FRANCO
“Come now, Augie,” I say to my ambassador as the coach comes to a stop. “Extricate yourself from your beloved so we can get on with our night.”
With a sigh, he pulls away from what is probably the thousandth passionate kiss I’ve been subjected to since we left Selene Palace. His lips are pink and puffy, twisted in a crooked smile to give him the distinct look of a drunkard. “What did you say?”
“Your job, Augie. Do your job. Did you think I invited you tonight soyoucould provide the entertainment?”
He leans forward to glance out the window. “Oh, we’ve arrived at the theater.”
“We’ve been parked for a full minute at least,” I mutter to Em, who doesn’t respond. She’s been in a quiet and contemplative mood the entire ride. No matter what I’ve said to her, I can’t seem to spark conversation. But as she too glances out the window, I sense a shift in her energy. It begins to buzz with a dizzying whirl of excitement and anticipation.
Augie slips a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. Scanning it, he says, “You’ll be seated in the royal box, which is located on the third floor.”
“Has the performance already begun?”
The ambassador glances down at his timepiece. “Fashionably late, as the humans say.”
I nod. “Perfect.”
Augie and Seri leave the coach first, then I exit and help Em down. Our tardy arrival means no one but a pair of ushers are at the front of the theater to greet us. They open the doors to an empty lobby, and I let out a sigh of relief. I half expected a circus to linger until I made my appearance, but apparently some humans can act with class. Or perhaps Augie succeeded in sending my request to the theater ahead of time that stragglers be banned.
“Why did you want to arrive late?” Em asks, her voice just above a whisper as the ushers lead us through the lobby toward a carpeted staircase.
“Contrary to what you probably believe about me, I don’t relish being the center of attention.”
She quirks a brow. “You mean,humanattention?”
“Any attention, if it’s in mass.”
She seems confounded by that, and I get the impression she’s trying to figure me out. The efforts are mutual, although I’ve yet to learn more than a handful of facts about my new ally. I’m not even sure how much of what I do know is a lie.
The ushers part a pair of doors that lead to a dimly lit corridor. As we step inside, music begins to float upon my ears. My companion’s energy surges with a spike that I can only decipher as pleasure or longing. I glance over at her as we continue on, the music growing louder with every step we take. Her lips part, breaths coming faster—a strangely enticing sight that has my lower abdomen tightening.
So, she’s a music lover. Good to know.
The ushers open another set of doors and gesture for us to bypass them into the box. It seats four, and I lead Em to the front while Augie and Seri claim the seats behind us. The music is louder now, the orchestra playing a slow, sad tune. I study the stage far below, the elegantly painted sets, the bright lights illuminating the woman who stands at the center of the stage. She wears a many-layered human gown in a deep burgundy, the bodice plunging low at her ample bosom. Her dark hair is piled upon her head in a coiffure of curls adorned with glittering jewels. I’ve heard of singers such as she, and know the Seelie King of Lunar is fond of keeping such human artisans in his employ. However, this is my first time witnessing such music firsthand. It’s unsettling at first, reminding me of a banshee’s wail as the singer’s voice rises and falls, rises and falls. But the longer I listen, the more beauty I find in the tune.
Em, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to need any time at all to appreciate the production. I turn my attention from the stage to the girl seated at my side. Her turquoise eyes glitter with unshed tears as she brings a hand to the base of her throat. Her fingers fumble for a few moments, as if she expects to find something there, then go still over her chest. My eyes unwittingly lower to the modest swell of her décolletage, but I avert my gaze. As much as I’ve enjoyed the sparse glances I’ve had of her figure, I haven’t the slightest clue how much of her form is morphed by her glamour.
As I return my gaze to the stage, I catch a few eager glances from the audience. Heads lean in close and swivel toward my box. This, of course, creates a ripple effect, as others try to steal covert looks while maintaining as much tact as they can. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, then fling a hand toward Em. She jumps as my hand grasps hers and remains there on her lap. Without meeting her eyes, I lean closer to her, smoothing out her gloved palm until she allows me to thread my fingers through hers. Her hand is stiff for a few moments, then finally relaxes. It feels so small in mine. I hazard a glance at her, but she won’t meet my eyes, her jaw set as she watches the singer. Her energy has grown uneven, something like panic now mingling with her pleasure for the music. My emotions have shifted as well, sending a flustered vibration through my chest as an odd tingling runs up my arm from where our hands meet.
“You enjoy the opera?” I ask, voice low enough so only she can hear. Hopefully that will mask my sudden trepidation.
“I was enjoying it,” she whispers, her words catching slightly on an intake of breath. “Why are you holding my hand?”
“Because they’re watching.” When she looks at me, I nod toward the audience. There I find more pairs of eyes, more heads leaning in to exchange whispered gossip.
Em’s throat bobs, and she lowers the hand that had been settled over her chest. “Well, it’s distracting me.”
I grin, a bold warmth propelling my next words. “I suppose that’s a proper response to being held by a man you’re courting.”
She blushes and quickly turns her gaze back to the stage. As the minutes pass, she seems to forget her discomfort over holding my hand and is taken once again by the music. She leans forward as if she would float straight from her seat to the stage. Her eyes glisten again, and I sense a new energetic frequency emanating from her. Resistance. What she’s resisting, I don’t know, but I see her throat begin to bob, again and again. A chill shimmers down my spine, bringing with it a spark of familiarity. There’s something about her energy that feels so…so…
“We’re going to get some…refreshments,” Augie says, leaning around my seat.
I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what he means by that. He and Seri are going to find a dark corner where they can shove their hands all over each other. I suppose I should be grateful they have the decency to avoid doing so in the theater box. “Just don’t be gone too long,” I say. If anyone comes to speak with me during the performance, I’d prefer they first be vetted by Augie.
Seri squeals and the two scurry out of the box, closing the door behind them.
