by Elly Blake
“When volcanoes erupt with snow.”
She lifted her sharp little chin. “Everyone in the servants’ hall talks about how much the king moons over you.”
“Hmm. And what exactly do they say?” Despite myself, I felt a flicker of hope that they might be supportive.
She paused. “Opinions vary.”
The flicker of hope died. “That’s your delicate way of saying that no one is happy about it.”
“Some are!”
I gave her a knowing look. “You?”
“Well… yes.”
I had to laugh at her apologetic expression. “Don’t worry, Doreena. You’re worth ten supporters. With you on my side, I can conquer kingdoms.”
Her lips curved shyly. “Or at least one king.”
By the time I stood in the doorway of the ballroom, most of my bravado had fled. I’d faced trained killers in King Rasmus’s arena, with an entire crowd howling for my blood. But somehow the thought of all these eyes on me, the hum of murmured hatred buzzing in my ears, was threatening in its own right. I might not end up bloody on the floor, but I wouldn’t escape unscathed.
Marella had outdone herself decorating the ballroom. The icy pillars had been carved with elaborate designs, and the chandeliers wept with hundreds of icicles that managed to look elegant and dangerous at the same time. Thick velvet curtains in rich jewel tones framed soaring windows. Rectangular wooden tables groaned under silver platters laden with savory appetizers and frosted cakes.
“Lady Ruby Otrera,” a man announced in ringing tones. All eyes turned to me, some curious, others openly hostile. I searched for a familiar face, feeling a pulse of relief when I spotted Marella moving toward me. She wore an emerald ball gown that complemented her porcelain skin. Gold lacing crisscrossed the bodice, and gold sunbursts edged her wrists and hem.
“Ruby,” she said warmly, “don’t you look lovely! Turn around so I can see the back.”
I did a quick twirl. For once, the seamstress had shown restraint. There were no ruffles on the deep red dress, just a simple square-necked bodice that hugged my waist before flaring into a full skirt covered with a layer of red tulle. Doreena had asked the gardener for a crimson lily, which she’d pinned into my ebony hair.
“So do you,” I replied. “That color suits you.”
“All colors suit me,” Marella replied, her grin irreverent.
A jowly middle-aged nobleman approached, raising a goblet of wine in greeting before bowing deeply to Marella. “My dear Lady Marella, why don’t you introduce me?”
She inclined her head. “Lord Prospero, this is Lady Ruby.”
My brows drew together. I was no lady. I wished they wouldn’t try so hard to pass me off as one.
Rather than bowing, Lord Prospero merely inclined his head. “So, you are the Fireblood of such renown. How kind of the king to show you such… hospitality.” His eyes swept me up and down. “Charming.”
It wasn’t lost on me that he kept a few feet of distance between us. I performed a quick mental check, making sure my body temperature was close to normal, at least for me. Nerves made my gift harder to control, and the last thing I wanted was to embarrass Arcus in front of his guests. Or worse, hurt his chances of getting the court and the dignitaries to sign the peace accords. I needed them all to see that I wasn’t a threat, that I was about as volatile as cooled porridge, that peace was possible and Firebloods were not to be feared. Much as it irked me to admit it, even just to myself, a part of me craved the court’s approval.
The nobleman turned his attention back to Marella. “What a divine job you’ve done with the ballroom. The pride of the kingdom, I dare say. You show the indisputable beauty and power of frost.” His eyes met mine in something like challenge.
“Marella is very talented,” I agreed neutrally.
“But surely you must acknowledge the strength of ice,” he said. “You can build an entire castle from it.” He gestured to the pillars.
“The original castle is made from stone,” I pointed out.
He gave me a pitying look as if I’d said something embarrassingly naive. “The newer additions are made of pure ice.”
“I’m afraid I tend to avoid those wings.” I tried to relax my tense jaw while scanning the crowd for one of the footmen bearing trays of ice wine. At least if I were holding a glass, I’d have a reason not to grab Lord Paunch by the collar and ask him what he thought of the power of fire. One of the footmen caught my eye, mostly because he was openly staring at me, then snapped his head forward. Something about his thick blond hair and the square shape of his face seemed familiar. But Lord Prospero interrupted my thoughts with a dismissive laugh.
“Well, of course you do. You’d end up soaked to the skin from all that melted ice. I imagine your kind doesn’t like to get wet. In fact, I’ve heard Firebloods avoid bathing more than absolutely necessary.”
I heard Marella’s indrawn breath.
Do not react. Do not let him win.
He smirked. “Or perhaps that’s true of peasants in general.” His contemptuous drawl snapped the last thread of my patience.
I took a step closer. “Actually, I love baths. Provided they’re nice and hot.”
I curled my hand in front of his face, allowing a searing flame to leap up in my palm. Like all Tempesian aristocrats, he was a Frostblood, but I didn’t think he was a very powerful one. His cold didn’t permeate the air the way Arcus’s or Brother Thistle’s did. I saw fear in his eyes, but instead of taking pity on him, I let the flame grow. He reared back, the flames dancing in his constricting pupils. It was so satisfying to remind one of these overstuffed lords that I was no longer a prisoner who existed for their entertainment.
Marella’s forced laugh broke the tension, like a fingernail popping a soap bubble. “Oh, Lady Ruby, you certainly know how to take a joke too far. Put your fire away before you mark up my dress. The seamstress would never forgive me if I ruined her creation only minutes into the ball.”
I exhaled slowly, lowering my cooling hand to my side.
Lord Prospero regained his equilibrium enough to lift his drink in a shaky salute. “Enjoy your time here. While it lasts.” And he pointed himself toward the dessert table.
When I turned back to Marella, she regarded me with a speculative expression. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
I swallowed and shrugged. I had enjoyed threatening him. More than I wanted to admit.
“They will always bait you,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean you have to swallow the hook so eagerly.”
“I don’t know why I let him get to me.”
“Because,” she mused, tapping a finger to her lips, “you’re a fox among wolves.”
I considered the analogy. “You’d describe yourself as a wolf?”
“Wolves are lovely, agile creatures with killer instincts,” she said, a twinkle in her violet eyes. “I don’t mind the comparison.”
“Well, everyone here thinks I’m the wolf. Though sometimes I feel more like a rabbit.”
Just then the hair on the back of my neck lifted. I turned my head to see the same blond footman staring at me with a strangely intent expression. As I tried to puzzle out where I’d seen him before, he sidled over and spoke to another footman hovering by a group of courtiers. The two then broke off and moved into the crowd, trays of ice wine held aloft. Something about the group of courtiers held my attention, though. They stood too close, heads bent as if to better hear one another whisper, and they kept darting glances around the ballroom.
“A wolf among bears, then,” Marella said, drawing my gaze back to her. “A Firebeak among frost beasts. Something like that. In any case, you’d be wise not to make more enemies than you need to. Arcus can only protect you so much, and only weeks ago you were still fighting in the arena.”
As if I needed a reminder of how thoroughly I was hated. “And you think introducing me as a lady will make any difference to the people who were cheering for my opponents?”
She gave
me a scolding look. “Oh, Ruby. How you get caught up in unimportant details. Everyone else here has a title. It does no good to remind them of all the myriad ways you don’t belong. Now, just enjoy yourself, would you? Look, it’s time for the first dance.”
Lord Regier stood on the dais in front of the musicians at the far end of the room and said a few welcoming words. “And now, His Majesty, King Arelius Arkanus, will start the dance with a lady of his choosing.”
Arcus appeared from the throng, his eyes roving over the crowd before settling on us. He looked devastatingly regal in a midnight-blue velvet jacket over a white shirt, though his shoulders were a little too broad for him to ever look truly elegant. Fawn trousers hugged his thighs above high, polished black boots. His dark hair was brushed back and he wore the silver band on his brow.
I glanced at Marella. She held herself with easy poise, but her skin was flushed, and a pulse beat visibly in her neck. A sign of nervousness or excitement.
Of course, I realized with a dip in my stomach. He was coming to ask her for the first dance. She was the official hostess, after all. Dancing with me would only further divide him from his supporters. I stepped back to make room for him to sweep her into his arms.
He bowed to her, but extended a hand to me.
“Trying to escape?” he teased, his eyes like sun-bleached cobalt as they took leisurely inventory of my appearance. Though his skin radiated cold, his gaze was somewhere between warm and melting. “I don’t fancy your chances of running in that dress.”
I glanced at Marella. “But—”
“Don’t keep them all waiting,” she said, smiling widely. If I hadn’t known her well, I would have missed the stiffness of her jaw, the tightness of the muscles around her eyes.
“Quite right, Lady Marella.” Arcus tucked my arm into his, steering me to the center of the floor. The music began and he started to move smoothly in time, pulling me along with him.
“You might have given me some warning,” I muttered, wishing we were alone so I could actually enjoy the feeling of his hand on my waist, the other hand loosely clasping mine. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“No one can see your feet. Just stay close to me.”
He moved with confidence. I felt as stiff as a wooden doll.
“It feels like you’re bracing for an attack.” Arcus’s breath tickled my ear, his smiling lips brushing my temple. “This isn’t sparring, you know. I’m not going to kick your feet out from under you.”
“Good thing, Your Highness,” I replied with an eyelash flutter, “or my dress might fly up around my ears, and wouldn’t that be a scandal.”
His lips twitched, the scar pulling taut in that way I found endlessly endearing. “And then there’s the matter of me having to duel with anyone who dared to stare at you. Which would be every man here.”
“They’d only stare because they’re afraid of me. They’re all waiting for me to melt something.”
“Ah, but, Lady Ruby, you already have,” he said, letting go of my waist to spin me in a quick circle. As I came back around, his hand returned to steady me. “You’ve melted my icy heart.”
I laughed, surprised at both the sudden spin and the remark. The glittering candles, the scent of freshly cut roses in crystal vases, and Arcus’s cool breath on my cheek as he said sweet things in my ear all made me feel giddier than usual. Warmth stole into my limbs, and I let myself relax into the rhythm, forward and back and turning, my dress billowing out behind me.
“I didn’t know you liked this sort of thing,” I said a little breathlessly. “Dancing and ballrooms.”
“Neither did I.” His tone matched the heat in his gaze, while his hand at my waist moved to my back to press me closer. His firm touch and the dazzling light in his eyes sent sparks up my spine.
“If you keep raising my temperature, I’m going to melt your chandeliers,” I warned.
“I shall just make new ones.” He wiggled his fingers toward the ceiling as if conjuring ice.
Despite the disapproving stares, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. If the king wanted to dance with me instead of Marella or some other Frostblood lady, his court would just have to accept it. After all, they couldn’t control how he felt about me. Or how I felt about him.
I let myself bask in the appreciative heat of his gaze, imagining how I could slide my palm up to cover the ridged skin of his cheek, then trail my fingers over his perfectly sculpted lips with their tempting imperfection. What would the court do if I had the temerity to kiss the king in front of all of them? The ladies would all faint, no doubt.
I wasn’t sure I cared.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said in a low rumble that sent shivers over my skin, “perhaps I’ll melt the chandeliers.”
“Hmph.” I shook my head slightly to clear the image of our fused lips. “That’d be a story for the history books.”
He laughed. Our eyes met and clung. As we executed a perfect turn, for a second I was flying.
The spell was broken as Lord Regier invited everyone to join the dance. As couples filled the space, I had to focus on keeping up with Arcus’s steps without colliding with anyone else.
“Any word from the Sudesian queen?” I asked hopefully, for perhaps the hundredth time since he’d announced the ball.
Something flitted across his expression—disappointment maybe, or regret. “You’re hoping she’ll show up at the last minute? It’s unlikely.”
I nodded, feeling foolish.
“I’m sorry,” Arcus said in a low voice.
“It’s not your fault,” I said brightly, resurrecting my smile. “You invited her, and that’s what counts.”
He nodded and pulled me a little bit closer.
A minute later, Marella and her dance partner came alongside us. “I hate to be a nuisance,” she said with a charming half smile, “but I do believe I’ve earned a dance with the king. I did work myself to exhaustion organizing this gala, after all.”
“My dear lady,” Arcus replied with amused tolerance, “if you are so exhausted, dancing will hardly help.”
“But, my dear king, I live to dance. Or have you forgotten?”
I blinked at her coquettish tone, my chest clenching with jealousy.
Marella winked at me and leaned close to whisper, “I need an excuse to get away from Lord Trilby. His hands are like sparrows in winter. They keep migrating south.”
My jealousy faded. I didn’t blame her for wanting to escape, and luckily, when we went to change partners, the young noble blanched and claimed to need refreshment.
Arcus was already laughing at something Marella had said as I steered myself toward the dessert table. I selected a powdery bite-size cake and popped it into my mouth. Custard filling exploded against my tongue. This wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the rest of the ball, I decided, choosing several more sugary confections to sample.
“The Frost Court certainly adores its sweets,” said a low, mocking voice with a slight accent. “And you are clearly no exception.”
I turned and found my gaze ensnared by a pair of golden-brown eyes. The young man’s face was sharply cut, his cheekbones high, his chin on the stubborn side. His expression was arrogant, but it was the color of his hair that made me stare. The wavy locks were a strange mix of light brown, auburn, gold, and ginger, as if each strand had been painted a slightly different hue by an indecisive hand. He was dressed in formfitting trousers and a simple gray tunic, but the silver embroidery on the edges was of the finest quality.
He regarded me with a level gaze. I realized I must be covered with powdered sugar. Heat covered my skin.
“Your statement tells me two things,” I said, trying to sound composed as I surreptitiously dusted my fingers together, creating a little winter scene with the fall of snowy sugar. “One, you’re not from the Frost Court. The court never analyzes or questions itself. It just…is.”
“Astute. The Frost Court perceives itself as the pinnacle of taste a
nd civilization. But the way you say that makes me think you are not part of it, either.”
A few minutes ago, I had taken Marella to task for calling me a lady. Suddenly, I didn’t want to admit to this stranger that I didn’t belong.
“Two,” I counted, ignoring his observation, “you don’t like sweets.”
His lips quirked. “Now, that is a leap of logic. Simply observing that others like sweets does not mean I don’t like them myself.”
“It’s implied,” I answered. “If you liked them, you’d simply select one and eat it.”
“Like you’ve been doing, little bird?”
I blinked up at him, trying to decide whether to address the fact that he’d been rude enough to point out I was about to gorge on cakes or the unsanctioned use of a nickname. Before I could decide, he spoke again.
“Perhaps I have a weakness for a certain variety of sweet.” He moved infinitesimally closer. “The kind that is not found on a dessert table.”
The air suddenly felt trapped in my chest. Was he flirting with me? No one flirted with me. The court hated me. But then, he wasn’t from this court.
“Who are you?”
The tension at the edges of his lips spoke of suppressed amusement. “You’ve deduced that I’m neither a member of this court nor a lover of cake. Why not guess my identity as well?”
I examined him carefully, taking in his confidence, his air of entitlement, his easy grace. He had an accent, but the noble speech was still clear. Perhaps he was the Safran ambassador, whose coveted signature on the peace accords could reopen trade to the east. But no, the Safrans dressed in robes, not breeches.
“You’re from the South,” I said, an easy guess, since most everything was south of the capital.
“Vague,” he replied. “But accurate.”
“Fine, then, I’ll be specific.” His clothing was a recognizable style, making it likely he lived in Tempesia. And he’d agreed he was from the South. The farthest south within the kingdom was the Aris Plains. Which left only one option. “You’re the dignitary of the southern provinces. Though you’re rather young for that, aren’t you? Not much older than me, I’d say. Perhaps you’re the son or younger brother of the dignitary.”
