won't help. He enjoys making difficulties for me."

"But what has that got to do with me?" She sounded rude, and she knew it, but she couldn't help it. "Maybe if I asked him, I could persuade him. Can I talk to him?"

"Ashe resides in his rooms in the castle, and none may enter there save with his permission, not even I. Just as no one may enter here without my consent." He took her hand again, and tingles sparked up and down her arm in a rather disconcerting manner. "But you might well see him around in the common areas, and most definitely at the Ball. But I warn you, like many fae, he doesn't like humans."

She could have guessed that already. "But I need to go. I don't belong here."

He lifted a hand and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I don't know about that," he said lightly. "You belong as much as anyone."

Once again, the intense green of his gaze captured her, threatening to sweep her away, and she could feel herself swaying toward him, tilting her cheek toward his touch…

"Your Highness," came a feminine voice behind her, heavy with sarcasm. "There you are."