A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  I sighed, but turned to ask Maxim, “Say, is your pledged-to-be here?”

  “No.” He glanced down at me before saying, “And thank fuck for that,” like because I’d asked, it was a relief she wasn’t.

  What a poor girl . . . I thought as Maxim walked off to greet someone who had just entered the room.

  I wasn’t sure what you were supposed to do at affairs such as this; but when my eyes ran over a buffet table full of food and wine, that’s exactly where I headed. It was after a moment of searching for something particularly sweet that I found just what I was looking for. Reaching for the strawberry tart, my spine suddenly tingled, a hot awareness rushing from my nape to the back of my thighs.

  In a casual way, Weston’s front brushed my back as he reached for something around me.

  “Pardon me.” His deep voice was so close to the back of my neck; each word sent a shiver of pleasure coasting down my spine.

  I vaguely heard the actual words, because his entire front was pressed against me. The act was completely, deliciously inappropriate. It felt like he’d just slid his hand up my thigh and under my dress instead of only leaning over me.

  My skin tingled, my breaths all backward, that my eyes closed briefly until he pulled back and walked away as if he really had only been reaching for something. I just didn’t know what, because I’d been in the land of pent-up frustration and that place virgins go only to come back as whores.

  What was his plan now? Seduce me out of town?

  Now that I thought about it, I’d never heard Weston say, ‘Pardon me.’ Didn’t even think he could form the words. What was he up to? I let out a breath, turmoil waging against the darkness inside me, and grabbed two sweet tarts.

  “Sister.”

  An automatic growl sounded in my head at the voice behind me.

  “It’s particularly disturbing that you want to pledge with me, yet you call me ‘Sister,’” I replied, turning around and shoving the tart in my mouth. It was a big bite and would annoy Alis; particularly why I did it.

  He shrugged. “It’s an endearment, is it not?”

  My face puckered in disgust, the tart suddenly tasting like sawdust in my mouth. “Not of the pledged variety.”

  “Then I shall call you ‘my pledged’ or ‘my love.’ Does that please you?”

  “If I wanted to force myself to hurl, then yes,” I said idly, glancing from guest to guest like they were the most interesting thing I’d ever seen. Some of them stopped to touch Alis on the shoulder or to say a quick hello, giving me a smile as they passed. He was Symbia’s golden boy with the golden mane to go with it. Blond hair to his shoulders, brown eyes the color of dirty water—at least that’s what I thought, and a pair of lips that seemed to permanently be in a straight line whenever he saw me. Honestly, I didn’t look at the man much. He was like a potted plant to me: it sat in the corner, and nobody noticed it.

  His father was Clinton Montgomery, one of the rich, popular faces of Symbia. If they only knew he was a Druid, they’d change their tune real quick.

  I went to eat my other tart when Alis grabbed it with a scowl and tossed it behind him. It about hit a passing guest, and she gave me a scowl like I’d thrown it. “I wish to speak with you, not watch you shove tarts in your mouth.”

  I gritted my teeth, and knowing that he’d follow me around until he said whatever he needed to say, I snapped, “Then get it over with.”

  He looked at the ceiling, letting out a breath as if he wished for patience. “I wish to speak like adults about our future pledging.”

  There was no ‘future pledging,’ but I only crossed my arms, waiting for him to continue. I’d learned that if I just let the man talk, he would leave me alone. But when his attention caught on my breasts, I sighed. This low-cut, stupid barmaid’s dress. Alis was idiotic and annoying, but he never ogled me; his interest ran only as far as that I could compel and persuade, an oddity in our world to even have one gift.

  With a roll of my eyes, I brushed past him and ran right into my mother.

  “Darling.”

  I noticed Clinton on my side and Alis at my back. I’d been thoroughly ambushed. This was one of my nightmares—right up there with blood and death.

  “Oh, look. My family all in one place. We’re only missing Grandmamma.”

  My mother looked at the floor, clearing her throat, my suspicion suddenly rising.

  “Calamity, don’t you look beautiful, if not . . . a little like one of the wenches I can buy a few moments with in the bachelor’s room.”

  I turned with a large, fake smile. “Thank you, Clinton. They have a bachelor’s room here? What direction? I was hoping to earn a little coin for the night.”

  His eyes flickered with annoyance. That was, in Clinton speak, a compliment: dark hair framed in an elegant wave, tanned skin, and blue eyes that contrasted everything else well. Many found him and his son attractive, but I couldn’t after getting to know them. Poisonous potted plants.

  I felt a pressure that someone was staring, and glancing up, my eyes caught on Weston; he had his arms crossed as he leaned against a column, watching the scene. I swallowed, looking him over. He looked like a bloody prince if I ever saw one. How had I never noticed the arrogance about him that only a royal could have? Even the way he stood, with his legs slightly spread like he owned the floor I was walking on, screamed prince.

  His stare was slightly unnerving as yesterday came flooding in. I couldn’t believe I was kissing him the night before. What had I been thinking? He was completely unpredictable, and it would be best to just stay away from him completely. Tell that to my drunken self later on in the evening . . . because Weston was like those sweet tarts: they were bad for me, but I still put them in my mouth. I blinked. That came out a little crasser than I’d intended. The truth was the truth, though.

  A few Titans stood in his vicinity. Sleeveless black jerkins and black pants with an assortment of blades strapped to them like they were standing on a battlefield and not a ballroom floor. The guests weaved a large half-circle around them as they stood off to the side, not comfortable in their vicinity, it seemed. Pillaging and raping. My words as a six-year-old came back to me. Though maybe that was a lot of scaremongering, I couldn’t deny they looked like that would be a favorite pastime.

  My gaze flicked to Princess Luciana who seemed enraptured in what some man of royal status was saying. She didn’t even seem to be sharing a glance with Weston. Maybe that gossip rag had been just that—gossip. Imagine that?

  Pulling my eyes back to Weston involuntarily, my gaze caught on a familiar Titan among the few, whose intense and irate stare was on me. I gave Archer a sweet smile.

  “Calamity, are you listening?”

  “Of course,” I responded.

  My mother frowned. “Well, Clinton and I have discussed your future, and we think it’s best for you to decide soon who you’ll be pledging on All Sister’s Day. There isn’t much more time.”

  “Yes,” I said sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s because you’re thinking of my well-being.”

  Alis frowned. “Calamity—”

  “That’s my dress,” I interrupted, looking my mother over with a frown.

  She glanced down. “No, it isn’t.”

  “But that’s the same one you bought . . . you bought the same dress you gave me?”

  “I thought we could match tonight, but for some reason, I couldn’t find you anywhere yesterday to tell you.”

  I held in my slight amusement at that. “I don’t know what’s worse—you thinking we should match, or you pushing Alis at me like it would ever be a good idea.” I tried to push past her, but Alis grabbed my wrist painfully. I shot an incensed look his way, the dark inside me getting oppressively hot. “Let. Go.”

  After a moment, he released his grip. “You’re going to pledge with me on All Sister’s Day. I’m the best match you could find.”

  “Sorry.” I smiled ruefully. “I happen to already be promised to another.”r />
  “What—”

  “Who—”

  “Cal—”

  All three went off at the same time.

  I stopped a servant who was walking past me with a tray of wine, putting a hand on his arm. “We’re getting pledged, aren’t we, darling?”

  He blinked. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

  His words lacked a little less passion than I would have liked from my future husband, but I guessed I could give him some time to process the idea. At least this man came with wine. I grabbed a glass, taking a swallow while ignoring the hot, incensed stares on my back.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Samuel.”

  I sighed with relief. “Much better than Alis,” I muttered, walking away.

  I was having a staring contest, and quite frankly, I was losing. I blamed the issue on the fact that I’d never been taught intimidation from infanthood. Every once in a while, my gaze would collide with Weston’s, and we’d play this silly game. I’d only won once because some royal or another stopped to say a word to Weston. I’d thought he would ignore them to win the game, but then at the last moment, he conceded.

  This time, though, there were already enough stares on my skin.

  Averting my gaze from the Titan across the room and surrendering, I stared into the crowd absently, ignoring the two king’s guards who seemed to be fixated on me like glue.

  “What if someone was up to no good?” I said as I leaned against a column just outside of the revelry. “You’d miss it and shame your city because you’ve been staring at me this whole time.”

  “We know exactly who would be up to no good, and that’s who we’re keeping an eye on,” Tuko replied.

  “Me?” I feigned surprise. “Why would you ever think that?”

  Tuko grunted.

  I tossed back my glass before grabbing another off a servant’s passing tray. I was on my third and thought that if I could just drink enough, I might be able to have a dreamless sleep.

  Steady glanced around as if to see if anyone important was near, before lighting a cheroot from a wall sconce.

  “So, this is what being a king’s guard consists of,” I mused. “Watching everyone else have fun.”

  “We swore to protect, and that’s a sacrifice we are proud to make,” Tuko boasted.

  “That sounds like a response you’re all supposed to memorize.”

  Tuko frowned, his lips in a straight line—his admission on his face.

  Amusement rose inside me. I was glad I came tonight. Being alone only allowed the black inside me to chafe, my thoughts drowning in the dark. But now, I was floating.

  “What are you doing with the prince?” Steady asked, his gaze suspicious as smoke rose from his lips.

  “What prince?” I asked, pushing from the column and walking towards them.

  They both stared at me with eyes narrowed in exasperation. How could they know I’d come to know one too many princes? I ticked them off on my finger. “There’s the Untouchable Prince. The oldest Titan Prince—”

  Tuko shook his head in amused disbelief. “You don’t know the Titan Prince.”

  I bit my lip on a smile. “Okay, I don’t. Sometimes I get a little carried away.”

  Their gazes shot to the Titan in question, as if me just lying about knowing him would send him over here to kill us all.

  “The Untouchable Prince,” Steady said wryly.

  “Oh,” I said as if in understanding, and then lifted a shoulder. “I’ve compelled him to be my lover.”

  They both paused, before watching my expression to see if I’d been jesting.

  I didn’t blink.

  Their gazes found each other’s in complete turmoil, it practically collided with the sweet smoke in the air.

  “You are both too serious,” I said, grabbing Steady’s cheroot out of his loose hand, and taking a puff. The coughs were instantaneous, my eyes watering down my cheeks. “Gosh, that’s awful.”

  “It’s not meant for women,” Steady censured, taking it back.

  I took a swig of my wine to get the awful taste out of my mouth. “I won’t even argue that one,” I croaked, getting the last bit of coughs up.

  They both watched me like it was a strange occurrence the ‘Girl in Black’ would cough from a little smoke. I’d never smoked in my life; my grandmother would have horse-whipped me.

  “There’s a warrant for your head,” Tuko supplied, eyeing me with condescension.

  “Really? I didn’t know I was that popular.”

  “If we don’t take you in, it’s our necks on the line.”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “The magistrate doesn’t even know who’s been peeing on his bushes let alone what’s happening outside his yard.”

  It was then that I realized whatever Steady was smoking, it was going straight to my head.

  It was close to ten minutes later, after the two guards decided not to turn me in, that we’d somehow gotten into conversation. Well, I thought I was doing most of the talking while they vaguely listened; in reality, they were probably only debating themselves whether or not to change their minds and arrest me.

  “ . . . so then Weston killed him—like usual. He has a serious jealous streak. Now that I know he’s truly mad—or going to be—it all makes a lot more sense. But surely you can see how confusing it was at the time.”

  At some point as I finished up that story, both king’s guards had straightened up like they’d been pulled at the end of a marionette string.

  “Serious jealous streak, huh?”

  I sighed. I really was imbibing a little too much if I hadn’t even felt Weston sneak up on me. I poured my drink into a potted plant, giving up on the idea of sleep tonight. Getting drunk hadn’t been a good idea with him around, anyway.

  “If the shoe fits . . .” I muttered, dropping my cup into the plant as well.

  The guards’ expressions couldn’t mask their horror at my insolence to the prince they a moment ago, thought I’d been jesting about.

  “I look away for a second, only to find you drunkenly spilling all my family’s secrets.”

  Tuko swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving like he was going to lose his head from hearing what I’d told him. He hadn’t even known Weston was that Weston, but he did now.

  “I don’t keep anything from Gregory and Darren,” I said seriously.

  They both flicked uneasy gazes at me, pleading with me to shut up.

  “He’s a lot more bark than bite,” I told them, but then blinked, adding hesitantly, “well . . . besides that one time.”

  “So that’s your mother?”

  My head whipped toward Weston, uncertainty mixing with the wine in my stomach.

  “Looks like you,” he commented nonchalantly, but I didn’t like the tone behind it. His eyes hardened. “Keep sharing secrets that aren’t yours, and I will go find out some of your own.”

  “I don’t have any secrets,” I blurted.

  When he raised a brow, as if accepting the challenge, I grabbed his wrist to keep him from seeking out my mother. I didn’t know if she was strong enough to keep him out of her head or not, but I didn’t want to risk him searching for things about me that I didn’t want to face yet.

  “Let’s just keep all of our secrets to ourselves,” I said like I had come up with the notion myself.

  “Good idea,” he said wryly.

  He tried to pull away and go who knew where, but I held tight onto his wrist. He flicked his gaze down to my grip, then met my eyes with an amused expression. Ugh, why did he have to be so handsome it made my stomach flutter with one look?

  I bit my lip to keep a smile from growing, but it was just too damn hard. “I’ve forgiven you for trying to banish me from the city, you know. We must just learn to ‘coexist’ better, don’t you think?”

  “I think we coexist too well. That’s the problem.”

  My brows knitted, remembering what he told Henry: that he hoped he wasn’t here for ‘pleasure.’ I sud
denly wanted to find out the reason he was. “Would you like to play Five Stones with me?”

  He only watched me for a moment. “You’re serious.” It was voiced as a question, but not.

  “Quite.”

  “Five Stones . . . you know you have no chance of winning, right?”

  “I do expect you to be a gentleman about it,” I replied primly.

  The king’s guards were deathly silent. The complete uncertainty I’d brought into their lives, it was a diverting amusement to my complicated life.

  Weston raised a suspicious brow. “Why do I have a feeling that ‘be a gentleman about it’ means let you win?”

  “Because that is partly what it means,” I said seriously as I linked my arm through his. I felt high on Midnight Oil at the contact, and the mere comparison of his tan skin and brand against my own unblemished arm was intoxicating, as if taking another hit of smoke, filling my head with sweet, light air.

  “I know just the place to play,” I said as I directed him through the crowd. “Unless you have prior engagements, of course?” I glanced up at him meaningfully. “Like courting a princess wearing clothes, maybe?”

  His eyebrows pulled down in confusion, while my heart thumped too heavily in my chest.

  “How much have you drunk?” he questioned.

  “Enough,” I muttered. Right on cue, we were walking by his men, only a foot away from Archer. I gave him a passing smile. “How do I look? ‘As stunning as the sun?’”

  Jaw tight, his stare hardened, but it flickered with uncertainty seeing me walk with his cousin. How much I loved playing with Titans. I sighed, realizing it would probably be my downfall. We all gotta go some way.

  Weston flicked his gaze between us, but before he could ask any questions, I said to him, “Or are there too many princesses in clothes to count?”

  “I told you I don’t do princesses,” he said, indifferently.

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you because you also told me you were taking me to an imaginary city.”

  A sly grin pulled on his lips, and for some reason, I couldn’t even find ire in the situation. The amicable moment was intoxicating, firing off all kinds of happy signals in my chest.