Chapter One
I stepped out onto the stage of the Larchary Theater to the sound of applause, the combined scent of stage makeup, floral perfume, and velvet drapes like home to me. Despite the olfactory comfort, my hands shook. The thunderous, pre-performance applause wasn't the cause of my trepidation. I always got nervous when the Swan King was in the crowd.
The applause grew in volume as I strode to the center of the stage, and I lifted my chin, letting the lights blind me. I didn't want to see the audience, not any of them, but especially not him. Despite my efforts, it was nearly impossible to ignore the King. He dominated every room he entered, and this particular space gave him a perch—a private box on my left, high enough that the lights didn't block him out, close enough that I could see every expression cross his face.
My stomach fluttered up into my chest when my gaze was inevitably drawn to his. All the gold and glamour around me blurred into a haze until the only color left was blue. To describe the King's eyes as sapphire seemed trite and also lacking. Those eyes, those soul-scraping eyes, were a color the sea dreamed of being. Sharp, of course. Critical as only royalty can be. But it was when kindness filled them that I trembled. Because Nikolay Lebedev's kindness was always a predecessor to his greed. Greed for wealth. For culinary delicacies. The best horses. The finest clothing. The fastest cars. The most beautiful possessions. I didn't deceive myself; I knew was in that last category. A possession. His in every way.
With the house lights down and the distance between us, I couldn't see the royal blue of His Majesty's stare—only in my mind, where he always seemed to be watching me—but there was enough illumination from the stage to reveal his striking face. Yes, he was a beautiful man, my king. Striking even. There was no disputing it. With the refined features of a Larch and the midnight hair of the Lebedev line, he was a man who commanded attention even when he wasn't wearing the crown. I had once served at his pleasureandmine. I had bent to his willwillingly. Gone to him with breath trembling from anticipation instead of fear.
Those days were long gone.
I pressed my lips together and determinedly looked away from him. The music was rising around me; it was time to sing. I prayed I could get lost in the song, swept away by the rise and fall of stringed instruments. Perhaps I could set my voice free, as my body could not be. But as my gaze slid away from Niko, it was snagged by something else. Someoneelse.
He sat on the King's left. A shifter, but not a Larch, not one of us. No, this man had a hunger about him far different from that of my king. His was inherent. A part of who he was. He wasn't a bird, nothing so frail as that.What was he?
I turned my attention to him fully and saw his stare narrow. His lips part. Sweet Goddess, he was even more handsome than the King. The breadth of his shoulders was sigh-worthy. The slope of his nose sheer poetry. With that bulk, those thick muscles, he exuded masculinity that was far more primal than any swan-shifter could hope to be.
Then I remembered the deaths—blood upon pale throats—and I knew who he was.Whathe was.
A Kaplan investigator. This man, this brutally breathtaking man, was also a tiger.
I started to sing; the lyrics lifting from my lips to seek his ears. The Swan King disappeared. I forgot about him—something that never happened. All that remained was the Kaplan. I sang directly to him, offering him my pain but also the passion that had been buried beneath. I reached for him with every word. I had never felt so enchanted by a man before, drawn to a complete stranger as if he'd cast a spell upon me.
Great Gods, I wanted him. When was the last time I had wanted someone who wasn't Nikolay?
Around me, the weight of my thigh-length hair lightened, the swan-white locks lifting in the eddies of my unfurling air magic. Undulating like a dancer, running up my bare arms, over the golden bands on my biceps, and languishing around my lean hips before cracking like a whip, my hair emphasized the shift in my song. It felt like a shift in my life. More than a transition into a faster melody, it was a fanfare of change.
Because as I spread my arms for the crescendo, the tiger-shifter leaned forward, cat eyes gleaming, and caught my words as if they were corporeal. He bit them. Swallowed them whole. And looked ravenous for more.
A new trembling began low in my body, and something I hadn't felt in years rose with it.
Hope.
Chapter Two
My hands shook as I smoothed the lapels of the suit I'd just changed into. My face felt flushed and my eyes too wide. I blinked and breathed deeply as I took a brush to my hair, pulling the pin-straight locks to the front, over one shoulder, to get at it all. When I was certain it was as sleek and shining as I could get it, I set the brush down and swept that cape of white back. Normally, I was proud of my hair. Not many men had the ability or even the desire to grow their hair so long, but I had no idea what a Kaplan would find enticing. Would I be too effeminate for him? Not enough? There had been interest in the tiger's eyes, that was certain, but would I be able to hold it? And would the Swan King allow it?
My fevered cheeks chilled at the thought of him. My king. My lover. My curse. He didn't belong to me; I belonged to him. Niko would never allow me to take another lover, despite the fact that he fucked whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. I couldn't show any interest in the Kaplan.
“Which makes it rather hard to flirt,” I muttered.
With one last look at my suit in the mirror—black with silver embroidery on the lapels—I turned away and grabbed my sable coat. The other performers, though Larchs, were not a part of the Swan Court. They were commoners who lived in the village that surrounded Larch Castle. So, most of them had already gone home, leaving behind an eerie silence. I glanced at the dark stage as I hurried past. I hated performing. I've always thought it was a cruel twist of fate that I was born with a powerful voice. I'd have been far happier to be in the audience, watching someone else win the approval of the crowd. And our king.
But there were moments like the one I had earlier, when the stage gave me a way to connect with people I would have never approached. Tonight, I'd been grateful for the chance to make myself known to our visitor without being crass or obvious. Without making my interest known to the King.
And the Larchary had been good to me; a haven to retreat to, complete with the handy excuse of rehearsing. It had once been the temple of our Gods, Lachia and Balvoran, but Nikolay's father had dismissed the holy ones and turned their temple into a place of entertainment. Yes, it was a strange act, to say the least, and a sacrilegious one, to say the most. No one knew why he'd done it. Since then, worship was done privately, though it wasn't a crime.
I ran my hand over the stone walls reverently. Perhaps that was why I felt so safe there. The echo of the Gods remained. The ghost of their worship. I often prayed to them just before a performance, dedicating my songs to them, and I hoped it lessened the offense of me defiling their holy place. They must know that I had no choice, that I sang at the command of the King, and that I honored them in my heart. They were, after all, the source of life and magic. How could any Larch not honor them?
And yet, Nikolay hadn't restored the temple after his parents had died in an accident. Nor had he built a new one. I'd never been able to gather enough courage to ask him why. Why his family had an issue with our gods. You'd think the monarchs of a race would be the most pious of all.
Before I left the warmth of the theater, I pulled on my coat and moved the hood up over my head. Winters could be harsh in Russia, but tonight wasn't too bad. I'd forgotten my gloves, but shoving my hands in my pockets did the trick and the hood was enough to guard my ears. The theater was just outside the castle walls, between them and the village. I headed up the cobbled road to the castle, then nodded at the guards on duty. They were tucked into the gatehouse, monitoring the security feed from cameras set along the walls, but their sharp eyes still flicked my way when I passed beneath the gate's arch. Instead of going through the main castle doors, I headed along the garage to a side door—the servants’ entrance. I wasn't a servant, but I preferred this door for its privacy. Before I reached it, the sound of crying caught my attention.
I stopped and peered through the shadows. “Alina?”
“Mikhail?” A woman unfolded herself from her crouch and sniffled.
“What's happened?”
