Chapter 56

56

Ella

The pair of sentries appeared at the open window of my carriage, their spears raised in salute.

I lifted my chin and straightened my back. If I were going to be Lady de Montague, I had to be above them. They were not men but prey, and barely worth acknowledging. Cattle standing by the edge of a pen.

I looked down with a high lady's disdain. "Let me through. I'm here for the ball."

Of course I was.

The captain's eyes flicked to the empty driver's seat and then back to me. "Where is your coachman?"

I bared my fangs. "Does it look like I need a coachman? The horses do as I say, and so will you . Now let me through, as I believe I'm late."

The captain swallowed and glanced toward the rear of the carriage, clearly unsettled. "But you have no footmen, either. It's highly irregular."

I tilted my head in the way that Bianca always did when she was close to losing her shit. "Thank you for enquiring, but I already ate and didn't want to haul the dead weight along."

He paled. "Yes, mistress?—"

"You may call me ‘High Lady Eva de Montague' or ‘my lady.' Anything else, and I will take out your throat."

He flinched but remained stoic. "Do you have your invitation?"

I pulled it from the little golden purse and flicked it out to him. "Here. As you can see, it's signed by my future husband. I suggest you don't keep either of us waiting any longer."

He checked it, then handed it back with a bow. "I'm sorry for the delay, my lady. Do you need us to guide your coach?—"

"Take me to the front steps of the castle, and look sharp about it!" I shouted to the horses.

Assuming I was speaking to him, the sentry moved to comply, but the coach lurched ahead as the team began high-stepping through the courtyard. I glanced back with a wicked smile at the guards as they gaped, watching the carriage circle around on its own to the grand entrance.

Pip scurried over and placed his paw on my leg. Please be careful.

With a lump in my throat, I gave him a scratch, then handed him the warning I'd prepared for Belle. " You be careful, Pip. And for Fates' sake, watch out for cats—I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

He took the note in his little claws. Don't worry, the cats and I have an understanding here. I'm a whisperer's chief companion, so I'm off the menu. I think they'd let me ride them straight to the infirmary if I asked.

I raised my brows in surprise. I'd never considered that our association might give him an elevated status among other animals. "You're more than my chief companion, Pip. You're my best friend."

As the coach pulled to a stop, I tightened my fists and relaxed them, over and over, trying to get my nerves under control. "Please look after Belle."

Don't worry. I'll make sure your sister gets out safely. The door rattled, and he scampered to his hiding spot behind the pillow. He gave me a last parting look. You're going to amaze them all.

Then he disappeared.

I unlocked the door and sat up proudly as a footman in formal livery swung it wide. He bowed and proffered his hand with a graceful sweep of his arm. "Good evening, my lady. Welcome to the Bloodvale."

A shiver of fear steeled my spine. I tucked my dress and took the footman's hand, then carefully eased out the door.

My breath caught.

In the two short days I'd been gone, the castle had been transformed. An array of twinkling lights hung high above the courtyard like a cloud of fireflies, while strings of jasmine flowers had been draped over the walls, perfuming the air with a heady sweetness and hiding the bloodstains that tarnished the stones.

My momentary euphoria died at the memory of Matthew's lifeless body hanging in the servants' garden—a chilling reminder of the danger I was walking into.

A crimson carpet spilled over the front steps of the castle, mercifully sparing my glass heels from the cobblestones. I climbed the stairs, and the doormen opened the grand doors.

Fates, I hope Siggy's enchanted necklace works.

I said a silent prayer and crossed the threshold, the gem around my neck warming against the magic that guarded the castle. The clock had officially started. One hour to warn the prince and get out of here.

"Welcome to Castle Silverthorn," said a man dressed in a formal black uniform embroidered with crimson roses. He bowed deep, then opened a large book and looked up expectantly. "May I have your name, my lady?"

"High Lady Eva de Montague." I made my tone sharp, hoping it disguised my fear.

Fake it until you make it , Belle would say.

He ran his index finger down a page of the guestbook and tapped it twice, frowning. "I'm afraid your name is not on the list."

My heart drummed under my ribs.

Giving my best impression of Bianca, I stepped forward and snarled, hoping the tips of my false fangs showed. "You must be mistaken."

The host paled, a sheen of sweat lining his brow when he met my gaze. "You're right, my lady. I am mistaken. I do see your name here under M, not D." He extended his arm toward the entry hall. "Please enjoy your evening."

After a cursory search for weapons, an usher guided me down the hall toward the symphony of music ahead.

Like the courtyard, the servants had transformed the interior of the castle. Bursting bouquets of white and red roses perched on every available surface, garlands and streamers hung from the walls, and gently sparkling fountains of light illuminated the ceiling.

I slowed as I approached the grand ballroom. Its towering doors were shut, with two footmen standing guard at either side—attendants from the royal wing. I touched the train of leaves dangling from my mask, praying it concealed my telltale silver hair.

The usher whispered something to one of the footmen, who swung the doors open so that I could step through.

"High Lady Eva de Montague," bellowed the man at my side.

My stomach knotted, and I wanted to duck under a table. Would the courtiers who knew the real Eva recognize me as an impostor?

Fates, don't let anyone speak to me.

I forced myself to keep walking, and my fears faded as, apart from a few whispers, no one took much notice. Moments later, I was swept up by the crowd and left adrift in wonder. For all that I had seen, nothing had prepared me for the grand ballroom and its arching glass ceiling. Lit by floating spiral chandeliers that moved to the music, it was a magical wonderland filled with dancing colors and a symphony of sounds.

Hundreds of immortals filled the opulent space, their murmurs and whispers overshadowed by the soft melody of an orchestra I couldn't spot through the crowd. The males wore extravagantly embroidered frock coats and waistcoats in rich hues. The women were even more mesmerizing, their sumptuous gowns of silk and lace whispering across the marble floors as they glided like ethereal creatures of the night. All wore elaborate masks adorned with filigree, feathers, and silk. Some even resembled strange mythic creatures with horns.

There were more immortals than I'd ever imagined in one place. Most were already drunk on wine, but all still thirsted for blood and power.

I straightened my back. Lady Eva de Montague would not be frightened or awed. She would be here for one purpose and one purpose alone: the prince.

So was I.

Placing one glass slipper ahead of the other, I strode confidently through the crowd, searching. Were my stepmother's assassins here already? Between the crush of mingling bodies and whirling couples on the dance floor, it was nearly impossible to see. I needed a higher vantage point.

I beelined toward the second-level balconies but halted as icy fingers snaked down my wrist.

"You smell divine," the male said, his accent thick and unrecognizable.

I froze. What would Lady de Montague say to this feral beast of a man?

I pulled my arm free and glared at him. "Of course I smell divine. I am divine."

I was certain he was going to see right past my charade, but instead, he bowed. "A goddess of nature, to be sure," he murmured. "For all the masquerades I have attended, I've never seen a mask as striking as yours. If your face is as beautiful, then you will be the belle of the ball."

I made to move around him, but he stepped in front of me, his honey eyes glittering behind a bejeweled purple mask. "Please, my lady, grace me with your name so that I might call on you for a dance."

I didn't want to spend another second cornered by the vermin, but then again, I might need an excuse to get on the dance floor. "Lady de Montague." I gave him my most beguiling smile. "But I will be dancing with the prince tonight, and only the prince."

"We'll see about that, my beautiful goddess," he said, a veiled threat in his tone. He took my hand and pressed a soft kiss to it. His tongue traced against my skin, and my stomach curdled.

I yanked my fingers free and spun away. Hurrying to the stairs before I was accosted again, I passed a dim alcove. An immortal in an emerald mask braced a woman against the wall, her skirts bunched up and his arm clutching her bare thigh.

Grabbing my own skirt, I hurried up the swooping stairs, my heart drumming in my ears. A dozen balconies jutted over the ballroom, most filled with guests who were either watching the spectacle below or engaged in lewd acts. My thoughts turned to the orgy painted on the ceilings of the great hall. Was that where the ball was headed? A feast of flesh and blood?

I skirted past a group of women, their dark eyes tracking me behind frozen porcelain masks. Their murmurs filtered toward me through the din. "Who is she?"

I watched them for a breath too long, and one bared her fangs at me. I was surrounded by vicious, blood-drinking monsters…and they were growing suspicious. I was in way over my head.

Chest growing tighter by the minute, I rushed toward the nearest open balcony and braced myself against the stone railing, trying to calm my breathing.

Get a hold of yourself. There's too much at stake.

I fought down my moment of panic and scanned the room. The crystal chandeliers cast an effervescent glow over the shifting bodies below. From my current vantage, I had a clear view of the whole ballroom, save for the adjoining hidden alcoves and hallways. The music had ebbed, and guests loitered around the edges of the dance floor.

Dozens of servants moved seamlessly through the room, offering refreshments or flirting with the guests. My stepmother's assassins had to be among them somewhere. The problem was, I didn't recognize any of them, and none looked suspicious. They were all part of a clockwork machine, creating order among the chaotic throng of immortals.

I glanced at the silver clock on the far wall. Thirty-eight minutes left.

If I couldn't identify the assassins, then I'd have to find Cassius and warn him.

I caught sight of a large, gilded balcony at the far end of the room. A curtain of semi-opaque black lace concealed the occupants, but I felt eyes behind the darkness, watching us all relentlessly. My skin prickled.

The Triad.

I shuddered. No question. Now that I was concentrating, I could feel the sick vibrations of their power shrouding the room, an unseen specter that belied the laugher and music below.

I started to turn away, but a sudden hush fell over the room. The crowd below the veiled balcony parted as a couple strode forward. My mouth went dry.

Cassius.

He wore a tailored midnight suit that somehow both concealed and accentuated his tall, broad frame and chiseled physique. His matching velvet frock coat was adorned with roses embroidered with a silver thread that almost glowed under the soft light. It was the mask, however, that captured his true mystique. Crafted of black lacquered metal, it was decorated with silver filagree that matched his coat, the edges sweeping upward along his cheekbones, ending in delicate wing-like shapes.

A prince of darkness. Soon to be king.

A tight, burning sensation spread through me as he guided a woman toward the dance floor. Her raven hair matched his, and though her crimson gown and silver mask were subdued in comparison, she was beautiful. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was Lady Marbury.

Had he actually considered my advice?

The elegant pair stepped onto the empty dance floor, and a dagger twisted in my chest. I should have been flattered that he'd listened, but instead, my heart ached.

A lone violinist began a slow, romantic melody. The couple took their positions, the prince extending his hand toward her, palm up in a formal invitation to dance. When she accepted, he brushed his lips over her knuckles, and then, eyes locked on hers, he guided her to the center of the floor, one hand taking her waist as he led her in a series of slow, sweeping steps that matched the violin's dark, mournful melody. The tempo of the music picked up, joined by a cello and bass, and their steps grew quicker and more elaborate, their bodies moving in effortless harmony as if they'd practiced the steps a hundred times over.

They were perfect together. Breathtaking, even.

My illusions crashed in, windows shattered by a storm. Although I'd dreamt of his lips and hands and kiss, I'd never been any match for the prince, nor worthy of him. Compared to the statuesque beauty in his arms, I was nothing.

His words from the other day rose in my mind: I need to focus on my new queen, not some farm girl intent on destroying me.

The truth was, he'd been right. He deserved a woman like Marbury—elegant, graceful, and perfect.

But while I was just a farm girl, I could do one thing that the flawless lady could not: save his life, and perhaps the human half of his kingdom.

The music swelled, and other couples joined the dance, their movements also executed with effortless grace as they spun and dipped. More immortals left their conversations and pressed in around the dance floor, a masked throng of riotous color.

My gaze landed on a single waiter carrying an empty tray, making his way against the flow. He moved without the graceful clockwork of the other staff and was pushing toward the prince.

My stomach fell with the weight of certainty. The assassins were here, and they were hunting. I checked the time again. Only thirty minutes remained.