Every muscle in my body coils tight. They dared humiliate her, mock her, make her feel small, these vultures who aren’t worthy to breathe the same air as her.
My fists clench so hard my nails bite into my palms. My jaw locks, teeth grinding.
I stride across the cleared floor, each step deliberate, barely containing the fury threatening to consume me entirely.
“Music!” I roar to the Fae at the grand piano.
A magical melody seeps into the silence as I reach her—the eye to my storm.
I hold out my hand. When she takes it, I feel her trembling. I pull her gently behind me, her small hand sweaty in mine, andlead her to the centre of the floor. There, I spin her towards me, her dress floating around us, enveloping me in shadows.
She stares at the floor, refusing to meet those steely gazes.
I place my finger under her chin and lift her face to mine. Those violet eyes—I’ll never get enough of them.
“Look at me. Only me, Alaya.” My voice is low, meant only for her. “Don’t look away. There’s no one else here, my love. No one else that matters but us.”
I place my hand on her waist, take her other hand in mine, and pull her close. Leaning down, I breathe in her heavenly scent of lavender.
I whisper against her ear.
She gasps, soft and breathy.
And then we dance.
Alaya
Today I turn twenty-one—a milestone that means nothing to anyone, just like my presence at this ball.
Saleen fusses around me, sighing as she tugs the fabric. Her Growth Gift tingles over my skin, changing a stitch here, adding another layer to the ever-growing skirt there.
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, blue hair floating around her pinched expression.
I laugh, and her features relax into a grin.
“You can laugh, My Lady, but this dress has to be perfect for your Prince.”
“My Prince?” I raise a brow.
“Saleen knows all.” She waggles a finger at me in mock warning. “I see how you look at each other lately. Has he won your heart at last?”
My heart jolts at the question, as if in conflict with my own thoughts.
Kiernan and I haven’t spoken alone since that night—the night the King beat him. The night I can’t seem to shake from my body. I cringe inwardly at my boldness, then the memory of his tongue inside me sends fresh yearning sweeping through me.
But my mind refuses to yield completely. That damn logical side still protects my heart, reminds me that although our arrangement is inevitable, he’s made no promises. No declarations. I’m still an obligation, not a choice. This could all be an elaborate plan—one final, all-encompassing act of cruelty.
My heart isn’t his to win as a prize. It’s mine to give.
“Is the dress ready?” I ask finally.
“Cleverly evaded.” She winks, motioning towards the mirror. “What do you think?”
The dress is magical, floating around me like dark, fathomless water.
“Another masterpiece,” I say.
I step off the podium and slip into the black heels she’s brought.
