Then I smell something, sharp and pungent. My nose crinkles behind my mask. The scent is unmistakable. “Did you justpissyourself?” I say in disbelief, glancing down and then back up to meet his gaze.
Cerian only whines in response.
“What in the?—”
“I’ll do it! P-please don’t hurt me,” he sobs, eyes darting between his member and me.
“Make it go away by tomorrow or Felicitydies.” I give him an ultimatum.
“Not my wife!” His eyes widen in horror. “Please, she’s innocent.”
“Swear to me!”
“I’ll do it.” He nods. “I swear it.”
I lift the blade, holding it out as I slowly back toward the door. Cerian stays put, a hand protectively cupping his length. My left hand darts out, turning the knob, allowing me to slip out of the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Slippingmy hand into Sebastian’s, I allow him to guide me down the steps and into the castle ballroom. I wear the formal gown Rowena made for me, infinitely grateful for her foresight.
My gown is stunning, the color of rich, fine wine. It has gold sparkles woven into the silk, like tiny bursts of wildfire. The long, off-the-shoulder sleeves hide my mark, draping elegantly across my decolletage. With each step I take, I feel the full skirt sweep across the floor. The tight bodice hugs the curves of my waist. Sebastian slips a gloved hand across the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd.
“Not a single star in the sky burns as brightly as you this night,” Sebastian whispers in my ear.
“Sebastian,” I say his name with a salacious tone. “Tell me more.”
“Every river has emptied itself, thirsting for your beauty.”
I giggle, taking him in. I admire Sebastian's brunette hair, elegantly swept back, spotlighting his features. He wears a red capelet fastened at the shoulder with an ornate gold clasp. Beneath it, a long dark coat accentuates his frame. Sebastianradiates pure confidence as we walk, beaming with pride to have me by his side.
“You’re excellent with words,” I compliment him.
“That’s not the only thing I’m excellent with.” Sebastian gives me a devious look.
I laugh again. “Now, now, Sebastian.”
Sebastian’s amorous conversation is a sign that Kaia's lessons are working. It’s the friendliest we've been with each other over the past few weeks. I need to focus; nearly every prominent member of Khalessor’s court is here tonight. This means I need to appear a certain way, carry myself with a level of grace I’ve been practicing my whole life, and perform on a gameboard of political chess.
I’ll try to blend in, make conversation, and hopefully extract some useful information in the process. My eyes scan the room, and I note each lord and lady locked in performative small talk. Their expressions appear polite, but they are masks. I catch sight of stolen glances in our direction, and conversations turn to hushed whispers.
“It seems my presence is causing a stir,” I tell Sebastian.
“Good,” he says confidently, his gaze fixed ahead. “Let them look.”
I spot Wrath conversing casually with two dukes across the room. One of the Elvarrans holds a dangerous edge, amber eyes gleaming like firelight on a blade. He is tall and lean, with short black hair and a thick beard. He wears a finely tailored coat and pants, his boots polished so brightly they reflect the light.
To his side is a shorter Elvarran, his belly round from too much ale. His brown eyes dart between Wrath and the other duke, trying to cut into the conversation, but his comments often go unnoticed. His golden blonde hair is short, paired with a thick beard.
A short woman with golden-spun hair stands beside Wrath, her arm looped through his. She wears a peony-colored gown with a full skirt cinched at the waistline. Atop her head is a gold tiara with an opal at its center, which catches the light as she moves.
Every time Wrath speaks, she sighs longingly at him, fluttering her lashes and pouting her plush lips. Wrath doesn’t acknowledge her as he continues his conversation with the two men, his features an unreadable mask.
“Who is the King speaking to?” I ask quietly.
“Duke Nikolas Sterling of Thalvar and Duke Horatio Horne of Corovya. The lady is Penelope Horne, his daughter,” Sebastian says above my ear, stopping me at the center of the room as we turn to face one another.
“I heard about Corovya’s financial issues.” I rest a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, waiting for the next song to start.
