by Nyna Queen
More seconds trickled by like cold molasses. The scanner continued to rotate.
Sweet Jester, she’d known it. In another second the red light would flare up and she’d be dragged away, just like that poor man before her, thrown into a dark cell and then they would pry her open to reveal her motives, along with her true skin and she’d be dead, dead, dead!
The young guard turned his head toward the scanner with a frown.
Great Mother, she was so dead. She was—
Green light flooded the crystal, bright like a leaf in the sunlight.
The magic barrier vanished, leaving her free to go.
Alex’s knees turned to jelly. She had no idea how she managed to walk from the circle without collapsing. She would have loved nothing better than to throw herself to the ground and kiss the dark marble tiles.
Someone stuffed her purse back into her hand. Her fingers closed around it mechanically and she stiffly approached the staircase.
As she slowly climbed the stairs up toward the ballroom—one hand on the railing in case her legs yet decided to give out—it hit her: she’d done it. She was inside the Royal Palace. She, a bloody shaper mongrel!
What could possibly go wrong now?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DARKEN leaned against a wide column and idly surveyed the banquet of superficialities that spread out before him in bite-sized pieces of spicy truths and sugarcoated lies.
There was no need to pretend to be bored. Balls had never been his thing and he didn’t think that this would have been much different if he hadn’t been born what he was. Too much talk and nobody was listening.
Why, hello! How are you? Have you met my new wife? The new yacht? Well, congratulations! And your brother? Oh really? And with the housemaid? How utterly delightful!
Darken let the flutters of conversation wash over him like a slightly annoying drizzle. While his brother was a born conversationalist, he himself had never been too fond of small talk. Not that too many people here were interested in talking to him. About him? Well, that was another matter altogether.
The presence of one of Death’s Servants at the Summerball was good fodder for a delicious feast of gossip and the elite was always hungry for a scandal.
Well, at least, Darken thought dryly, if he was attracting the outraged looks, people might feel less inclined to look too closely at Alex.
Speaking of the spider … The family was in position but the real game would begin when Alex arrived. Which should be any time now. Darken peered at the huge clock above the entrance doors and felt a ripple of apprehension run through his body. Unless something had gone wrong …
His hands involuntarily clenched into tight fists in their black silk gloves.
Relax, old son. She’ll be fine.
There was no indication whatsoever that her shaper genes would trigger the magic scanners, none at all, despite Alex’s obvious reservations. She’d be here any minute.
Darken unclenched his fists and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, keenly aware of the cold metal tempering rings digging into his wrists. They were, of course, one of the requirements for him to be allowed to attend the ball. With these particular dampeners on, he couldn’t use his magic without experiencing excruciating pain and gut-wrenching nausea. They couldn’t force him to wear them outside the convents on a normal day, but they couldn’t afford to let him run freely in a place where so many people of importance were gathered. A human weapon such as himself …
Oh, Darken understood their reasoning but that didn’t do much to smother his resentment. Well, he probably should be grateful that they didn’t insist on chaining him down in a corner like a wild, unpredictable mutt.
Keeping his mask of boredom in place, Darken let his eyes wander across the ballroom. On the other side of the room, his brother was engaged in a lively discussion with Alistair Devilier and some other politicians. Darken suppressed a smile. His brother. Always in the thick of things.
From his position he could also see the Sauniers, Elizabeth and Henry, as always standing stiffly beside each other; their marriage, it was said, had been a rational and not a romantic one. They were talking to the de Moineauts, while their daughter Priscilla stood beside them, looking even more bored than Darken felt. The girl was wearing a pale pink dress that went well with her dark hair and fair skin but was so overly frilly, she seemed to be drowning in the fabric. She laughed about something in an attempt to appear attentive but it sounded too loud in Darken’s ears. Almost forced. Like a desperate cry for help. Darken pitied the girl a little, wondering how much of her attitude was her own and how much was forced upon her by her parents. They were like many of the elite families, the Sauniers; valuing names and appearances over personal feelings and dignity. Just like his own mother.
Darken averted his gaze and kept scanning the room. He hadn’t seen anything of Senator Roukewood yet, but that was neither here nor there. The window of time allowed for new arrivals usually stretched over several hours and the palace was still continuing to fill up with members of the royal elite, greeting each other and snacking on the countless delicacies offered by servants on small trays.
Murmurs were rising behind him. Darken turned to see what had caught people’s attention.
For a moment he completely forgot where he was.
Alex had just entered the ballroom. Only she didn’t look like Alex at all. Well, she did look like Alex in all the ways that truly mattered, her face, her lips, her bright, intense blue eyes, but apart from that …
It was as if a subtle veil had been lifted, to show the side of her that was normally obscured by bared teeth and sassy remarks: the trueborn heritage that was as much a part of her as her shaper skin.
Of course, Darken had seen her dressed up before during her “training” at Helton Manor, but not like this. Never like this.
Her pale blond hair had been lifted away from her neck and pinned to the side so that it fell over her bare right shoulder in a soft curl.
Thanks to her accelerated shaper healing and Edalyne’s skill with makeup there was no sign left of the bruise the spider had sustained during their fight with the wild shapers in the Scarlet Mountains. Her ivory skin was flawless, accentuated by her dark red lipstick.
The shimmering silvery blue fabric of her sleeveless dress flowed over her curves like a frozen river, hugging her body, then split on one side, revealing a long, delicious thigh and one of her silver four-inch spiked heels.
Two gossamer silver web bracelets circled her wrists, studded with tiny glittering chips of moonstone and sapphire. They were unique and extremely tasteful pieces of jewelry. As they were the only jewelry she wore, they had an even greater effect than if she’d been draped from head to toe with gemstones, like several other women in the room were.
No one looking at Alex could possibly doubt that she belonged to the elite.
The spider wasn’t just beautiful. She was radiant. Like an ice crystal caught by sunlight—a fact, that wasn’t lost on many others, either.
More murmurs traveled up and down the groups of people around him and several heads turned in her direction. Well, at least, he wasn’t the only sucker staring. Some were even pointing her out.
“… now look at that …”
“Who is that vanilla tartlet over there?”
“… exquisite …”
“… and coming alone? I wonder who she is …”
A couple of women to Darken’s right sniffed and eyed Alex enviously.
Not far from Darken, a lord elbowed his neighbor in the ribs. “What did I tell you, Lerv? Finally a bit of gold dust in these sand-filled halls. This evening promises to be interesting.”
Darken stifled a growl and fought the overwhelming urge to walk over and drag the spider away from all the dangerous attention—particularly the male.
Alex took a couple of slow steps into the room. She didn’t walk, she glided, her dress flowing around her legs as she moved. She had to be nervous, but if s
he was, Darken couldn’t tell.
She looked around. Their eyes met. For a split second, the ballroom faded into the background and it was just the two of them. The distance between them seemed to diminish, bridged by their gazes, and yet they were floating on opposite sides of a gulf that was much wider than the stretch of marble separating them in the real world.
Oh, how he wanted to bridge that gap, how he wanted to reach for her and pull her into his arms. The fire inside Darken roared, wild and angry, a battle of frustration and desire. Pain burned through his intestines and he knew his eyes were flaring red as his magic pushed against the dampening spells. He quickly looked away.
NOISE splashed out of the ballroom and down the stairs, getting louder as Alex approached the wide, gilded double doors at the top of the grand staircase which were being held open by two servants wearing cream and jade livery. Her stomach flipped.
Taking a deep breath, Alex allowed the crowd to carry her inside. On the other side of the doors, she paused, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight.
Mother’s mercy and Jester’s grace! And the Blind Child’s eyes in the dark!
A vast oval room stretched out in front of her, at least as big as her entire block back in the Trash Bin. Its high, vaulted ceiling was lavishly ornamented and more than a dozen chandeliers spilled down from it in delicate golden branches, each covered in glittering leaves. Their dazzling glow was reflected on the shined beige stone floor, in myriads of tiny lights.
Huge white marble columns dappled with spots of gold and green lined the sides of the room. Above these were luxurious boxes that instantly reminded Alex of the theater she’d once been to. Nobody was up there, though, except for a couple of armed security guards, keeping an eye on things from above.
The opulence of the place was crushing. Everything was covered in crystal and gemstones, and golden vines wound around columns and banisters and sneaked onto the ceiling. It felt as if Alex had stepped into an enchanted, gold-dusted forest from another world.
Clusters of elegant chairs and couches formed small, inviting seating areas around the dance floor. Flower arrangements and champagne buckets filled with ice had been placed on dozens of bar tables. And at the far end of the room …
A throne? Seriously? How ancient!
There were two thrones, in fact, on a slightly elevated podium, ready for the prime and prima. They really went all out, these trueborns, didn’t they?
Soft classical music floated out of hidden speakers, but was almost imperceptible because of the conversation and the laughter that filled the room. Which was no surprise. Everywhere Alex looked she saw people, people, and even more people …
Taking in the mass of guests, Alex had to silently agree with Stephane; it would be all too easy to lose track of someone in here. And this was just one single room to begin with!
The spider hissed and paced agitatedly beneath Alex’s skin. The unfamiliar environment and possible threats lurking within such a large crowd instinctively made her want to bare her teeth and unleash her claws in defense.
Sucking air through her nose, Alex fought to keep her human skin firmly in place.
Belong!
Drawing on her training, Alex straightened her back, raised her chin and took a moment to steady herself.
They had decided that it would serve their purposes best if she were to come in alone, to “create momentum with the greeting.” Whatever that meant.
But for that, she’d have to find the others first. That posed a challenge in itself. There had to be some three hundred people here already, and more were still streaming in through the doors.
Glancing around, Alex quickly spotted Darken, decadently leaning against a column, looking hot as sin in his perfectly tailored black suit, black silk shirt, and blood-red ascot tie. Toss him into a room with hundred other men in black suits and she’d be able to pick him out within seconds.
It wasn’t just his shamelessly good looks that set him apart, Alex reflected. It was the air of danger he emanated by just standing there—that whisper of unpredictability that flowed around him, clinging to every fiber of his being. He was easily the hottest man in the palace and she didn’t even have to see the lot to know it.
Of course, Darken chose this exact moment to turn around.
Shock slapped his face. It might have been comical if it hadn’t caused Alex for a blazing hot second to think she’d forgotten to put on a dress.
The shock vanished from his features and was replaced by something else, something wild and feral, roaring with unrestrained hunger and an almost desperate, soul-crushing need.
It was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by his typical cold mask, and Alex wondered, once again, if she’d just imagined things.
Darken turned away with a bored expression, saying something to a younger man in black beside him.
“Alexandre.”
Alex also forced herself to look away. Alexandre de Nuy had no business ogling Darken Dubois-Léclaire. She was acquainted with the Dubois family, true, but she had no particular personal involvement with the forfeit. Nor did Alexis Harper, she reminded herself sharply.
“Alexaaandre.”
So why on earth would she—
“ALEXANDRE!”
Alex—? Oh! That’s me!
Alex pivoted toward the voice and found Edalyne walking toward her with a bright—albeit slightly exasperated—smile.
Josy’s mother looked beyond superb in a sequined blue gown with silver embroidered threads on her chest and a softly falling skirt. Her brown hair was pinned up in tiny curls and decorated with one small silver flower attached to a black velvet ribbon.
“Alexandre. There you are, dear. I was already afraid you wouldn’t make it.”
They had sort of rehearsed this part so Alex knew her call.
She made a small curtsy. “Lady Dubois-Léclaire.”
“It’s Edalyne, dear.” The other woman heaved a martyred sigh that was loud enough to draw in some ears left and right. “How often do I need to tell you? After all, we’re practically family.”
Which was quite a stretch, yet it was supposed to give Alex a well-needed social boost. And sure enough, several of the lords and ladies in their vicinity subtly stepped a little closer, while pretending not to.
Edalyne peered over Alex’s shoulder. “And here comes my mother-in-law.” Despite her pretended cheerfulness, Alex could hear the slight note of tension in Edalyne’s voice. Alex’s stomach lurched as she turned around to face the old lady.
The Dubois family’s matriarch was striding through the crowd that respectfully parted for her with people mumbling reverential phrases as she passed.
The circumstances had forced such a strange kind of familiarity upon them that Alex tended to forget that the Dubois were at the very top of the royal elite. This was a bracing reminder.
Heloise’s purple dress was so dark it bordered on black. Gossamer black lace covered her hands and crept up to her chin. A huge onyx rested in the hollow of her throat. Cheerful. Here comes hope she isn’t dressed for my funeral.
Alex couldn’t help stiffening as the older woman approached. She still remembered the last rant she’d received before they had left; just the same old, same old but still drudging.
You had to give it to the old shrew, though, she was a fabulous actress. There was no hint of her usual sneering disgust as she kissed first Alex’s right, then her left cheek, all the while endorsing her happiness about Alex’s—pardon, Alexandre’s—presence and wouldn’t her old auntie have been glowing with pride if she could’ve seen her right now.
Alex actually thought she might go unscathed for once, just when Heloise leaned in and hissed, her lips still stretched into a wide smile, “Remember, missy, no mistakes!”
So much for that! Alex stopped herself from rolling her eyes in the nick of time. Instead, she imagined pulling off one of her torturous heels and bludgeoning the vile old bitch over the head with it. She stepped back with a bright s
mile on her lips.
Luckily, Heloise was quickly swarmed by a cloud of important people dying to greet her.
Edalyne seized this opportunity and snatched Alex’s wrist, steering her over to where Darken was standing. Oh, shit! This hadn’t been part of the rehearsal.
On the way, they passed a group of young ladies who were chatting excitedly. Alex recognized Cecile among them, clad in a sensuous red gown that clung to her sleek body and accentuated her modest curves. She further added to the effect by strategically bending forward when speaking. Alex grimaced. Probably entertaining the other girls with her limited world view.
“Ladies.” Darken bowed when they reached him and took Edalyne’s hand, bringing it to his lips.
Then he took Alex’s hand. “Lady de Nuy.”
The velvet timbre of his deep voice sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Alex willed herself not to look at him directly but her heartbeat sped up nonetheless as his warm lips brushed the back of her hand. Heat spread through her entire body and she felt her cheeks burn.
Oh, damn it! She was in way too deep.
The man beside Darken had his back to them, as he was listening to a group of younger people standing at the side of the column who were discussing some kind of sport ritual. Edalyne reached out and touched his shoulder.
“Tyler? I’m not sure you remember Alexandre?”
The man turned to them.
Alex blinked. Although she had long gathered that Stephane and Darken had another, a younger, brother—one, it seemed, nobody was too keen to talk about—she was taken a little off guard by the face looking back at her.
He had a certain likeness to his brothers, especially to Darken, with the same raven hair and dark brown eyes. But where Darken’s face was chiseled and aristocratic, Tyler’s was softer and somehow more … boyish, with a pointed nose and a slightly receding chin. He was also smaller and thinner than his brothers, lacking both Stephane’s brawny elegance and Darken’s lethal cunning.
Still, you could see that he was—rather unsuccessfully in Alex’s opinion—trying to model himself upon his older brothers: His black suit, right down to the red tie, distinctly resembled Darken’s attire. But while Darken looked like a total badass in black, it made his younger brother look even thinner and paler, reminding Alex of an undertaker’s assistant. His dark hair, worn in a longish style like Stephane’s, only added to that image.
