by Nyna Queen
A girl in an iridescent blue gown left the dance floor near to where Darken was standing, grinning madly. Immediately, two other girls swooped down on her, grabbing each of her hands.
“And? And?”
The dancer’s grin became even wider, almost splitting her face. “He asked me!”
What followed was an insane amount of screeching and jumping up and down. Girls!
“Oh, gracious!” her friend in pink gushed. “So, you’re gonna sit at the third table, then. Just like Myra. You lucky duck! Now I only need Theodor to ask me! At times he can be such a blockhead …” They put their heads together, wildly discussing tactics, and hurried away.
The seating arrangement, yes. Darken sipped his wine. Besides the dancing and the prime’s grand entry tonight, which was one of the many Summerball traditions, the banquet tomorrow night was another highlight and at the same time, the culmination of the Summerball.
The seating arrangement was of the utmost importance as it reflected the current social status of the present members of the royal elite; the closer to the Prime’s family and their table at the head of the room, the better.
While hatching their plan, after much deliberation, they had finally decided to spring their little trap during the banquet. The banquet hall was much smaller than the ballroom and everybody would be sitting together, which would make it a whole lot easier to keep track of their suspects. The only hurdle was to make sure that they sat close enough to them during the dinner to make sure they didn’t miss their suspects’ reactions when the Bluetail Grand Theater was raided.
Despite her acute hearing, Alex had made it clear that she might not be able to listen in on a specific conversation in a room full of prattling people if she wasn’t at least within ten feet of the person. Stephane was confident that he could use his status to arrange for Alex to sit with the family at one of the best tables, despite her lack of pedigree, however, that would not guarantee that they would be close to the Sauniers, to Alistair Devilier, and Cassius Roukewood at the same time.
It was something they were still in the process of figuring out.
Stepping back from the low wall, Darken glided along the shadowy cloister. The music was muted out here and he felt as if he were floating along the outer side of a bubble, able to see the elevated society inside but separated from it by a thin, transparent wall. Story of his life.
Usually, he didn’t care. Today, when it separated him from Alex, it drove him near crazy.
His mindless wandering brought him to the entrance of the lounge area, where people gathered for a smoke, drinks, and a more quiet conversation while still being able to watch the action inside the ballroom through the wide-open doors.
At a table in the back, Henry Saunier was chain-smoking cigarettes and downing cognacs, discussing something with other politicians—from the way he was swaying when he gesticulated, already quite tipsy. If Henry stayed true to his reputation, he would pass out sometime soon.
Not too far from him, Stephane, clad in a pale doublet with gold ornamental thread stitched into a white shirt, was talking to Lady Ann Debayne-Gulberg, the sister of his fellow parliamentarian and friend Edward Debayne, all the while keeping an eye and ear on Senator Saunier.
A new song started. A moment later, Alex flew past the doors in the arms of a young buck with oiled blond hair who was staring at her with unconcealed reverence.
She was smiling back politely.
Darken paused and watched them. She was like a glowing silver moon among the other dancers, turning them into the stars that basked in her bright light.
The youngster’s hand was gradually sinking closer to her butt and from the slack-mouthed expression on his face he was close to having an erection. Darken growled softly, then caught a glance of Alex’s face and had to swallow a grin. Her mouth was still set in a polite smile but her eyes had turned a deep sapphire, an almost electric blue, and he’d wager that she would have loved nothing more than to rip the balls off the young groper and feed them to him. His beautiful, violent spider.
That Tristan Grimes was an idiot. Darken swirled his red wine and stared into the blood-red depths. The moron had her and he had left her. Not just that, he had hurt her. Deeply. Ever since Alex had told him about her ex-lover, Darken had fought against the overwhelming desire to track the man down and take him to task. They would have a nice long conversation. Perhaps a few bones would be broken. Darken had played out the confrontation in his head many, many times and each time it had turned out more and more … final. Oh, it was true, Alex didn’t need anybody to fight her battles for her, but he would kill the bastard nonetheless if he ever got the chance. And he would make sure that the pain would match the scars the man had left on Alex’s soul. She might act all devil-may-care, but she couldn’t completely hide the pain. Heart-pain. Soul-pain. A pain that haunted her like a ghost that simply refused to fade.
Alex and her adoring dance partner passed by once again.
“Divine, no?”
Darken froze. Hidden in the twilight of the cloister, he gently leaned around the corner of the lounge entrance. Not far from the opening, a group of men was huddled around a bar table, including Governor Shinner and none other than Senator Cassius Roukewood.
Like many of the bystanders, they were observing Alex and her obvious admirer.
“An enchanting lady, no doubt,” Lord Broncor, an overweight man with a known penchant for blondes, said. “And Stephane has all but hooked his claws into her.”
“You really have to envy the man,” said another lord whose name Darken didn’t know, wiping his round glasses on his sleeve. “A stunning young lady emerges into society and he claims her all for himself. She’s his protégée, I heard.”
“Protégée.” Shinner snorted. “Quite convenient to have protégée like that.”
“You don’t think …” The man with the glasses frowned. “Nah, Dubois is too much of a prude for that …”
“Well, if she was my protégée, I’d know exactly what I would do with her.” Broncor wiggled his eyebrows with a lewd grin, provoking laughter around the table.
“And she’s from the country,” Broncor continued, “It’s where they grow best. You know the saying: An innocent flower is the most satisfying to pluck. Ain’t that right, Cassius?” He nudged the senator’s arm and chuckled.
Roukewood didn’t reply but took a slow drag on his cigarette and watched Alex as she gracefully curtsied to her partner and walked over to a plump, pretty redhead.
Darken’s hands curled into fists. Heat surged through his body, filling him with a delicious, deep-seated hunger. It was the hunger for a kill. Death, his wicked bride, leaned against him, matching her invisible curves to his body and stroked him with phantom hands of desire.
His knuckles crunched.
Oh, it would be so easy to kill this drooling lot. He wouldn’t even need his magic for it.
Darken imagined himself peeling from the shadows. Broncor would die first, without them ever noticing his approach, his neck broken by one fast, vicious stroke. Before the rest of them could move, he would push over the table. Swipe a broken glass. Slash-slash. Two cut throats and a beautiful red artwork, perfected by the thick smell of hot blood and sweet, sweet panic.
And then Darken would take on Roukewood. He wouldn’t rush. He would let the man know what was coming.
Darken dwelt on that fantasy, letting the images nurture the desire inside him until the hunger became almost unbearable. So many ways to kill …
Crack!
The sound of breaking glass and a bout of sickness brought Darken back to his senses.
No! Darken blinked the red mist away and inhaled sharply. He couldn’t kill anyone. Not here. Not today.
But there was something he could do.
Handing his splintered wineglass to a flinching servant, Darken left the shadows and stepped out of the cloister into the ballroom.
THE music faded out. People applauded politely.
&nb
sp; Alex curtsied to her most recent “conquest” and left the dance floor as quickly as she could—before he had the chance to ask her for another round.
She returned to where Bonny was standing at a small bar table, snatched one of the fans that had been distributed on the tables and fanned herself, enjoying the subtle cooling draft on her face.
Sweet Jester, she was hot! If someone came over to ask her for the next dance, she’d turn him down. Even her feet deserved a break, didn’t they?
After having recovered from her first encounter with Senator Cassius Roukewood, Alex had spent the following hour shadowing Elizabeth and Henry Saunier, being forced to listen to the most boring political topics one could imagine, including a prolonged discussion about the possibilities of expanding the agricultural areas in the south of Arcadia. Snore!
While she’d forced herself to listen, in case something interesting came up, Alex had entertained herself by imagining the people around her naked. Since that had turned out to be way too gross, she’d imagined what would happen if she suddenly turned shaper on them. Oh, people would scream and run, a couple of women would faint. And then she would be dead, with a small black hole in her forehead, compliments of one of the sniper guards lurking in the boxes above the ballroom. But for one short moment, it would be such fun! Alex had been so bored, she’d seriously considered it just to put an end to her misery.
To think that she’d been glad when the dancing had finally started!
Stephane had taken over the job of watching the Sauniers and ever since Alex had barely had a chance to rest her feet. If only she’d turned down that first schmuck who’d come over to her shortly after the start of the dance. But noooo, she’d thought she’d do an obligatory round and would then be left in peace. Ah, the delusion!
The soles of her feet were literally on fire and Alex felt the overwhelming urge to slip out of her shoes, if only for a little moment, but Josy had warned her not to, otherwise she might not get back into them.
Henry Saunier left the lounge area—drunk as a skunk by the looks of it—and took his daughter for a jig. The girl looked rather annoyed but still tried to cut a fine figure. Shortly afterward, Stephane and Edalyne also took to the dance floor, swinging around the room, their eyes fixed on each other.
Right next to Alex, Bonny was talking a mile a minute. She might not be part of the “inner circle,” but she still seemed to know some gossip about each and every person in this room.
“… and Francis, the one in red at the dais, he had an affair with Nadeshda de Beliont last winter.” Bonny wrinkled her nose. “Oh, and Lady Maris over there, I heard she got liposuction. I do believe it’s true, actually. No diet can lead to such a profound weight loss in so short a time. Believe me, I tried them all …”
Alex made a noncommittal “I’m-listening” noise, and stopped listening, instead watching the couples smoothly flow from the waltz into a slow, elegant, formal court dance, hands matching, circling around each other.
She’d been surprised that these “old” dances were still being performed. But then again, this was court. They were fond of thrones. She really shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point.
Luckily, Josy had shown her some of the basic moves, just as a precaution. It had already paid off.
Fanning herself some more, Alex observed the dancers. This is how it must have looked at court in ancient times as well; it was as if the music reached through the ages, blending past and present into one fluent image, like a loop in time.
The song faded out, hovering on the last sustained notes, and the couples sank into deep bows and curtsies, while the audience applauded.
Suddenly, Alex realized that Bonny had stopped talking. In fact, everyone around her had stopped talking. Alex raised her head to see if she’d missed something interesting.
All eyes were glued to a spot behind her.
Alex suppressed a sigh. Another one, huh?
She turned on her heel, the rejection already poised on her lips.
Darken smiled at her and bowed, one hand held out toward her, palm up.
“May I have this dance, my lady?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALEX stared at Darken, too shocked to do anything else.
“Milady?” The deep, velvet sound of Darken’s voice made her entire body tingle.
Before Alex had time to recover, Darken had taken her hand and was hauling her toward the emptying dance floor. Alex’s mind and body snapped to attention. She tried to pull away, but Darken wouldn't let go.
“What are you doing?” Alex hissed through gritted teeth. She tried to yank her hand away from him again but his grip seemed to be made of iron. She could feel people’s eyes on them and realized she wouldn’t be able to get away without causing a scene that neither of them needed. “You’re gonna ruin everything!”
“Believe me,” Darken muttered back dryly. “I’m not ruining anything. Just speeding up the process.”
Speeding up the what? Alex had no clue what he was talking about. Only that he was playing an extremely dangerous game.
The dance floor loomed before them.
“Cut it out!” she insisted in one last attempt of reasonableness. “Everybody is already looking at us!”
Darken leaned over to her, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “They are looking because you are the most beautiful lady in attendance tonight.”
Oh, please! “I’m serious!” she snapped.
“So am I.”
Alex threw him a short glance. His face was completely solemn but his eyes were laughing at her. He was teasing her. Of course, he was.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I would ask you to trust me, but since I already know that you don’t trust anybody …” He shrugged.
Asshole!
They had reached the middle of the dance floor. Darken finally let go of her hand and bowed deeply. Alex curtsied automatically as she had done so many times this evening already.
The music started, but instead of a vivid waltz or a stately court dance, it began with a fiery prelude: a mixture of a rhythmic piano and an exotic guitar, spiced by a sonorous female voice.
Mother’s mercy and Jester’s grace! Alex closed her eyes and swore inwardly.
It was a salesha, a blend of tango and classical court dances, wild, explosive, and passionate—a fucking hell of a dance!
Oh, she would kill Darken for putting her through this! Of course, he couldn’t have known that this would be the next dance. But that wasn’t the point. She would still kill him!
Clenching her teeth, Alex took one graceful step toward Darken and said with a wide, artificial smile stretching her lips: “I really hope you can lead.”
Darken reached out and gently pulled her closer to him, positioning her in the starting pose of the dance: with her back against his chest, one of his hands resting lightly on her right hip, the other on top of her left wrist.
His hot whisper touched her ear. “If you let me.”
Alex’s eyes widened. If—?
“Oh, you arrogant—”
The song’s main theme exploded from the speakers and Darken launched them into the dance, effectively cutting off her words.
For the space of a breath, Alex was slightly off-balance, both mentally and physically, then she felt Darken’s strong hands on her body, firm and reassuring, guiding her through the steps and she turned into hot wax in his grip, obeying the subtle cues and commands of his lead. She couldn’t have missed a step if she’d tried.
They performed a quick succession of aggressive steps and striking poses, the wild feral rhythm of the music reverberating in Alex’s blood. The salesha was a liquid flow of dominance and submission, of courtship and denial—every step a violent burst of passion meant to stir up a raging fire of desire.
Darken spun her and she matched his pace, light on the balls of her feet. The dance floor had become notably empty.
The music slowed and they circled each other in unison with the rem
aining couples, fingertips touching between their bodies, while their other hands stretched out to the side, fingers spread wide.
Darken’s gaze roamed over Alex’s body with distinct male appreciation. “You look divine. One would think you do this every other night.”
Alex smiled at him with the sweetest venom. “Sadly, I can’t say the same about you.”
Darken chuckled softly as he seized her hand and pulled her into a sharp twist, striking a dramatic pose.
“That’s the spider we all know and love. And now laugh.”
“What?”
“Laugh,” Darken repeated. “As if I’d said something delightful.”
“No idea what that could possibly b—Ouch!” He had dug his fingers into her back. Alex snarled and bared her teeth at him.
Darken nodded with approval. “There. That’s the spirit I’m looking for. Now, if you could just put that into laughing …”
Alex clenched her jaw. She had no clue what all this was supposed to achieve, but she still tilted her head back and let out a silvery laugh, all the while imagining kicking Darken’s shapely ass. Now, that would be delightful.
“Satisfied, my lord?”
“Absolutely. Though I don’t think I want to know what you were thinking about. Spin coming in three, two, one …” He flipped her around, so that she was pressed against his chest—sweet Jester but that man had a hard chest!—his hands gripping her upper arms. His breath stirred the fine hairs on her neck and a crazy part of Alex wished he would press his lips to the spot where her neck and shoulder joined.
Darken’s mouth grazed her ear again. “I bet that was hard for you.” She could almost hear the lazy smile in his voice.
Her hands curled into fists. “I’d really like to kick you now,” she muttered, “where it hurts the most.”
Darken let out a wolfish chuckle, bending them in tune with the music and then pulling her back to him. “That would definitely provoke some awkward gossip.”
Hah! As if his little show hadn’t already put the spotlight on them!
