Chapter Sixteen Shan

Chapter Sixteen

Shan

S han stood off to the side, nursing a glass of vintage wine and watching the couples move around the dance floor. She had to give Isaac credit—he sure knew how to throw a party. He had taken the ballroom of the Royal Palace, rarely used despite its regal design, and transformed it into the party of the year. All the best people of Dameral were here. The musicians were exquisite. The food simply divine.

Though she was here as Isaac's particular guest—it seemed he was indeed sincere in his attempts to woo her back to his side—he was off performing his duties as host. He had given her the first dance, the most important dance, then begged off to see about something. Whatever it was, he didn't do it simply because his duty demanded it. She had seen real excitement in him.

And she was nearly certain that the task had something to do with Samuel. The King had demanded that this was to be his introduction to society, and though he didn't attend functions such as this, it only made sense for the introductions to come through Isaac. The Royal Blood Worker. His right-hand man. She was only mad that she couldn't have been the one to do it herself, but he was the King's now, and they were running out of time. Despite their attempts to keep this from getting out, rumors were already spreading about the sudden reopening of the Aberforth home and the stranger who had moved in.

So she waited in the shadows, taking shallow sips of her wine to keep intoxication at bay. Tonight the nobility of Aeravin would be completely upended and she wanted to be sharp enough to take it all in.

The whispers started suddenly, moving from one end of the room to the other, spreading fast and furious as fire. There! Isaac was showing Samuel in, and already the vultures were starting to flock. Even from her hiding spot, she could hear some of the things that were being said, caution thrown aside in the desperation to be the first to know.

Who is that?

Handsome boy.

Bette, look. The hair.

Shan hid her smile behind her glass, letting her eyes wander over Samuel. Everyone else was, so it did her no harm to join in. What an image he made. Mysterious and different, yes. But he looked every bit like he belonged, right down to the clothes he wore.

Laurens had outdone herself indeed.

It was the suit they had designed, stunning in its simplicity. The colors flattered him, the depth of the blacks against the simple starkness of the whites. Instead of washing him out, they made him sharper and more focused in their contrasts. His cravat was a slash of white at his throat, expertly tied, and he wore his long hair tied back at the nape of his neck in a style that would have been fashionable twenty years ago.

Shan was glad he hadn't let her cut it. Seeing it now, like this, she realized not only did he wear it well, but it made him look like his father. The late, lost, last Aberforth, back from the grave.

The older people were already whispering it, before Isaac even had the chance to formally introduce him. But he didn't seem to mind. He looked like the cat who caught the canary, and suddenly Shan didn't begrudge him taking her spot. Because every eye in the room was on them, and Isaac was cutting his way through the crowd towards her .

Samuel followed in his wake, looking just a little lost and far too innocent.

Shan handed off her mostly full glass of wine to a passing servant, leaving her hands free as they came to a stop in front of her. Every move of this game was carefully calculated. Not only did Isaac bring this young, Lost Aberforth to the world of Dameral, this Lost Aberforth when the world thought they were all gone, he was introducing him to Shan first.

This was the King's promise fulfilled, Isaac trying to mend the mistakes he had made. She was valued, she was worthy, and the stain on the LeClaire name would start to lift.

This was how the game was played, and everyone watching saw it, too. But Shan saw the confusion in Samuel's eyes, saw him putting it together just a half-step behind everyone else.

Shan flicked her gaze up at Isaac, and he nodded. He saw it, and more surprisingly he didn't seem to judge Samuel for it. In that second, they made a silent pact to protect him, to protect the asset. Even beyond what she had promised the King, she would act as interference, as help, guiding Samuel while he found his footing like a baby deer learning to walk.

And Isaac would provide aid.

"My dear Lady LeClaire," Isaac said, formally, as he bowed. Samuel bowed after him, a beat too late, keeping his head low. "May I have the pleasure of introducing my friend, Lord Samuel Aberforth?"

Shan smiled, holding out her hand. "Aberforth, you say? I'm honored."

Samuel did well to hide his recognition of her, but she could see the gleam of amusement in his eyes. He took her hand in his, and she fell into a deep curtsy. "Lady LeClaire."

"Please," she said magnanimously. "Any friend of Isaac's is a friend of mine. You must call me Shan."

"Then you must call me Samuel," he replied, as he continued to hold her hand, far past what was proper. And despite everything between them, a thrill ran through her, one that she didn't have words to explain.

Before she could politely step away, Isaac asked, "Would you be kind enough to give Lord Aberforth the next dance?"

"I'd be delighted," she said, turning and entwining their arms. Samuel looked a little green, but she just offered him one of her kinder smiles. It wouldn't be so bad.

Side by side, they walked towards the dance floor to wait in line for the next song, leaving Isaac alone to be swarmed by the guests. They couldn't have Samuel yet—no one was crass enough to interrupt a dance—so they would get what they could from the second-best source.

The host.

As the current dance entered its final movement, Samuel dipped his head, his lips mere inches from her ear. She could feel his breath warm against her skin, and she had the sudden, ridiculous wish that she had worn her hair down.

"Uh. Shan?" Samuel whispered. "I can't dance. I never learned."

Shan clenched her hand against his arm, surprised by how lean and hard his muscles felt under his sleeve. "Of course you can't. And Isaac still sent you out here?"

"He didn't exactly tell me his plan."

Blood and steel. Isaac didn't intend to humiliate Samuel, she was sure; this was just an oversight. Dancing was simply a part of growing up for them; there was never a need to imagine it otherwise. Her mind raced as she considered the options—there was only one thing she could do.

Fate must have been on their side, for the song the quartet was starting was a simple one. She could still salvage this.

"Follow my lead," she ordered.

" What? "

"I'll lead," she said, twirling around him as she guided them into place. "You follow what I do. It's really simple, Samuel." She took his hand and placed it on her shoulder. "It'll be fine."

Samuel blinked down at her, panic creeping into his eyes. "But it's not proper."

She was grinning before she had even decided on it. "And are you the type to really care about what's proper?" She leaned close enough that their breath mingled. "I know you can do it. Don't disappoint me. And now… one. Two. Three. Four."

As the rest of the couples began to move, she pulled him into the dance, guiding him with a strong hand as he stumbled through the first few measures. He kept his gaze down at her feet, and she counted the beat to him, drowning out the whispers and the gasps, until the stumbling smoothed into something more graceful.

"There," she said. "You're dancing. Now look up at me."

"I am looking at you," he said, and she could hear the wonder and amusement in his voice. But he slowly moved his eyes up, and she could feel the heat rolling off him as his gaze slipped slowly upwards. Up her skirts to the tight pinch of her waistline. From there to the corset that bound her tight, past her décolletage and at last to her face.

He was blushing .

Shan's heart pounded a loud, unsteady beat in her chest. This was ridiculous—she had danced with countless others before, been subject to their leers and their greedy hands. Samuel hadn't moved an inch beyond propriety—blood and steel, he was barely touching her, with her leading—but his cheeks were flushed the most delicate pink, and his lips were parted ever so slightly.

She wondered how he would taste—if his kiss would be soft and sweet, or as fierce and passionate as the fire that burned within him.

Shan closed the extra space between them, stepping closer and turning her head so that she couldn't see his face. There was something far too intimate about this, and she tried to ignore the longing that spread through her, warming her from the inside out.

"Your dress is lovely," he whispered. "So… lacy."

Shan breathed out a laugh, relaxing against him. "You're so talented with words, my Lord Aberforth."

"What? It is." His voice was low and gentle, and Shan ignored the shiver that rippled across her skin. "It looks good on you. You're my own lace-wrapped hero."

"Casually saving you from disaster."

"I'd hardly call fumbling a dance a disaster," Samuel huffed.

Shan's throat clenched. "That's where you'd be wrong, Samuel. It would be." There was so much that he didn't know, but he had her. He was investment, she told herself, and she would be sure that he was worth the cost. She was already thinking of ways to spin this—there would be rumors throughout Dameral, sparked by this scandalous dance. She could take him under her wing, play into the expectations. It wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing; everyone would be trying to.

She just got to him first, long before anyone would even have guessed.

"Well, then, I'm lucky to have you on my side."

Shan laughed. "Yes, you are. And I promise that next time you won't be so unprepared."

The tempo picked up, and she led him into the next movement, spinning him out from her and then back in again. The eyes of the entire crowd were on them, and Samuel was no master but she was strong enough to guide him where he needed to go. It was rather crude and inelegant, but she didn't mind. It was shockingly fun.

He rolled back into her arms with a surprised "Oh."

"That's just the first one," she warned, and then they spun and twirled their way across the floor, Shan leading them expertly through the pattern.

"How do you know this?" Samuel asked as he pressed close to her again.

She spun him out for the last time, then pulled him close and flush for the final movement. "I never do anything by halves, Samuel." She braced herself for the censure, for the judgement, for quite literally leading him into this madness.

But when she looked up, his smile was soft and genuine. "You continue to surprise me, Shan."

She swallowed hard, then looked away, guiding him through the end of the dance. The last notes of the song rang heavy over the room, low and ominous, and Shan swore she could feel it reverberating in her blood.

And then it was over, and couples were stepping apart from each other all across the dance floor. They clung to each other for a moment longer than necessary, their hearts still beating in time.

"Thank you," Samuel said. "For everything. I hope we can do this again."

She wet her lips. "I hope so, too," she said, her voice strangely rough.

As he walked away from her, Samuel glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes burned with a question Shan didn't recognize, and his lips curved into a smile just for her.

It was foolish, but it felt like a balm against the jagged edges of her soul.

She turned away, biting the inside of her cheek until blood welled and burst across her tongue, ready to face the questioning throngs that were desperate for whatever gossip she could give.

With a demure smile, she allowed herself to be swarmed.