“You didn’t tell me you were…acquaintedwith the Duke,” Rowena whispers, keeping perfect composure on her features.
“I am,” I say quietly. “Is there an issue?”
“No, no issue,” Rowena deflects. “He’s quite handsome.”
“There is an issue,” I deadpan, keeping my posture perfect.
“Ahem.” I hear someone loudly clear their throat nearby.
Turning, I see Penelope Horne standing before me. She is significantly shorter than I am, and has to tilt her head back to look at me. Her jaw clenches so tightly that I see a vein pop out in her forehead. It feels as if she’s sizing me up as her opponent, but I don’t exactly know why.
“And you are?” I ask blankly.
“Lady Penelope Horne of Corovya,” she declares proudly.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I reply, my tone light. I’m very familiar with the placations of court. Awell-placed smile, or a casual chat, is usually all it takes. Most highborns want to be acknowledged or respected.
My politeness only makes her ire grow. Penelope’s brown eyes narrow at me. “I saw the way you looked at him,” she accuses.
“At who?”
“The king.” Penelope’s voice is venomous. “We’re set to be engaged soon.”
I don’t know why, but that stings more than it should. An ache spreads in my chest. My smile wanes. How foolish of me to think Wrath and I were growing closer. That my irritation was fading into fondness, and maybe there was a small part of me that wanted him to feel the same.
“I’m doingyoua favor by letting you know,” she sneers.
The benevolence withers away inside me. Everyone is always hunting for blood, waiting for you to slip up so they can publicly scrutinize you. Penelope is a lady, but sometimes, it is better to bite back.
“I’m not sure how that’s possible with no dowry money,” I point out.
“My father is a duke,” Penelope snaps, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” I mock disappointment. “Your father’s broke. Ten thousand Platasia, to be exact.”
The corner of her lip twitches. Her gaze darts from left to right, checking to make sure no one heard my remark. Penelope steps closer. “He will never love you!” she hisses, her voice low.
I have to stop myself from bursting into laughter. “Gods, you are simple-minded if you think this is about love,” I say in disdain. “Love does not stop blades from sinking into flesh or kingdoms from falling to ruin.”
“That’s enough!” A booming voice cuts into our conversation. “You will not speak to my daughter that way.” Horatio storms across the room to where we are standing.
“The Duke of Corovya. Still running from abandoning your post at Crossgate?” I announce loudly, drawing the attention of nearby Elvarrans.
“That’s a lie!” Horatio’s voice rises.
“You lost control of the passage the moment you chose to abandon it for the sake of your pregnant mistress,” I say with scorn. “All of your men died because ofyou.”
“You will not accuse me of such things!”
“I don’t deal with cowards,” I hiss. “Let alone broke ones.”
A whip of magic lashes out in my direction in the form of a vine. It strikes across my cheek with a harsh snap, my head snapping to the side—a loud gasp ripples among the crowd. The music ceases. My jaw is agape in shock as I lift my fingertips to my cheek and press into the sore skin. I pull away to check if there’s any blood, but see none.
In my rampage, I failed to realize that the Elvarrans have a clear advantage against me with their magic, but I never expected one to hit me with it. The vine slithers back into a nearby floral arrangement, the vase nearly tipping over. The entire ballroom watches the scene with bated breath. A body steps protectively in front of me—Sebastian.
“Only a coward strikes a woman,” Sebastian growls. “Leave. Now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
