“Lydia,” I begin, carefully measuring my words, “is quite the competitor.”
Keres’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker in his expression—something cold, almost dismissive. “She plays her role well enough. But in some things, possessing the strength to break the rules and refusing to be predictable are far more compelling.”
My smile wavers, and I struggle to hold it steady.
“And have you decided which you value more? Strength or…pliability?” I ask, my voice soft, a deliberate gamble.
His gaze darkens, the tilt of his head reflective, thoughtful. “I think,” he murmurs, his tone unhurried, almost languid, “something pliable is already willing to bend, but the real excitement lies in testing the strength of something solid to see when, or if, it will break.”
The chill in his words settles deep into my bones, and I wonder fleetingly if he can feel the faint stiffening of my body beneath his hand at my waist. Perhaps he does. Perhaps he delights in it.
The song slows, its last notes hanging in the air as the dancers around us pause. Keres doesn’t release me immediately, but when he finally steps back, his grip loosens in a way that feels intentional—as though relinquishing something he already owns. He bows with a grandeur that ensures every watching eye is upon him, but his gaze never leaves mine. And then he’s gone, retreating into the sea of masked nobles.
I’m rooted in place, my fingers trembling as they brush the fabric of my gown. His words churn inside me, a sickness I can’t shake as I struggle not to wipe the imprint of his touch from my skin.
I grab a cup of wine from a server passing by and smell it subtly to check for poison. When I determine it’s safe, I throw it back, hoping it will settle my fraying nerves.
This was the plan. I should be glad the pieces are falling into place as we intended. But a part of me must have been harboring some small, selfish hope I would lose the trials and be sent home. Keres’s words clip the wings of that hope, trapping it within the cage of despair.
My breaths become thin as the realization settles like a heavy weight on my chest. Fortunately, nobody pays me any notice, their attentioncaptured by a forceful gust of wind rattling against the ballroom windows, causing some of the gathered tycheroi to gasp in alarm.
I return the wine cup to a passing tray, my fingers trembling as I release it. My pulse is thundering, louder than the steps of the dancing couples around me. Keres’s words keep echoing in my mind, poisonous and sharp, strangling my breath as if they have claws.
I force myself to move, step by step, toward the crowd, twisting the ring on my finger just to stop my hands from shaking. Every movement feels heavier, harder, like I’m sinking into quicksand. Everything here is calculated, yet I can’t seem to find my footing. My chest aches as I try to breathe, my shoulders lifting and falling with effort.
“Breathe,” I whisper to myself. “Just breathe.”
I make it a few more steps before a voice rises from the noise, soft yet cutting through, like silk turned to steel. “My cousin is far too interested in you.”
I stop, my composure almost shattering, before turning toward the sound. Relief washes over me as I find Titaia’s familiar figure stepping from the shadows. Her calm scrutiny is like a hand reaching through my fog. I straighten my back, forcing a flicker of confidence back into my expression.
“It’s the gown. It has that effect,” I say, swishing my hips so the precious stones sparkle, scattering tiny shards of light across the marble floor.
Titaia laughs as she approaches me, though there’s a sharpness to it, like the edge of a blade hidden beneath silk. The blood-red pleats of her gown cling to her figure in all the right places, the fabric spilling down her arms like liquid. Her dark auburn hair is swept back from her face with two ruby-encrusted combs, and a strip of sheer red fabric veils her eyes, tiny garnets shimmering in its threads. She loops her arm through mine, her touch light but firm. I clench my hands together to still their faint trembling as she leads me from the dance floor.
Others greet us with smiles as we weave past them, but Titaia barely acknowledges them until she pulls us to a stop in a shadowy corner of the room.
“Perhaps. But it’s not the jewels that fascinate him, Aella. Be careful. Keres rarely shows interest without a motive.”
I glance at her, catching the faintest flicker of something brittle in her expression before her features soften, wrapping themselves in warmth like a thin cloak.
“Are you worried about me, Titaia?” I ask, letting a playful lilt creep into my tone.
“Shouldn’t I be?” Her voice is smooth but her faint smile looks more like a crack than a curve. “Though, selfishly, I wouldn’t mind having an ally at court.” Titaia’s fingers brush against my arm, and her gaze flickers to the crowd before returning to mine, something unspoken lingering beneath her polished exterior. “You play the game well, but this court is teeming with predators. Keres, in particular, has a knack for caging things, to release them only when it suits his whims. Don’t lose sight of that.”
“I have no intention of being anyone’s prey,” I say lightly, though there’s a touch of steel beneath my words. “Even less so of being caged.”
Titaia’s smile hangs on, delicate and strained, as though it might shatter at any moment. “Freedom is always within reach,” she says softly. “Especially when there’s someone willing to unlock the door.”
I study her, her careful words, the veiled layers beneath them. My eyes dip to her hand, noticing the subtle tightening of her grip on the sheer red fabric covering her arm. Her fingers tremble, just enough for me to wonder if the cage she speaks of is her own.
“Speaking of caged playthings,” she adds abruptly, her voice sharper now. “How is our mutual acquaintance?”
“She’s not one to be held for long.” I force a casual smile. “I imagine she’ll be far from here before the last dance.”
“Good,” Titaia says, her shoulders lowering as her smile turns more sincere. “I’d better not hover in the shadows. They’ll think I’m planning a coup and have me thrown in the dungeons.”
She gives my arm a parting squeeze before heading toward a group of courtiers. I watch her as she goes, a faint smile tugging at my lips as her words linger, tinged with amusement at how close to the truth they are.
