Chapter 9

CHAPTERNINE

The next fivedays pass in a blur of golden ornaments, food tasting, and ballroom rearranging.

Yes, we have an actual ballroom, despite Mother’s aversion to formal events. She might not want to call it what it is, but based on the dress code she insisted upon, it’s definitely a classic ball.

“Look at you, Princess,” Ilona teases, eyeing my smokey cat-eye and nude lip combination. It’s rare that I wear makeup. The island is so hot most of the time that it melts right off my face anyway. It is inconvenient and unnecessary. But tonight, I took great care in embellishing my appearance.

My floor-length dress is a translucent, flowing gold satin. It sits snugly against my flesh, hugging my chest and hips before flaring around my thighs so I can walk. With a deep V-neck and only two thin straps holding it up, it looks like a mix between a nightgown and a ballgown.

“And yet, you’re the one who looks like a princess,” I say as we walk through the royal wing toward the ballroom in the palace’s heart. There’s no animosity in my tone; I mean it. Ilona is stunning in her forest-green gown. The tight sleeveless bodice has straps that criss cross over her back, and a multi-layered tulle skirt rustles around her as she walks.

It makes her eyes glow and contrasts with her fiery hair that’s flowing tamely around her shoulders tonight. Her makeup is simple and understated; she’s been careful not to hide her unique freckles.

“I hate Mother’s events. I’m only going for you,” I grumble. Her cheeks flush, and her smile grows wider. She’s excited that Mother has decided to host a regular ball for once, in honor of our guests.

No regular villagers are invited. Only the noble families—those with magic or wealth—are in attendance. Everyone has been granted a plus-one though, so many regular folks have tagged along.

Ilona normally despises Mother’s events too. The bacchanals and the parties normally turn into orgies full of inebriated citizens. However, with the Stellari king and queen in attendance, tonight’s event is expected to be a bit more…upstanding. And Ilona loves an excuse for a pretty dress and nice pair of shoes.

I prefer my flats and pants, but I must admit I do feel stunning.

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with that handsome prince or your new guard?”

I shoot Ilona an annoyed look as music carries through the empty hallways. “Prince Zale couldn’t handle me if he wanted to. And my new guard constantly looks like he’s up to no good.”

“Well I suppose you can keep an eye on him tonight. Maybe the two of you can get up to no good together. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a lover.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. It hits me that I forgot to tell her about how Dashiel and I kissed. With all of the strange energy after his outburst the other day, I’ve been trying to avoid any conversations with him or about him.

“Oh really? If you want to chat about my love life, how about we dive into yours. How’s Marnie?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

She makes a small squeaking noise, avoiding eye contact. “Gosh. I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she says, her voice going up an octave.

“Sure you don’t.” We both laugh. “Speaking of, is Marnie coming tonight?”

Ilona flushes a deeper red and tries to turn so I don’t see. “I can’t invite a servant.”

“I’m pretty sure you can invite whoever you’d like as your plus one, Ilona.”

“Your mother—”

“Probably wouldn’t even notice with the amount of wine she consumes at these things. Her head will be buried in the sheets or in someone’s lap before long.”

“Not at the Vannyk’s ball!” She gasps, undoubtedly imagining the horrors of Mother’s event turning rogue in front of other royalty.

“You’re right. She’ll be on her best behavior tonight. Unless the Stellari secretly enjoy wild rendezvous of their own?”

“They still marry off their heirs to other countries as political pawns, Astrid. I’m sure they’re quite old-school.” Her face lights up, and she begins talking quickly, her quirk when she’s excited or nervous. “Oh my goddess. What if they want you and Zale to marry for a political alliance! Do you think your mother would go for it? You’re an adult. She couldn’t say no. Would you live here or in Stellari—”

“Ilona,” I say. “Enough of that nonsense. I’m not marrying anyone. Especially not an uptight prince with the personality of a doorknob.”

“I resent that statement, Princess,” a familiar voice drawls.

“Of course he’s right behind me,” I say, rolling my eyes. Ilona makes a small choking noise, and her eyes widen in horror. I turn, casual as ever, and offer a small wave to the prince.

He’s dressed in a black tuxedo, bow tie and all. His dark hair is styled as always—longer on the top than the sides—and he looks as handsome as ever. He offers me a toothy smile, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin.

He stands out in his Stellari formal wear. We won’t see the men from the island wearing such outfits tonight.

But it’s the person standing at his side who truly catches my attention, causing my breath to hitch.

Dashiel.

He wears equally formal attire—a button-up shirt with slacks and suspenders—and with his artfully messy waves, he looks delectable.

Though we’ve been around each other plenty, our usual banter has been stilted. I’m still not sure where we stand, and I’m not sure how to engage. Goddess forbid I end up offending him again.

“You take longer than the ladies to get ready,” I say, crossing my arms, opting to pretend everything between us is fine. Dash’s eyes follow the movement before slowly dragging up to my face. He offers a feral grin. “We almost left without you.”

“I thought we agreed on no more ditching?” he counters.

I visibly relax at the mention of our deal from the other day. It seems he’s no longer irked at me. “And I am a woman of my word.”

Zale leans in to give me his customary kiss on each cheek before doing the same with Ilona. When it’s Dashiel’s turn to kiss us, his lips linger on my cheeks, the heat of his body radiating toward me, like we’re magnets drawn together. When he releases me, I feel colder. Emptier.

He gives Ilona a polite, chaste kiss on each cheek. She turns to me with a questioning look. She definitely noticed his affectionate greeting. I’ll have to give her a rundown on what occurred with him earlier this week.

“You have a thing for calling me a bore,” Zale says with a bit of bite.

“Maybe his lackluster personality is simply to throw you off his scent. It’s a facade,” Dash says with a smirk.

Zale shakes his head, his lips pressed into a straight line.

“Let’s hope you’re not betrothed to him,” Ilona whispers, but it comes out louder than she intends. Dash bursts into a laugh, and a dimple appears on his cheek. It’s spectacularly beautiful to see him wear an expression of such joy.

“Betrothed?” Zale asks in a strangled voice. “Why in the stars would you say that?”

“She reads too many of those far-fetched romance stories,” I say. I grab her elbow and resume leading her toward the ballroom.

“Hey!” Ilona’s cheeks blaze as red as her hair. “You’re the one who told me to read Her Warrior of Passion.” She turns to the men and loud-whispers scandalously, “Spoiler alert: the warrior likes to use the back door.”

Zale’s eyes widen, and he distracts himself by adjusting his tie, while Dash’s face continues to crinkle with humor.

“Ilona,” I cry out through tears of laughter. If she’s trying to embarrass me, it’s not working. I’m mostly amused that she’s fired up enough to take shots at me. Normally she doesn’t stand up to me when I pick on her. “It’s called anal. Just say it.”

“Absolutely not,” she says matter-of-factly. “And for the record, I prefer stories of lore and history.”

“Sure,” I tease, knowing she’s lying to herself more than to us.

“Lore?” Dash asks, sharing a look with Zale.

“Yes. Did you know that it’s said the original goddess was from Hakran? That the land here is filled with extraordinary magic and mysteries that have been forgotten throughout the years, like—”

“I’m sure they don’t care,” I say, jumping in.

“Actually,” Dash says, eyes shifting nervously, “what do you know?”

There’s something weird about the way he asks, but I let it go. “None of the lores are true.” Ilona’s stories are just that—stories. Fiction. Fairy tales. As we near the ballroom entrance, Zale offers me his arm, and feeling apologetic about calling him bland, I accept it. Ilona takes Dash’s, and the four of us enter together.

We’re tardy enough that the party is already in full-swing—the wine is flowing and feet are gliding across the dance floor—but we’re not too late that Mother notices. She’s likely busy mingling and bathing in praise.

With the expansive, open floor designed for dancing, gilded chandeliers, and carved marble columns, the ballroom is much more ostentatious than the throne room. It’s meant for entertaining. It’s luxurious and overstated.

To our left sit banquet tables with fresh food and cocktails. The serving staff busily moves to and fro, refreshing the tables as they empty. They will ensure the guests have plenty throughout the night. To our right are several gold and white sofas on which people relax. Swaths of color swirl around us as the ball attendees dance the night away.

Beyond it all, along the far wall, glass-paned doors lead out into the courtyard. A few people trickle in and out.

“I love balls,” Ilona breathes out.

Dashiel and I snicker while Zale casts us scolding looks. “You two would be perfect together.”

Before I can object, Zale carefully releases my arm and switches places with Dashiel.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dashiel purrs in my ear. My skin pebbles, and liquid warmth spreads between my legs, but I refuse to let him know how he affects me. Instead, I huff in annoyance. At this point, I’m more annoyed at my body’s reaction to him than I am at him.

“What were they laughing at?” Ilona asks Zale.

“Your love of balls?”

“Oh, gosh.” She chews her bottom lip, looking amused herself now. “The formal kind. Not the man kind.”

Zale’s face scrunches with bewilderment. “The man kind?”

“Not a fan of anal or testicles, eh?” Dash teases. I swat his shoulder in warning.

“I—well, not really,” she says tentatively. “Sometimes, I suppose.”

“Well, looks like we have something in common after all.” Zale casts Dash a dirty look before smiling at Ilona. I snicker at the exchange. Perhaps the four of us might be friends after all.

We greet the Vannyks and say hello to Mother—who is dressed in something opaque for once—before locating beverages.

Dashiel, Zale, Ilona, and I converge on a set of couches, observing the evening’s polite chatter and appropriate dancing. Dashiel sits by my side, with Zale and Ilona on the couch to our right. We have a clear view of the entire room.

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” Ilona says, sipping her burgundy wine. “Your mother’s affair is incredibly felicitous.”

“Felicitous?” Zale asks with a frown.

“It’s probably one of her new words.” I chuckle. “Which book did you read that in?”

“I thought anal was her new word,” Dashiel adds. I snort, laughing so hard that I almost choke on my wine. Zale sighs and looks at Ilona apologetically. Her cheeks redden but she snickers along with us.

“Felicitous—you know, pleasing. Well suited,” Ilona says. Zale shakes his head and starts a new conversation with her, discussing synonyms of felicitous.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” Dashiel whispers in my ear. I gulp my wine, hoping to distract myself from his closeness.

“I know,” I say. He chuckles darkly, and his warm breath tickles my ear. “You’re too close to me.” I scoot a few inches away, putting distance between us.

“I beg to differ. I don’t think I’m close enough.”

I groan, draining my wine. A servant passes with a tray of beverages, and I flag them down, gratefully accepting a filled glass.

“You’re nervous,” Dash says. Finally, I turn to meet his stare, and his eyes crinkle with glee. “I make you nervous.”

“No you don’t.” I glance away, looking at Ilona instead. She’s deep in conversation with Zale, but I interrupt them anyway. “Would you like to dance, Lonnie?”

She pouts at the nickname before nodding. Excusing herself from Zale, she treads to the dance floor with me. We spin around to a few songs, smiling and laughing until our cheeks are flushed and we’re out of breath.

“This is so much fun, A!” She giggles. “I wish your mother would host more events like this. They’re spectacular. I feel like royalty.”

“You are royalty,” I say.

After another dance, we return to the couches to take a break. Surprisingly, Zale and Dashiel are exactly where we left them. Dashiel’s eyes darken as his gaze roams me hungrily. Riding the buzzy high of the wine and dancing, I saunter over to him with a wink.

“Dance with me next?” he asks.

“My poor feet have had enough,” I say. “Maybe next time?”

“We both know there won’t be a next time. You’ll dance with me tonight.”

“Demanding, Dashiel Dargan.” I scowl mockingly at him, but my stomach flutters with his demand. I don’t want to like his arrogance, but I do. It turns me on.

“Do you dance, Prince?” I ask Zale, turning my attention to him and Ilona.

“Absolutely not,” Zale says. He smooths a hand over his jacket.

“So uptight,” I mutter with an eye roll. “Of course you don’t dance.”

If I’m not mistaken, I swear Ilona looks disappointed at Zale’s lack of interest in dancing. Perhaps it’s all the wine getting to my head, but I wish he’d make an exception for her. I bet if Marnie was here, she’d dance with Ilona.

The thought of Ilona and Marnie together, happy, gives me an idea.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, jumping up. “There’s something I have to do.” Ignoring Ilona’s quizzical look, I scurry to the exit. Dashiel, of course, tags along as I hustle to the servants’ quarters to find who I’m looking for.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, after a bit of tipsy begging combined with Gianna’s magic, Marnie’s dressed in a pale pink gown, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.

“Are you sure Ilona wants me there?” Marnie asks, twisting her hands together nervously.

“Trust me.” I adjust her skirts one last time, before leading her into the ballroom.

We make our way back to Zale and Ilona, and at the sight of Marnie, Ilona’s mouth drops open. “Marnie, what are you doing here?”

Marnie’s face drops and she stammers out an apology. “I just—I thought—”

“No. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Ilona says. “You look beautiful. I’m pleased to see you. I only meant that I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Marnie grins before casting a bashful glance in my direction. I leave the two of them alone, and the men follow me to an empty couch nearby.

“I’ll be right back,” Zale mutters. I don’t miss the way his eyes continuously flicker over to Ilona as he makes his way past them. He cuts through the dance floor, to the other side of the room.

“That was a nice thing you did,” Dashiel says, plopping down at my side.

“That’s what friends do.” I shrug.

“Would you say we are friends, Princess?” He trails a finger lazily along my bare shoulder.

“No,” I say. He sits with one arm behind me, his legs spread open so his knee bumps my own. I’m tempted to scoot away and put distance between us again, but then I decide against it, secretly relishing his nearness.

I blame the alcohol.

“Good. I don’t want to be your friend,” he whispers in my ear.

Before I get a chance to reply, Zale sidles up, balancing three glasses of red wine in his hands. They’re filled to the brim, and I’m impressed that he hasn’t spilled any. But then again, Zale would probably have a heart attack if he spilled something on himself.

The three of us drink and laugh for the next couple of hours, and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover Zale can loosen up a bit.

Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time. I’ve lost sight of my best friend, but last time I saw her, she was twirling Marnie around to the music. Even Mother wears a rare smile on her face as she floats between various nobles on the dance floor.

“The wine here is delicioussss,” Zale slurs. His lips are tinted dark red

“Are you drunk, Prince Zale?” I stifle a laugh behind my hand. Dashiel’s eyes widen in surprise, and it causes me to laugh harder. Before I know it, the three of us are laughing hysterically.

“Nope. I’m not.” He stands up, and the way he stumbles says otherwise. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

“He’s inebriated!” I say, hiccuping from my own drunkenness. “The prince is sick of being dull. He wants to dance!”

Dash stands beside him and slaps him on the back.

The three of us meet up with Ilona and Marnie on the dance floor. Zale shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it aside carelessly, a wide grin plastered on his face. I’m humored at how different he is after a few drinks.

After a bit of chatting, I let Dash lead me away from the group. We dance quietly, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the buzz wears off and tiredness settles in.

And for once I almost feel like I’m at home.

* * *

It’s been one week since the Vannyks came and disturbed our routine, but things are almost back to normal today.

I sit alongside Ilona on a snack-filled blanket in our ruby-colored tent on the beach, watching the revelers as they twirl around the sand in the warm light of the snapping, spitting bonfire.

Lights have been strung up from the tent to the platform where the musicians play, beating on their drums and plucking at their stringed instruments. Bare feet spray up bits of sand and muck as they move about. Laughter and chatter ring out.

“Goddess, this week flew by,” Ilona says, making a little sandwich of cheese, ham, and crackers.

“At least we’re relieved of ball-planning duty.”

“It was a soiree,” she says, mimicking Mother’s flat drawl. We both chuckle.

“It wasn’t so bad, surprisingly,” I admit. And it’s true. Everyone seemed to have an enjoyable time together. It stayed classy, too, which is an accomplishment on its own.

“Where is Dashiel? Certainly he didn’t accompany you here tonight. I’m sure your mother would never trust him with that secret.”

“She’s hosting a dinner for the Vannyks. He got invited and couldn’t decline, thank the goddess.”

“Oh! Marnie told me the Stellari brought some strange fruit with them from the mainland! Eggplant? Weird name though. It looks nothing like an egg and more like a big, purple—nevermind. Apparently it’s a delicacy. Enira instructed the kitchen staff to make a meal in their honor, so I don’t think she will be creeping around tonight either.”

“Good.” I harrumph.

“Maybe I was wrong about Queen Enira.” She sighs, looking up at the sloping fabric overhead. “It’s just that I’ve had the same dream a few times, and it feels so real every time.”

“It’s only a dream.” I stand, placing the veyl over my head, eager to get this over with. At least Mother is up at the castle with the Vannyks, leaving me in what almost feels like peace tonight.

Other than the killing-someone part.

I despise taking innocent lives, and I’ve begun to strongly suspect these people aren’t here wholly of their own free will. Despite my hesitations, my body moves of its own accord, pulling me through the motions.

“Yeah…sure, A.” Ilona sounds dejected.

“You don’t have to wait for me either. Go see Marnie and get your tea if you’d like.”

“Okay. What are you in the mood to read tonight?”

“I would much prefer my bed, quite frankly,” I say, exhausted from the events of this week.

“Oh thank the goddess.” Ilona’s whole body visibly relaxes as she brushes the curls out of her face. “I drank way too much last night and want nothing more than to rest. I didn’t have the heart to break our evening routine.”

She wraps her arms around me, suffocating me beneath the heavy fabric.

“Can’t…breathe, Lonnie.”

“Oh gosh, sorry. Sorry!” Her eyes widen with embarrassment. “I just wanted to thank you for inviting Marnie. It was very kind of you.”

Grunting in response, I reach a hand out through the slit of my veyl and give her hand a squeeze. “That’s what friends are for.”

Would I still be your friend if you knew I killed your mother?

My own voice echoes in my head—the guilt I try to keep behind bars deep inside me.

“Go. Say hi to her for me, and have a restful sleep.”

“Don’t forget you’re the most powerful woman in Hakran, your mother be damned, A.” She leaves in a flurry of fiery curls and lilac perfume.

I smile, downing the bitter tonic Cedrik gave me last week in hopes it will prevent another bout of nausea during the transference. I’ve been so distracted, so busy with Dashiel and Zale, that I haven’t given him much thought.

I hope he’s okay.

Trudging through the rest of the evening’s motions, I choose a teen male for the sacrifice this time. As I absorb his energy, I keep my eyes closed, trying to fight the waves of pleasure that threaten to drown me.

I don’t like this.

I can’t like this.

If it wasn’t for Mother needing the life force to stay in power and keep our island secure, I wouldn’t use this side of my power at all. But I do, for her. I must hurry to the throne room to complete the transference, to allow her to feed off me like a leech.

I leave the swaying bodies, crashing waves, and salty air behind, along with the husk of a boy who will never take another breath.