Arianette
The ballroom feelslike a dream I never thought I’d be allowed to have. Story stands beside me near one of the silver-and-sapphire Christmas trees, her fingers brushing the edge of my sleeve as she studies the black lace. “This dress is stunning,” she says, eyes bright. “And that tiara. God, it’s breathtaking. Where did it come from?”
I smile, small and careful, but real. “It was a solstice gift. Passed down from the Barons.”
Her brows lift. “An heirloom? From the King himself?”
I nod once. “Yes, a gift from my husband.”
She exhales softly, impressed. “Maybe there’s more to that man than secrets.”
“Yes,” I say simply. “There is.”
But what… well, that’s for me to know and for me to keep. I’ll do anything for my husband. Harbor all his secrets. Play the role of Baroness-wife among society, and Daughter of Darkness in his bed. I’ll white-knuckle it through a party where everyone seems to know more about me than I do myself.
“You’re doing beautifully. No one would ever guess how much it costs you.” She gives me a knowing look–kind, not pitying. “Trust me, I know.”
I glance toward Timothy. He’s across the room, deep in conversation with Killian, back turned, but I feel his awareness of me like a physical touch. So far, I’ve been fine. No racing heart, no tunnel vision, no spiral. Maybe it’s the secrets that keep me steady. Knowing there’s something bigger than myself at stake. He put his trust in me tonight by letting me stand beside him without the mask forging a wedge between us, and I don’t want to fuck that up.
Behind Story, a familiar face cuts through the crowd.
Long hair in a low ponytail. Dark suit. Mateo.
My stomach drops. There’s no reason for him to be here, not unless something’s wrong.
I look back at Timothy, still turned away, still talking, but Mateo tilts his head, a small gesture that says come here.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I tell Story. “I see someone I should go say hello to.”
She grins. “Sure. Killian’s been shooting me daggers ever since I left his side and your husband walked up. I should probably go rescue them from whatever’s about to blow up.”
I slip away, weaving through clusters of laughing guests, the train of my dress whispering across the marble. Mateo keeps moving–just ahead, always just out of easy reach–until the crowd thins and we’re in a quieter hallway off the ballroom. The corridor where the waitstaff comes and goes with trays of food and drink. The music fades to a distant hum. Wall sconces cast long shadows.
I catch up to him near a closed door. “What are you doing here? Did the guys come with you?”
He turns. No easy smile. No warmth in his eyes. Just a flat, unreadable stare. A tickle of panic rises in my chest.
“Is something wrong?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. I notice thesuit, nice, but rumpled with a faint dusting of dirt along the hem of his trousers. My frown deepens. “Mateo?”
That’s when I see his hand. The blade is small, ornate–ritualistic–curved and blackened steel, handle wrapped in dark leather. By the time I think to react, it’s already pressed to my side, just under the ribs.
I open my mouth to scream.
“Quiet, Baroness,” he warns, voice calm. Too calm. “Or I’ll gut you right here.”
I snap my jaw shut.
“Good choice, Sinister Sister.” He steps closer, blade never wavering. “Now, quietly and without alarm, I’m going to need you to follow me.”
Everything in me screams no.
I shake my head. “I’m not going with you.”
A flash of memory hits hard–being on campus, someone approaching, someone with long hair. Not Mateo but someone else, his face familiar, but just out of reach. I’m on the path and then I’m not.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper, snapping back to the here and now. “I can’t go back.”
His grin is cold and empty. Nothing like the man I’ve come to know, the one who fights for the Barons and takes care of kittens. “Don’t worry, Arianette. This isn’t a kidnapping.” The blade presses harder. “The Guardian has no use for you in their plans. They haven’t for a long time.”
