Devin knew that Gideon was serious about arresting him, but he also knew Gideon wouldn’t look too closely in any investigation involving Graves’s murder. And now it was decided. Devin had to go to the party and he had to refrain from killing Graves on sight. Not an easy task.
Miranda had been prodded and handled until she was perfectly styled for her sister’s special evening. She glided along the floor, the picture of society’s princess. Poised and elegant on the outside while she entertained murder in her heart.
She and her family boarded the carriages Graves had sent. Only two women in full dress would fit in a carriage and normally each daughter went with a parent, but Miranda convinced her mother to let the girls ride together. Cordelia shuffled into her seat, staring out the window like rain had ruined her plans.
Cordelia wore pale yellow, a color that captured the blonde strands peeking through her brown hair. She was lovely, the picture of youthful beauty, but her face held a different story. Why could her parents not see the pain in their daughter’s eyes? This would all be so much simpler. Miranda wouldn’t need to be running around Unity at all hours with a dangerous rogue if her parents just disapproved of the match.
“Cheer up, Delia,” Miranda said. Cordelia didn’t move. “You know, I have a feeling that all will be right very soon.”
Cordelia turned, so slowly her neck might have creaked. “Yes, of course.”
Miranda bit her lip. She wanted to tell Cordelia her plans, to ease her sister’s misery. But she couldn’t. What if it went wrong? What if Cordelia wanted to help? She remained silent.
With nothing to say, Miranda looked at Unity passing by through the window. Her parents would never see what Graves was capable of, he knew how to hide his nature from the right people. Said the right words to assuage fear and doubt in his character. Filled the right pockets and whispered into the right ears, so that no one would question him. He projected a charismatic champion of unification.
This wedding would be the first mixed race union among the upper classes, which should have been a groundbreaking achievement. The union of such prominent lineages was hoped to act as the catalyst for others to start venturing further from their comforts, to explore the new and embrace the changes in Unity that had started almost eighty years ago with the war.
Her stomach twisted, nearly upsetting her lunch. She still hadn’t told a soul, but her sister was not Graves’s first choice. It was nearly a year ago when he’d sought Miranda as his match. Found her alone, as she was catching her breath from another overwhelming and stuffy ball she’d been honor bound to attend. He had been charming, almost kind. Drifting ever closer to her as he made polite conversation, despite the impropriety of their situation. They were alone in a dark area, without a chaperone in sight.
He’d made offers. Attempted to serenade her with promises of their unstoppable alliance. With the entire Night Court at his back, he simply needed a lady from the right social circles to increase his favor. Miranda was well on her way to being ‘shelved.’ One too many seasons with no trace of respectable suitors to show for it, certainly she would leap at the chance to have such an offer. A guardian from an honorable family would make a sensible alliance. She couldn’t say exactly when hischarms had faded. It was a gradual thing, the veneer falling with each polite refusal until polite wasn’t enough. The tear of fabric still sent visceral shivers through her.
Miranda closed her eyes to the memories. Months of living in fear of retaliation, fearing what he would do to her for refusing his offers, for striking back. It was four months later that he announced his engagement to Cordelia.
To all the world, he seemed the besotted gentleman. Enamored with Cordelia enough to make his suit fast and plain. But there was a reason he’d done it publicly and announced his intentions to her parents, rather than ensnaring Cordelia in secret the way he had Miranda. Now no one could protest. Now, his true nature and intentions for Cordelia could remain hidden. He took away the choice to refuse.
She was at his mercy.
And Miranda was vibrating with anger, her nails cutting into her palms. She felt powerless. She had always been taught to attack a problem head on, to engage with her enemy directly, but this wasn’t a brawl. And no matter how much she wanted to crush him in her hands, there was truly nothing she could do that was worth the consequences that would follow.
The sly smiles Graves sent her way at social gatherings. The way his eyes shifted to Miranda as he kissed Cordelia’s hand. It turned her stomach. And she could only imagine what awaited her sister once a union was secured and she was tethered to him for life.
If Miranda’s plans with Drake failed, she was ready to throw herself in the line of fire…to offer her own hand in her sister’s place. If that didn’t work, she would steal her sister away into the night and hide her where no one could hurt her. Neither of those options were ideal, but the alternative was unbearable.
They neared the house and entered the line of carriages waiting to be announced. Her heart raced as they inched closer.
It was a large manor, with dark vining plants that Miranda recognized from the Night Court sprawling up the gates and over the brick. They were in the Ring—named because it encircled the Spire which erupted menacingly from its center. Here homes were larger, grander, meant to hold the various alderman elected for the parliament or other prominent figures. Her father had a house here, if he wanted it, but he chose to remain in the family estate in the Garrison.
Graves’s home matched no architecture Miranda was aware of, with twisting columns of ebony. Gargoyles snarling in lofty corners. Stained glass. And dark, smooth obsidian materials. His wealth and power were on full display as Miranda and her sister were helped from the carriage and escorted to a grand foyer of black and gold marble.
The ballroom was pure opulence, little domes extended the ceiling, making the room feel much larger despite being filled with people. A quartet played a haunting melody that filled the chamber, no doubt aided by the acoustics of the ceiling shape.
While still overwhelmingly human and guardian, there was the usual blend of races in attendance. The heads of fae courts, titled members of other races, or the respective alderman and their families.
Kieran North the Winter Alderman often attended balls and social gatherings, though he rarely did more than glower and observe like he was documenting the unusual habits of the upper class. He was punctual to a fault and usually left before ten, but easy to spot by the gap between himself and the rest of the partiers. A lone figure with ten feet of space on all sides.
Willa Shen, the Summer Alderman, was the first to dance and the last to leave. Miranda spied Miss Shen’s intricately woven auburn hair as she hovered near the drink table, a cup in each hand. Lady Belladona Asche, a widow who turned immortal after her husband’s passing, was currently married tothe immortal Alderman. She liked to drink, gossip, and do as she pleased. Which made her either loved or hated, rarely in between. She was entertaining a growing mass of guests with a lively story. Her husband did not attend parties.
Drake’s blue eyes should have been easy to find in a crowd of mostly humans, their luminous almost iridescent quality a stark contrast to, say Lady Merrin’s human blue eyes. Miranda prayed he hadn’t decided to stay home. She would never admit it, but she needed him. Without him here she feared she would lose her nerve. His presence made her more confident, since she refused to look weak in front of him. He made her want to shine. And she could use another person to help her get in and out unnoticed.
She bit her lip. And then there was the fact that he was attractive and full of roguish charm. The exact sort of charm her parents had always warned her about, but Miranda couldn’t help but sway a bit to his magnetism. These thoughts were all safe in her mind. Tucked away and never to see the light of day.
Speak of the devil. Drake was already there, body slanted in a corner as he sipped at a Champaign flute. He looked pissed, but incredibly handsome. His clothes were fine and well-tailored to his body, dark velvets with splashes of deep maroon on his vest and cravat. His signature colors, it seemed, for she never saw him in anything but black and red.
Miranda’s palms grew sweaty as her eyes lingered where they shouldn’t. But, she reasoned, there was no harm in looking. She could hardly pretend she didn’twantto look. He hadn’t shaved the rough stubble along his chin, but he had taken effort with his hair. Parted to one side, less roguishly-tousled than normal. It still covered his ears, which made her chest ache, even if she was endeared by the display. Which was conflicting, since she was determined to hate him and would have denied the idea of Devin and endearing populating the same sentence if questioned.
She approached him slowly, suddenly self-conscious. At parties, her short-comings were always glaringly obvious. Men would ask her to dance and if she spoke they found her too aggressive, but if she said nothing they deemed her boring. She was rarely asked to dance twice.
She wished for the comfort of her guardian’s uniform. She felt herself in it instead of at war with the person her gown painted her to be. But a uniform wasn’t appropriate for a ball. Instead she wore a pale blue gown that billowed around her hips with a bodice that was both too tight and too low cut—her mother was desperate for her to attract the right attention.
