He released a deep, drawn-out exhale, his fingers resuming their dance across her skin. She had a part to play, and so she leaned into his devastatingly addictive touch. Why did this man have to ruin everything? If he genuinely cared for her, wouldn’t he have turned a blind eye and allowed her to escape? “Please, Clyde. I can’t do what the king has asked of me.” If only she knew how to control her powers, she could use them to help her out of this situation.
“Grythorn’s future is in your hands, and I won’t let you take the coward’s way out.” Clyde’s voice softened, and he spoke like he was coaxing a child out of a tantrum. “You can’t run away from your destiny. I know you’re scared, the deadline to transform is approaching, but I am here for you. I will be here when you transform and every moment after that. I will make sure you’re alright, I promise.”
It was not going to be alright. Didn’t he get it? She wasn’t going to transform, and nothing he, nor the king, could do or say would make her change her mind.
A plan formed in her mind. She straightened her spine and forced her shoulders to relax. “Your words comfort me, and I feel silly for my actions.” A surprisingly easy lie. “You’re right, Clyde. This is my future, and I shouldn’t run from it.” Brushing her hand along her dress once more, she looked up at Clyde as if he was the reason her dress was such a mess. “I need a moment alone to collect myself, then I will return to the ball ready to do what has been asked of me.” She prayed to the high skies above that he would believe her and give her the moment she’d asked for. Or rather, enough time to open the trapdoor and flee.
“No,” he replied with absolution. “You look fine. I’m going to escort you back to the ball now.”
Dammit.
She was really hoping he’d have fallen for that, but this outcome didn’t surprise her—nothing in her life had ever been easy . . . or so simple.
She smiled at him prettily, hiding her disappointment. She so badly wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she couldn’t; she needed him to be at ease. There were other secret passages, and with the night still young, there was still a chance to find another way to escape.
Chapter 18
Surprise
The ballroom appeared largely unchanged—except that the guests were noticeably more inebriated. Women spun gracefully, their dresses billowing like petals, while others were boisterously gossiping and cawing. With Clyde on her heel, Luna weaved through the crowd, intent on disappearing.
William abruptly stepped in front of her, Diera nestled in his arms. Had they been dancing together all night? “I was just thinking about you . . .” His voice was lazy with drink, but his gaze sharpened when it met Clyde’s. “Is it time?”
Clyde dipped his chin.
William leaned down and whispered something to Diera—probably sweet nothings, given how red her face turned. After a tender kiss on her hand, he sent her on her way.
“Alright, let’s go see the—” William stopped mid-sentence, his smile faltering. His gaze had locked on something behind her.
Luna followed his gaze to the stream of guests entering through the western gardens. An unusual entry, but what truly caught her eye were their matching red cloaks and featureless masks.
“I don’t like the look of this . . .” Clyde murmured, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Before she could respond, the ballroom doors burst open. Another wave of red-cloaked figures poured in, blades drawn, led by a towering man in a black cloak and mask.
“The Darkened One!” someone screamed.
The music screeched to a halt as the ballroom erupted into screams and shattering glass, chaos making a whirlwind of skirts and flailing limbs; guests trampled over one another in their desperate bid to escape.
Steel clashed against steel as the king’s guards rushed in. The shrieks and shouts of the panicked crowd merged into a deafening roar, drowning out the frantic commands of the king’s guards as they failed to fight off the intruders.
Luna stood frozen, her limbs locked. Time seemed to stretch and distort—every scream, every clang of metal became a muffled echo in her ears.
From the crowd came desperate voices.
“Lady of Moorlight, save us!”
“Transform, Lady Luna!”
“Protect us!”
Each cry struck like a blow, but none broke through the fog pressing in on her; she could barely breathe, let alone think or do something.
The red assailants’ blades glinted beneath the flickering chandeliers as they cut down both guards and nobles alike. Blood splattered the walls, staining the floor with a sea of red.
Clyde stood steadfast in front of her and William was close behind. Their faces twisted in a grim mask of determination. Together, they carved a path towards the raised platform where the king had already fled.
One of the cloaked men lunged at Clyde, but before Luna could even blink, Clyde turned and decapitated him in a single stroke. His head fell with a sickening thud and Luna gasped, stumbling backwards. Her heel caught on something soft, stretching taut until it tore free.
