I force myself to inhale, to focus on his face rather than the emptiness that surrounds us. His eyes are dark in the candlelight, indecipherable as he guides me through the steps with surprising grace.
The music shifts, growing more complex. Some couples beginmoving toward the first gap, preparing to step onto the next ring inward. Blaise and his masked partner are among the first to make the transition, leaping the narrow space.
“We need to advance,” Zeriel says, his voice low. “Hesitation means weakness.”
He turns me in a tight circle, positioning us at the edge of the gap. I feel his muscles tense as he prepares for the leap.
“When I lift you, extend your leg,” he instructs. “Trust me.”
Trust him? The man who might have murdered his wife?I can’t be sure Elara was telling the truth… but I also can’t be sure she was lying.
Before I can protest, his arm tightens around my waist, and I'm lifted into the air. For a heartbeat, we're suspended over emptiness—then my feet touch solid ground on the next ring, which is perhaps eight feet wide.
The musicians increase their tempo. More couples make the transition to our ring, while others advance to the third. Blaise and his partner are already there, moving with fluid precision despite the narrowing space.
“Why is he watching us?” I whisper, noticing the emperor's gaze fixed on our movement.
“He's evaluating,” Zeriel replies, guiding me into a spin that brings my back against his chest, his arm crossed over mine. “Strength, skill, composure under pressure. It may affect how he arranges the Games. Everything is considered.”
Our joined wrists force an intimacy that feels both protective and imprisoning. When he turns me, the chain pulls taut, ensuring I remain within his reach. When I step away, it draws me back to him, a constant reminder of our forced partnership.
The third ring is barely six feet wide, forcing couples to dance in closer proximity. Zeriel's hand slides lower on my back as he guides me through the transition, our bodies pressed together as he sweeps us over the widening gap. I catch a glimpse of the abyss below—a darkness so complete I can’t see the bottom—before his hand cups my chin, forcing my gaze back to his.
“I said don't look down,” he growls.
My breath comes fast as we move in near-perfect unison, every step calculated, every turn precise. The dance becomes more intricate as the space narrows, every movement requiring trust alone. My heart hammers against my ribs, just as conscious of Zeriel’s body pressed to mine as the danger that edges every step.
I'm dancing with a possible murderer above a bottomless pit, chained to him by imperial decree. The sheer absurdity nearly makes me laugh, but I swallow the hysteria, forcing myself to focus on the rhythm of survival.
Step, turn, extend. Breathe. Don't look down.
Blaise and his partner advance to the fourth ring, which can't be more than four feet wide. Two couples remain with us on the third ring, including the purple-clad Layna and her male companion, while the rest are still on the wider circles.
“We should advance,” Zeriel says, his lips close to my ear. “Show them what the Capital's champion can do.”
I feel his intention in the subtle shift of his weight, the tightening of his grip. “Wait,” I whisper, suddenly terrified. “That gap is just… too wide.”
“It's not about the width,” he replies. “It's about the commitment.”
Without further warning, he spins me outward, the chain between us pulling taut, then yanks me back into his arms with enough force that my feet leave the ground. He uses the momentum to carry us both across the gap, landing on the narrow fourth ring with barely inches to spare.
I clutch at his shoulders, my legs trembling. “A little warning next time,” I hiss.
Something like a smile touches his lips. “Where's the fun in that?”
The fourth ring forces us into an embrace so intimate I can feel his heartbeat against me, steady despite the exertion. His hand splays across my lower back, holding me secure as we move in tiny,precise steps. Our faces are inches apart, his breath warm against my skin.
“You're tense,” he observes, his voice barely audible over the music. “More than even the dance warrants.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “Really? We’re dancing over a pit. What exactly would you have me feel?”
Still, I can’t help meeting his gaze, subconsciously searching for something—guilt, secrets, truth—in those dark depths.
His eyes narrow slightly. “What happened while you were gone? Something changed.”
I’m not sure if he seriously noticed something, or if this is mainly about making conversation to keep me from contemplating my impending demise.
Still, I think of Elara's words. Celisse. Murder. Secrets worth killing for. My pulse quickens, and I know he can feel it.
