I stare at my reflection, my false face paired with the breathtaking glamour Franco gifted me. I’m no princess. I’m no future queen.
I’m nothing but an impostor.
A fake.
A liar.
I could never be deserving of a prince. My stomach turns at that, but it helps me harden my heart. I have no room for wistful thinking or foolish sentimentality. My bargain with Princess Maisie wasn’t about romance but practicality. And tonight, it ends.
Tonight, I’m free.
Free.
A knock sounds at the door, and for one ridiculous minute, my momentary resolve collapses, leaving flushed cheeks and heart palpitations in its place.
“That’s him!” Clara says in a too-loud whisper as she excitedly clasps my fingers in hers. We exchange giddy smiles, something I don’t think I’ve ever done with her. I’d be more shocked if my mind wasn’t fixated on who stands out in the hall.
Clara scurries toward the door, giving me a few seconds to gather my composure. With a deep breath, I remind myself of what I’ve already decided. Everything that’s at stake. Everything that can never be. I lift my chin and watch as Clara opens the door, my expression cold and calm, as if half my heart isn’t waiting on the other side.
Then I see him.
Franco enters my room, and his eyes go straight to mine, as if he knew exactly where to find me before Clara even opened the door. He grins so wide, showing me the smile of his that I love, the one that reveals the delicate tips of his canines and makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Every inch of my stiff countenance gives way, my hardened heart fissuring as warmth seeps through it, fills it, replaces it with a living drum.
Clara slips silently out of the room and closes the door behind her, leaving us alone.
“You’re beautiful,” Franco says, closing the distance between us until only a fragile few inches serve as a divide.
I delight in the compliment, despite my cynical side’s assertion that he has no right to call me beautiful. What he sees now is not what I look like.
He never said Ilookbeautiful, I note.He said Iambeautiful.
Against all my best efforts, I feel my answering smile take over my face. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” I say, glancing at his attire. He’s outfitted in his signature slim trousers, but like at the opera, he now wears full evening attire. This time, however, his waistcoat and jacket are unbuttoned, his shirt is left open at the top, and his cravat is only loosely tied. Every article he wears is a shimmering, iridescent black that reminds me of his beautiful raven feathers. Over the top of the outfit glows with silver constellations and ever shifting moon sliding from one phase to the next. That must be the glamoured portion of his ensemble. The rest of him remains uncovered. No mask. No oversized raven head.
He extends his arms. “The real me.”
I raise a brow. “I thought the real you preferred to wear only trousers and a shirt.”
“The real me prefers to be stark naked,” he says with a wink, “but this is how I can be me while showing the humans I’m respecting their traditions.” His expression flickers with uncertainty. “Do you think it’s stupid? Am I still demonstrating only partial efforts? You’re right, I’m being an ass.” He reaches for the buttons of his shirt, but I step forward and press my fingers to his hand to halt his frantic moves.
“No, I think you’re being genuine.”
His hands go still beneath my touch, and I’m suddenly aware of how close my fingers are to the bare skin of his chest. In this frozen moment, I could imagine he isn’t trying to button the collar of his shirt but unbutton it. Instead of stopping him, I could imagine I’m about to aid his efforts, slide open his shirt front, and take in the full view of his ink-covered chest. If I moved my fingers only an inch, slid them off his hand to the space above his open collar...
His breaths go heavy, and his gaze slides slowly from our hands to my lips before locking on my eyes. I’m frozen in place, entranced by the pulsing heat that uncoils low in my core.
His throat bobs. Once. Twice. “Shall we?”
I glance back at my hand over his, certain he’s asking me one thing before realization dawns. A flash of disappointment sends a blush to warm my cheeks. I take a step back and lower my hand. “Yes.”
With a sly grin, he heads for my balcony. I follow close at his side. Near the balustrade, he extends a hand to me. “Ready to cause a scene?”
I place my hand in his. “Always.”
39
EMBER
I’m not sure why Franco would find it necessary to fly me to the ball, but I have no complaints. When he begins our descent, I realize what I hadn’t guessed before—that the Full Moon Frolic isn’t going to be in the ballroom. It’s outside. And with every inch we lower, the more awestruck I become. We must be heading for one of the palace gardens, somewhere I’ve never been. Rows and rows of hedges span out from the palace, leading to dozens of small paths, hedge mazes, and courtyards. At the center of the expansive gardens rests an enormous green dome.
