Maris gasped, his touch felt like lightning, a molten rush that sparked through every vein and seemed to set her bones alight.
Kael froze, too, eyes flicking up to hers, pupils blown wide. For a second the entire room seemed to vanish, leaving only the line of his knuckles against hers.
Then he drew back sharply, jaw tight, as if burned.
“Maris . . .”
Before he could say more, Corin and Riven appeared at his shoulder, bowing their heads with respectful coldness.
“My King,” Riven murmured, “we must have a word.”
Kael looked as if he would refuse but then nodded once, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Stay,” he ordered Maris, voice low. “No one will harm you.”
She barely managed a nod before he swept away with the generals toward a shadowy side passage, his cloak trailing like a living storm.
The second he was gone, the rest of the court seemed to shift. Like wolves scenting weakness, they prowled closer.
One in particular stepped forward, face half-hidden by a mask of hammered silver. His smile was too sharp, eyes too bright with unspoken cruelty.
“My lady,” he purred, offering a deep, mocking bow. His beautiful face set in an expression of conquest, “Might I claim a single dance?”
Maris hesitated, glancing after where Kael had disappeared but the noble took her silence for assent, seizing her wrist in an iron-strong grip.
The orchestra, a collection of nightbound who held instruments that wept shadow rather than strings, struck up a darkly beautiful waltz. The magic that thrummed through their melody twisted in the air, making her feel half-drunk with every note.
One dance, she thought, trying to calm the sudden wildness in her chest.
But the nightbound wine she’d sipped, glass after glass, unsteady and hot in her blood made it impossible to keep her head.
The noble pulled her close, hands possessive and roaming, steps guiding her through a swirl of dancers that blurred like painted ghosts.
Maris felt the floor spin, the music worm its way through her pulse, until every nerve was a burning fuse.
His lips brushed her ear, voice a cruel hiss:
“He cannot keep you his secret forever, little mortal.”
She shivered, forcing herself to stay upright, even as the world felt liquid and dangerous.
The dark King was gone. The room felt endless, its beauty edged in knives, her heart hammering far too fast.
Kael returned just as the final notes of the waltz were dying away.
The instant his eyes found her, locked in the arms of another, fury carved across his face like a falling blade.
The court fell silent at the sight of him even the musicians seemed to hold their breath as Kael stalked forward, dark magic rippling off his shoulders like a thunderstorm.
His gaze met Maris, and everything in her, the panic, the desire, the confusion seemed to catch fire.
Gods help me, she thought, what have I done?
-Kael-
The sight of Maris in that bastard’s arms nearly tore him apart.
The dark waltz, the scent of her skin under nightbound wine, the glow of candlelight catching on her hair and that filthy noble’s hands, holding what was his.
