And besides that, Hazel was… smiling. She was grinning broadly at the prince as he spoke to her. Had he ever seen her eyes light up that way? Had she ever smiled at him likethat? A servant boy walked by with a tray of drinks, and Slaide swiped a glass of whiskey, downed it in a single gulp, and replaced the glass before the boy had so much as taken a step. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t his. She was never meant to be his.
The opening song came to a close, and with its end, the end of Slaide’s torment. Or so he thought. No sooner than Tristan had taken his leave of her, kissing her hand again and saying something that made her blush deeply, someone else approached through the parting crowd.
Ezekiel Bertram.
Slaide steeled himself against the jealousy-laden anger welling within, gripping the arm of his chair so fervently it creaked in his grasp. He wasn’t even sure what he had to hold against the man. Was it the fact that he’d been in her life first? Was it the way he looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered? Or maybe the fact that each of those things was true, and it wouldn’t be long before she caught on? Did that scare him?
He sat deep into his seat and crossed his arms. It would be over soon. Besides, she looked incredible and would probably get asked to the dance floor by several more men. He needed to get over that.She. Isn’t. Yours.
Hazel smiled broadly at Zeke as he walked up to her, his tight onyx curls framing his tan face. As a member of the King’s guard, he was not permitted to wear a mask to these events.Identification was crucial in case of an emergency where time could be of the essence.
He approached her with his arms open wide, scooping her into a full embrace and lifting her into the air. They hugged longer than two lovers kept apart for years. Zeke pulled away, looking her over. Slaide laughed to himself, wondering if Zeke thought he needed to check her over for damages.She’s fine, I assure you, he thought.
Zeke leaned in and whispered something into Hazel’s ear. She immediately blushed and slapped his arm. He laughed. She smiled. Slaide wondered why the fuck he was still sitting there.
As if on cue, the first notes of another song started to play. Zeke bowed to Hazel respectfully and offered his arm.
Two songs later,Slaide decided he’d had enough watching. He stood, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from one side to the other. He finished what was left in his current glass of whiskey and set it on the tray of the nearest servant.My turn to play.
He strode down the stairs from the dais, drawing attention from some of the nearer revelers, who stepped out of his way.
But when he arrived where she’d last been on the ballroom floor, Ezekiel was dancing with someone else, and Hazel was nowhere to be found.
Slaide scoped out the room, silently cursing himself for not making a move sooner. Now she was gone, and with her any chance he might have had to explain himself.
And then, through a break in the crowd, he caught a glimpse of her. She’d just crossed the threshold onto the balcony.
He raced through the crowd, parting the dancers as if they were merely obstacles to get past. Once outside, he slowed, running a hand through his hair as he approached her. She stood still as a statue near the railing, overlooking the moonlit gardens.
“Hazel,” he said quietly, voice just above a whisper.
“Slaide,” she replied, scowling, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” There was no ire in his voice, no sarcasm, no anger.
Hazel looked up at him, meeting his gaze, her eyes roaming, searching him. “How did you know it was me?”
He laughed, quietly and with such subtlety that passersby would miss it. “There’s not a costume you could wear, no mask, no shroud,nothingcould make it so that I wouldn’t recognize you.”
She swallowed hard, looking away as if it pained her to see him. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
He stepped beside her and leaned over the stone railing. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t know that here is the best place,” she said. “Can we go somewhere more private?”
“Seeing as you hate me right now, I’m not sure it’s safe for me to go anywhere secluded with you.” A serious topic, but there was a playful ease in his voice.
“Cut the bullshit, Slaide. This is serious.” She glanced around, looking for prying ears. “Do you have dreams?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s kind of a philosophical question, and I’ve had far too much to drink for that kind of deep thinking.”
“Notthosekinds of dreams,” she groaned in frustration. “Nightmares. I have them often, for quite a while now. But lately… lately you’ve been in them.”
In the ballroom, the performers began another song.
He ignored what she’d said, pushing off the railing and offering his hand.
“Dance?” he asked.
