by K. A. Linde
“And Dean didn’t give me a family heirloom to wear to the party,” Cyrene said sarcastically.
“He’s openly courting you, Cyrene. You know he wants to be with you.”
“And Ahlvie and Ceis’f feel the same with you. Have you decided what you will do?” Cyrene reached for her hand.
“No. I can’t be with Ceis’f, and I will outlive Ahlvie,” she whispered. Avoca squeezed her hand, as if that was the end of the discussion, and then melted away.
Cyrene could feel a slight tug on their bond and wished her good luck.
Cyrene couldn’t worry more about Avoca’s issues, for she was approaching the rather large royal Ellison family. She took a deep breath and then proceeded down the hallway to meet Dean.
Everyone was milling around and chatting before they were to be announced to the holiday ball. Nearly all the daughters were married, and they had brought their husbands and children to the ceremony. Brigette didn’t have a date, but Cyrene noted with displeasure that Alise was on Robard’s arm. Therese and Tifani both had dates whom Cyrene didn’t recognize.
Dean intercepted Cyrene before she had made it all the way to the ground. “You’re stunning,” he murmured. He drew her into him for a heated embrace. He fingered the pearls around her neck. “They go perfectly with the gown.”
She smiled and stared up into his handsome face, basking in his affection. She had chosen an ice-blue gown, so light that it was almost the color of snow. She had almost chosen Byern gold but decided at the last minute that it might not seem proper. She still proudly displayed her Affiliate pin. She couldn’t hide who she was, but she didn’t have to flaunt it. And Dean didn’t care either way.
“We’ll be first,” Dean said, shuffling them to the front of the line.
Cyrene saw there were a few well-placed stares at the necklace around her throat, but Dean didn’t stop to let anyone ask any questions.
“First?” she squeaked.
“We go in reverse birth order.”
“I see.”
Dean loosely wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her toward him. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”
They approached the double doors to a large ballroom, and an announcer hit a solid cane to the ground twice to gain the crowd’s attention.
“Prince Dean Ellison of Eleysia, accompanied tonight by Affiliate Cyrene Strohm of Byern,” the man cried for everyone to hear.
Cyrene’s mouth went dry, and she froze. She couldn’t go out there. Everyone in attendance would judge her for being an Affiliate. They would all hate her for it. She had never backed down from anything, but with the new knowledge that the world despised the one thing she had always wanted in life—to become an Affiliate—she was wary of what that meant for her future.
“I can’t,” she whispered to Dean in panic.
He smiled down at her, as if nothing was amiss. “You can.”
“No.”
“I want to show you to the world, Cyrene,” he breathed. “Show the world you are mine.”
“Dean…”
“And nothing will change that.”
She opened her mouth to protest but found that she couldn’t. How can I fear this moment when I didn’t even stop to consider what to do in the face of a Braj in Aurum?
Cyrene looped her hand into the crook of his elbow and then nodded. They walked into the ballroom, and applause broke out. As she walked with Dean down the stairs, Cyrene couldn’t tell if people were happy to see her or not, but she tried not to care. Dean had just called her his. That was all that was important.
The room was decorated completely in white. All the tables had expensive white silk cloths that draped to the floor. The glasses were white frosted. White flowers of every variety were artfully arranged into centerpieces, so the entire room was perfumed with the fragrant scent. Servants were dressed in sheer white frocks and carrying trays of clouded drinks. The whole room looked blanketed in snow, and the familiarity of it lulled her.
They walked to the center of the room where space had been left open for the royal family. Introductions followed for all of his sisters. Therese and Tifani along with their dates were next. Then, Alise and Robard made it into the room. Robard shot Dean a dirty look, and Alise looked pleased with herself. She smiled brightly at Cyrene and waved like they were old friends. She was a dangerous one for sure.
The rest of his sisters filtered into the room.
Just when it was time for Brigette, the announcer cleared his throat, and a page ran toward him. He looked down at the piece of paper he had been given and nodded.
“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Cassia Ellison, the Matron Bride of the Sea, and the King Regent Tomas Ellison,” the man declared.
Cyrene looked up at Dean in surprise. “Where is Brigette?”
The whispers throughout the room proved that everyone else had noticed her absence as well. Brigette had been there when Cyrene and Dean were outside of the ballroom, and now, she was missing.
“I don’t know,” Dean said. He looked worried.
“Should we go check on her?”
He shook his head. “It would be best not to draw any more attention,” he whispered as his parents made it to the circle.
The Queen raised her hands, gesturing to the musicians to begin playing. But then, just as the first chord struck in the room, the announcer dropped his cane again.
Everyone swiveled back to the entrance to see what the commotion was. Someone was to be announced after the Queen and King? That simply wasn’t proper.
The announcer cleared his throat, and when he read the new piece of paper, his eyes enlarged to twice their size. It was noticeable, even from where Cyrene was standing.
“Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Brigette Ellison, the Maiden Bride of the Sea, and”—the announcer looked up at the crowd in shock and bewilderment—“Master Basille Selby.”
“Oh Creator,” Cyrene whispered, “what have we done?”
“You mean, what has Brigette done?”
Cyrene looked up at Dean, but he just shook his head.
“There is nothing we can do to fix this. Brigette dug her own grave. She’s going to have to lie in it.”
“What will your parents do?”
“Nothing in public. They’ll wait until everyone is distracted.”
Queen Cassia looked ready to rush over to her eldest daughter and filet her alive.
To Brigette’s credit, she didn’t even flinch under her mother’s gaze as she strode into the ballroom in a royal-blue gown with Basille Selby on her arm. The whispers erupted all around them, and Cyrene could already tell that the old gossip was circulating the room.
Brigette stepped up to her mother with a wide smile on her face. “You remember Master Selby, don’t you, Mother?”
Queen Cassia smiled at him, but her eyes were murderous. “It has been nearly a decade since I’ve heard that name.”
Basille bowed to the Queen. “And not a day goes past that you haven’t missed hearing it, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” the Queen responded icily. “Maestro, a dance to celebrate my eldest daughter’s eternal wisdom and grace in all matters.”
Cyrene jolted. She barely knew Brigette, but she almost wanted to go save her from the wrath in the Queen’s look and the disgust in her cool voice.
But Dean put a hand on Cyrene’s back and pulled her into his arms just as the music began. “Not a battle for you to fight, my little warrior.”
“Me?” she gasped. “I’m not a warrior.” Her feet slid across the floor with Dean leading the way.
“You run into battles headfirst without a thought for your own safety,” he whispered against her hair. “That sounds like a warrior to me.”
Cyrene remembered the last time someone had called her a warrior. She’d had her warrior ceremony in Byern. After finding out that Affiliates and High Order had started as the warriors from Viktor Dremylon’s army when he killed off the Doma, she’d had to prove her warrior status, and she had just bar
ely survived.
“Perhaps I just desire to help the people I care about,” she reasoned. “Maybe that doesn’t make me a warrior. Maybe it makes me a humanitarian.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow up. “A humanitarian? For someone with your particular…skill set, I find that a bit ironic.”
“Why is that?” she demanded. “Are you saying that I can’t care about humanity?”
“Not that you can’t care, but I would think you’d be a Doma-tarian,” he said, making up a word on the spot. “And, as far as I’ve read in the history books, that makes you a warrior.”
He twirled her in place and then drew her back to him, but by then, she was fuming. She couldn’t even help it. She just couldn’t believe that he would say those things. As if she couldn’t care about humanity when she had spent her entire life thinking that she was human. The very distinction between Doma and human had created a war and extinguished an entire race and all magic.
The dance ended, and Cyrene abruptly dropped her hands. Her magic fired under her fingertips as her emotions battled inside her. It wasn’t as erratic as the last time it had happened after Dean’s fight to become Captain, but she was upset.
“Excuse me.”
And, without ceremony, she turned and walked off the dance floor.
She needed a drink. Something to cool herself down. Creator, she just missed the mountains and the cold and the snow. She grabbed a flute of some icy liquid and tipped it back. Her head spun, and she shuddered. Whatever that was…was not punch. And it was much stronger than the wine they drank at court. Also, it was a very bad idea. She needed control tonight. If she were on edge and lost control of her magic, many people could suffer.
“What’s going on?” Avoca whispered, grasping her forearm in the crowd. She was in a shimmering green Eleysian dress that fit her like a glove.
“Nothing.”
“This isn’t nothing, Cyrene.”
“I have it under control,” she spat at Avoca.
For the first time since they had been connected, she wished that Avoca couldn’t feel her powers or know what was running through her. “Just let me be for one night. I’m fine. Nothing is going to happen.”
Avoca steeled her with a sharp glare. “I have a debt owed to you, Cyrene.”
“One I did not ask for.”
Avoca looked hurt, and Cyrene instantly regretted her rash actions.
“I understand.” Avoca let go of Cyrene, and before she could say anything more, Avoca rushed into the crowd.
Cyrene groaned. “Avoca,” she cried, following after her.
“Leave it, Cyrene,” Avoca said, brushing her off and disappearing effortlessly into the crowd.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered in despair.
Cyrene shook her head and then exited out onto a balcony overlooking the courtyard below. It was blissfully cooler here. She didn’t feel like she was burning up from the inside out. Even if there weren’t snow or mountains, it was quite beautiful. It just wasn’t home.
Ache hit her in the pit of her stomach. She needed to stop this. Picking fights with Dean and Avoca wasn’t going to get her back to Byern—if she could ever go back to Byern. Basille had said that it was impossible for her to return, and that coupled with how strongly she missed her favorite holiday celebration only made everything worse. This magic was a curse, not a blessing. One she couldn’t ever hope to control.
Dean walked out onto the balcony. “Cyrene?” he whispered.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye but didn’t face him.
“Why did you leave? Did I upset you?”
“No,” she said. But it was a lie. She was upset with him, with everything really.
“Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it. I thought we were just having fun.”
“We were,” she agreed.
“But…”
“But there is so much about me that you don’t know.”
“Then, tell me,” he insisted.
“I’m not a warrior,” she spat the word. “I never want to be, yet I’m so conflicted. Affiliates started out as warriors for the Dremylons during the war. They killed Doma. They killed my ancestors. Yet I’m one of them.”
“I didn’t know,” he admitted. “We don’t study Byern history as thoroughly as our own, except for learning that Affiliates and High Order were created. I didn’t know that would trigger you.”
“Creator! It’s not even that,” she said, turning to face him. “It’s everything. What am I even doing here, Dean? I’m getting nowhere. Maybe I should just go home.”
Dean reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He tilted her chin up until she looked at him, and the affection in his eyes nearly stole her breath away. “You could leave, but I don’t know how I would bear it.”
Under his careful hands, her magic diminished until it was nothing but a soft simmer under her skin. Or is that the heat from his hands?
“Dean—”
“You’re not a warrior. You’re not a humanitarian. You’re not even an Affiliate,” he said. “You aren’t a label, Cyrene. You are everything you want to be and more. I see it in your conviction in everything you do. And though I know you could be anything you wanted, all I can possibly want is for you to be mine.”
No response was necessary.
Dean covered her mouth, and it was like the heavens opened up over them. His lips were soft but commanding, prying life out of her willful mouth. His hands were rough and callous from endless hours with a sword in his grasp, but he treated her so lightly, as if she might break.
But she did just the opposite. She latched on to his shirt and drew him against her. A tide broke between them, and she couldn’t seem to get enough of him. She had been waiting weeks for this moment. She hadn’t even known it at the time, but every touch and nudge and gentle caress had been stoking a fire in her veins. And the feel of him awakened her body and calmed her magic to a gentle thrum while also calling it forth between them.
Dean gasped against her mouth, and his gentle hands betrayed him, latching on to her waist with force. Whatever was passing between them felt like she was opening herself up and feeling the force of her magic for the first time. But it wasn’t scary, and she felt perfectly in control.
When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “What was that?”
“I think you just kissed me.”
He chuckled and wrapped his arms tighter around her. “That was more than a kiss.”
“Mmm,” she groaned.
He kissed her one more time. “Yes. Much more than a kiss.”
Cyrene rested her cheek on his chest and sighed. All thoughts that had been troubling her today fled her mind. This moment was perfect, and Dean was right. It was so much more than a kiss.
“Prince Dean,” a voice called behind them.
Cyrene immediately broke away from him, but he kept her hand, as if knowing her propriety would drag her from him.
“Yes?”
Darmian walked out onto the balcony. Cyrene could see Maelia standing just behind his shoulder. By the flush on Maelia’s cheeks when Cyrene glanced her way, she had to assume Darmian had gotten out of guard duties to be with her.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Darmian said. “But Queen Cassia and Princess Brigette are beyond reason. They’re yelling at each other down a hallway, and guests can hear them.”
Dean blanched and cursed. “Thank you for letting me know. Let’s go, Darmian.” Dean kissed Cyrene’s hand. “I will return to you.”
“You always find me again somehow,” she said with a smile.
He kissed her hand once more and then followed Darmian off of the balcony.
Cyrene glanced at Maelia. “So, Darmian?”
Maelia colored. “It is not how it appears.”
“Oh, please let it be.”
“You’re in a good mood.” Maelia raised her eyebrows in question.
“Yes, I am. And, oh!” Cyrene started forward and clutched her c
hest.
“What? What is it?”
“Avoca,” Cyrene gasped. “I don’t know what’s going on, but she’s upset. Oh Creator, I’m sure this is my doing. I need to find her.”
“I last saw her with Ceis’f. They were walking out of the ballroom.”
“Which direction?”
“I’m not sure. Back toward your rooms, I would guess.”
Cyrene doubled over. She let loose a word befitting a sailor. “She’s never pulled this much power before. I need to go to her. Now.”
Cyrene ignored Maelia’s pleas to wait and dashed off the balcony. Avoca was not an overly emotional person. She kept herself completely in check. Something must have seriously upset her for her to be drawing so much power.
Ignoring the confused glances from partygoers, Cyrene left the safety of the ballroom and darted down the hallway. A figure appeared in her way, and she nearly groaned aloud.
“In such a hurry?” Robard asked.
He was huge and sturdy up close, and despite the fact that Cyrene had magic, she shrank from his form.
“I’m looking for a friend. You didn’t happen to see a couple go by here? A young woman in a green dress with a man, and both have fair hair?” Cyrene didn’t even know why she bothered. She could feel Avoca was in this direction somewhere. The strength of her magic pulled Cyrene toward her.
“Sure,” Robard said easily. “The girl seemed like she was ready to fight the man, or she was just intoxicated and hoping for something else.”
Cyrene sneered at him. Avoca was not looking for something. Men! “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Here.” Robard offered her his hand. “I can show you the way.”
Cyrene balked at his suggestion, but then she realized, it wasn’t a suggestion. He took up a large portion of the hallway, and he wasn’t going to let her pass.
“I’m grateful,” she ground out.
Robard was leading Cyrene in the general direction where she could sense Avoca. Cyrene wanted to just run far, far away from this man. She had seen the angry gaze he shot to Dean when he had won, and she knew this was not a man to be trusted. But her manners had taken over, and for some reason, she just couldn’t say no.
