She glanced at Damien, almost as if to ask permission.
“Thank you for the wonderful dance, Lady Adalyn,” Damien said. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
She bowed her head, a slightly disappointed look on her face. “Thank you, Grand Lord Maris.” Then she took the young man’s hand, and he led her to the crowd waiting for the next dance.
Damien frowned, wondering at her look, before turning his attention again to Lord Raoul and Lady Selene. At the end of the song, Lord Raoul led Lady Selene from the floor.
He could barely see the couple now as they stood across the room in a shadowed corner. Damien headed toward them, following the perimeter and avoiding the couples lining up to dance. As he drew closer, he could tell Lady Selene and Lord Raoul were deep in discussion.
He paused. Perhaps he should not intrude—
Lady Selene’s chin shot up, and her eyebrows converged into a V. She raised her hand as if to slap Lord Raoul, then seemed to think better of it. Damien could not hear her words, but he could tell they were scathing.
Lord Raoul laughed and turned away, but he did not see Damien. Instead, he sauntered away with a satisfied look on his face.
Damien ignored the crowd around him and the buzz of conversation and laughter. He watched Lord Raoul walk away, then turned toward Lady Selene. Her back was to the people, her face toward the wall. She raised a hand as if she were wiping something from her face. Then her shoulders straightened and he could almost imagine her cold mask falling into place.
She turned around and lifted her chin. Yes, the mask was back. He realized he had never seen her smile before, and he doubted she would smile tonight.
Damien straightened. He didn’t know what he was going to do or say. But he would do something to lighten her spirits.
Even if it was just a little.
30
Lord Raoul stood before Lady Selene, blocking her view of the dancing couples and people around the room. “Why do you fight me, Selene?” he asked.
Selene narrowed her eyes at his casual use of her name. “Lady Selene,” she corrected him. “And as I’ve said before, I have no interest in marrying you. I only danced with you because it was the proper thing to do.”
Lord Raoul snickered, his smoldering amber gaze set on her face. “You do not know yet, do you? Then let me inform you. For generations, House Friere and House Ravenwood have been lovers. Our houses are intertwined.”
Selene curled her lips. Raoul’s delusions were even more pretentious than she had thought. Lovers? Bah! “Then marry my sister Amara. There is already talk that our families are looking to align with each other.”
He snorted in a derisive way. “Amara? She is hardly gifted. You, on the other hand . . .” He lifted his hand and ran his fingers along her arm and leaned in. “I know the mark you bear on your back,” he whispered. “It is you I want. The most powerful Ravenwood lady.”
Selene sucked in a breath as she took a step back and raised her hand. “Don’t you ever touch me,” she said through clenched teeth while her heart raced. How did he know about her mark? Forget that, how did he know about her gift? No one knew about the Ravenwood gift unless . . .
Unless Mother had told them.
Did that mean Lord Raoul’s words were true? Were Mother and Lord Ivulf close enough that she had shared their family’s most sacred secret? Were they . . . lovers?
Mother said Lord Ivulf only suspected their gift. Did she lie?
Lord Raoul laughed. “Now you’re beginning to understand. We will be together, mark my words. Every Ravenwood lady before you has joined together with the lords of Friere. Eventually, someday, you will come to me, no matter who you marry. You’ll see. You cannot fight destiny.”
Before Selene could say another word, he turned and walked away. She spun around and faced the wall, her hands clenched. He was wrong! He only said those things to hoodwink her into believing some perverted lie.
But that didn’t explain how he knew about her mark and gift. And her mother sat with Lord Ivulf at every meal, smiling and sending meaningful glances. Like two admirers. No, more than that. Like two lovers.
You cannot fight destiny.
Her heart clenched and her stomach coiled. Never!
Every Ravenwood lady has joined the lords of Friere.
Every single one of them.
It was true. She knew it deep within. Mother with Lord Ivulf. Her grandmother with Ivulf’s father. Every generation. And together, they exploited the gift of dreaming.
She bit back a sob, but still a tear escaped. Raoul had voiced her deepest, darkest fear: that she could not escape her destiny. No matter what, she would eventually become a murderer. Did that also mean she would follow in her family’s footsteps and join with House Friere?
She wiped the erroneous tear away and breathed in deeply, letting the air fill her lungs, clearing away all emotion, willing herself to become cold. She embraced the numbness as it rushed over her, taking away the confusion and pain of moments earlier. She turned, her mask fully in place, a mask chiseled in ice.
No. She would find a way to escape her destiny. Someway, somehow. She just needed more time.
“Lady Selene.”
Selene started and glanced to her left to find Lord Damien bowing in her direction.
A longing filled her being as she stared at his face, a face she knew well from walking in his dreams. She could almost see the light inside of him, a light she so desperately wanted to embrace.
But all those nights had been spent preparing for her mission. A mission to extinguish that light.
He looked up and the candlelight caught his deep blue eyes. Selene wanted to turn away and run. Instead, she clutched her arms in front of her, shielding herself from his intense gaze.
“Is everything all right, Lady Selene?”
“Yes.” The word came out so fast she didn’t have time to think about it. She blushed at his skeptical look. “I’m afraid I don’t do well at parties like this.”
“I understand. Growing up along the coast and away from most of the houses, my own experience with galas is limited.”
He was smiling softly at her. Lord Damien was so different from Lord Raoul. Was that because of the light inside of him? Her throat grew tight and her stomach heaved as she once again remembered her deadly mission.
Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
But her mantra did not seem to help this time. All she could do was feel. The anguish, the remorse, the entrapment . . . and something more.
“May I have the next dance?” He held out his hand.
Selene stared at it. His hand was strong and masculine, with a thick silver ring on one finger.
Common sense told her she should stay away from him. Familiarity would only make her job tomorrow harder. But her body seemed to have a mind of its own. Before she could think, she was already extending her hand toward his.
He took it with a smile.
Something fluttered inside of her at his touch. His hand was warm and smooth, so unlike Lord Raoul, whose touch had been hot and sticky.
“You look lovely this evening,” Lord Damien said as he brought her to his side.
Her eyes widened at his words. “Thank you.” Once again, she was struck by how different Lord Damien was compared to Lord Raoul. His words had made her feel exposed; Damien’s made her feel beautiful. Like a lady.
Even if she was anything but.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be here. She swallowed as bitterness rose up inside her chest. And yet I want to. She clung to that last thought as it fed strength into her resolve. I want to dance with Lord Damien.
Selene straightened, throwing off the darkness from earlier that evening. Lord Damien skillfully led her toward the crowd at the edge of the dancing couples. The longer they stood there, hand in hand, the easier it was for her to imagine this was her life. No dark destiny loomed before her. Instead, she was simply a lady of a Great House dancing with the lord from another hous
e.
“How has your time been here at Rook Castle?” she asked as they waited for their turn.
“It’s been interesting,” he said in his soft tenor voice.
“How so?” She glanced at him, curious about his appraisal of her home and the assembly.
“This is my first time meeting some of the Great Houses. Growing up, my family would visit House Luceras, and I’ve had the pleasure of visiting the grand halls of both House Rafel and House Merek. But I’ve never met House Vivek, even though we are neighbors, or House Friere. Nor your own house.” He looked at her. “Perhaps I find yours the most intriguing.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Even though we are the lowliest of the houses, bereft of gift and ruler of the smallest nation?” Her chest tightened at her outright lie. No doubt her words had just added another black link to the chain surrounding her soul.
“My father taught me the Great Houses were each given a gift to help serve their people. But even without a gift, a leader can still serve his or her people through sacrifice and love. In some ways, your house has the greatest ability to show that truth.”
Her mouth fell open as her mind grappled with his words. “I-I’ve wondered that myself.” But how, exactly? All her mother had taught her was how to manipulate others with her gift. Instead of loving and sacrificing, she hurt others with her dreamwalking.
How do I do that? How do I change?
The song ended, and the couples exchanged places on the dance floor. With gentle guidance, Lord Damien led her to the line of couples waiting for the next melody. She caught sight of her father near a group of older men. His surprised gaze moved between herself and Lord Damien, then he smiled approvingly at her.
The music began, a slow, soft piece indicating the dance would be a low one. Selene held her dress up by her right hand as Lord Damien lifted her other hand up with his own. They bowed to each other, then bowed to the crowd, then started forward in smooth, small steps.
Every time Lord Damien faced her, he greeted her with his soft smile and deep blue gaze, twisting the feelings inside of her. She never let it show, keeping the icy veneer across her face. But deep down, with every step, half of her knew she was being drawn to the lord of House Maris. And the other half screamed that this was a mistake. She should have stayed far away from him and kept her heart locked away.
Because no matter what, tomorrow would come and she had a mission to do.
A leader can serve her people by sacrifice and love.
Lord Damien’s words played in the back of her mind like a haunting melody. But wasn’t that what she was doing? The Dark Lady—Selene winced at the thought of her family’s patroness—delivered a message to her mother that there was a threat from the north, a threat to their family and people. At least, that was how Selene remembered it. By eliminating Lord Maris, she would be eliminating that threat. That was sacrifice and love, right?
Selene wrinkled her brow. Wait, was the threat to their people, or only their house—
“Are you enjoying the dance?”
What? Selene sucked in her breath and found Lord Damien staring at her, his face inches from hers. She pulled away and blushed, their hands still together and their shoulders still touching. She had been so consumed with her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed how close he had drawn during the dance.
Dart’an! Where was her composure? “Yes, I am,” she said a second later, grateful that her voice sounded cool and calm.
“You were frowning a moment ago.”
“I was thinking.”
“About?” he asked as he held their hands up and stepped back, then forward in cadence with the music.
“About what you said earlier. About the reason gifts were given to the Great Houses.”
“I see.” His grip tightened around her hand. “I’m sorry if I hurt you with my words. I meant them as an encouragement to you, not a reminder of what your house has lost.”
Warmth filled her entire being. “I was challenged by them. I wonder how what you said fits into who I am and the leader I will become.”
“And what have you discovered?”
The euphoria from moments ago melted away like a warm breath in the winter. “I’m not sure. I need more time to think.” She could feel herself withdrawing into her cold, dark self. Because if her conclusion was right, then killing the man beside her would be a true act of a leader. A sacrifice of love for her house and people.
Or was that just for her house?
If so, was House Ravenwood worth saving?
Had centuries of hate become a poison across the nations?
The music tapered off, ending the dance. Damien led her through the crowd and away from the floor. As they passed through the throng of heavily scented gowns and doublets, Selene caught sight of Amara only a few yards away standing with Lord Elric Luceras.
Her sister looked tragically beautiful in the deep-cut scarlet gown. Instead of enhancing Amara’s natural beauty, it made her appear predatory. Selene wondered who had chosen the gown: their mother or Amara?
Amara glanced up and spotted Selene. Her eyes darted between Selene and Lord Damien, a scowl slowly spreading across her face.
Selene frowned, puzzled by her sister’s reaction. Was the scowl aimed at Lord Damien or her? Or the fact that they were together?
Before she could think on it more, her mother appeared with Lord Ivulf near the window Lord Damien was heading toward. The blood drained from her face and her breath caught in her chest. No, not there. Don’t go there.
As if sensing her alarm, Damien spun to the right and headed for an open balcony instead, but not before her mother caught sight of them. Selene cringed, waiting for the look of disapproval, or worse. Instead, her mother smiled.
Selene turned away, but her mother’s look was imprinted on her mind. Her mother had smiled. Not an I’m-happy-for-you smile, but a sinister smile of approval. If her mother had fangs, they would have been gleaming in the candlelight.
She shuddered as Damien led her out onto one of the balconies that faced the eastern side of the mountains. The sky was dark, with only a crescent moon and handful of stars peeking out from behind scattered clouds. A cold wind blew, cooling her heated face.
The good feelings from earlier were now shattered by that one look from her mother. It was a reminder that her dance with Damien had been only a brief respite from reality. She was not a lady, not like the other ladies in the room behind her. She was a killer—or would be soon. And this . . . this was just playacting.
“The mountains are beautiful this time of night.”
Selene glanced at Lord Damien from the corner of her eye. He was staring out over the balcony with a wistful smile on his face. She took in his physique, the pleasing lines of his face, his short hair almost as dark as her own, and the smooth muscles beneath his blue tunic.
“Is it just as beautiful as your shores?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Yes, in a different way.” His dark blue eyes were almost black in the dim light. His face changed, and he cleared his throat. “Are you doing all right this evening? I couldn’t help but witness the conversation between you and Lord Raoul.” His eyes narrowed. “He didn’t say anything ill-mannered toward you, did he?”
Selene tensed at Damien’s bluntness. He saw their exchange? She clenched her hands across the railing and stared over the edge. The burning rage and hurt from Raoul’s words came rushing back, overcoming any embarrassment she might have felt at realizing he had witnessed their conversation. The lords and ladies of their families were lovers, had always been lovers, he’d claimed. And that conceited, cruel man thought she would come to him like every other Ravenwood woman.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said through bared teeth. Damien’s kind words drifted back, loosening the sudden tension inside of her. She relaxed and looked at him. “But thank you for asking.”
He gave her a hard smile. “House Friere can be . . . a bit off-putting.”
Selene l
aughed. “Yes, they can. I grew up visiting Lord Raoul as a child. I am not unfamiliar with his more nasty side.”
“That is the first time I’ve seen you laugh. Or smile.”
Selene lifted a hand to her cheek. Was it? Her brow furrowed. When was the last time she’d smiled? Before her gifting came? She couldn’t remember.
“It becomes you,” Damien said softly. “I’m glad Lord Raoul didn’t get under your skin.”
Selene felt like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff. Somehow during the last few minutes, she had let her guard down and her heart had emerged from that cold, dark pit where she kept it hidden. It beat with rapid, lively beats, and brought with it her smile.
She mentally grasped for her cold mask, shoving it down across her features with such force that her smile disappeared completely and her face paled. “I’m sorry,” she said as she lifted the sides of her gown. “I-I’m not feeling well.” She turned back toward the main hall. “I need to leav—”
Damien’s hand grabbed hold of her upper arm. “Wait, did I say something that hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No.” Her mask was slipping again. She needed to leave—now.
“Then can I escort you back? Perhaps take you back to your room? Or to a healer?”
Selene glanced back. The sincerity of his concern struck a chord inside of her. Did Lord Damien really care?
No! This needed to stop. If she let him further into her heart, then she would not be able to fulfill her mission tomorrow night. Already she could tell she would need to spend all of tomorrow mentally burying this past half hour. She didn’t want to add more.
She turned back and lifted her chin, her mask firmly in place. “Thank you, Lord Damien, but I have no need of an escort. Please enjoy the evening, and do not let any thought of my welfare taint the rest of your time here.”
His eyes roved across her face, as if searching for the truth behind her words. Her heart beat faster. Don’t let him see.
His hand dropped from her arm and before Selene could react, he grasped her hand and brought it up to his lips. Her mind went blank while every nerve in her body centered on the point where his lips brushed her knuckles. “It was a pleasure dancing with you, Lady Selene. I hope you feel better.” Then he let go and stepped back, his gaze still fixed on her.
Mark of the Raven Page 23
