If it weren’t for that man’s possessive grip on the woman he led down the stairs.
The woman Cason had met in the markets.
It was impossible not to look at her—the subtle colors painted on her face to draw out her already sharp features, the gold glinting in the braids tied in her white-blonde hair, and the dress. Gods, that dress was cut for her body and her body alone. He’d seen her confidence at the markets with her skin-tight black fabrics, but this green made her the center of the entire festival.
Just when his attention was pulled toward that translucent yet iridescent green along her stomach, she shifted, and the gold and green embellishments drew his gaze to a new curve of her body. Legs, hips, chest.
And then the dark-haired man spun her. Cason had to swallow…hard. Gold chains highlighting the muscular lines of her back swung with her, curled and braided strands of hair draping over her left shoulder with the movement. Her chin remained high, the bruises that once lined her neck gone.
Cason couldn’t figure out what to look at—the dress, the man with the lustful gaze who escorted her, or the smirk on the woman’s face that said she knew that everyone was staring at her.
“She’s going to start a fight in that outfit,” Boelyn whispered.
“Not with those two men watching her,” Serill replied.
Boelyn shook his head. “Not a fight between the men over her. I’m talking about the way the women are looking at her.”
And he was right that those looks were not friendly. For all the skin she revealed, the blonde woman had no tattoos; no marks of magic, and no gods-blessed scent that Cason could distinguish. But in Rooke—at the Earth Festival—no one showed skin without that ink. He’d seen the dismissals of non-gods-blessed people at the other party in the forest, and the men and women who watched the woman tonight had the same disgust written on their faces.
If tainted magic was shamed for being shown at these events,nogods-blessed ink with that much skin was like a slap in the face.
But that glint in her eye. She knew people watched her,and she didn’t care.She met their stares, held them with a flash of glare that could rival Cason’s fire, and then she moved on without another thought. Like she owned the room and knew exactly what she was doing.
Right until that man next to her tugged her closer to him, his face leaning closer to her ear, hand wandering down her spine. It was just a flash, but that mask she wore broke slightly, and all Cason could picture were the scars and bruises that he had seen in the sunlight. A woman with debts who had to fight to survive in this world.
Before he could fully read her look, Serill smacked him. “Pick your jaw up from the floor, Case.” Boelyn held back a snicker as Cason ground his teeth. Serill jabbed Boelyn’s arm. “I think that woman broke him.”
Cason hissed. “That’s the woman from the market.”
Serill paled. “Oh, shit.”
While Serill whispered the details to Boelyn, Cason watched the woman glide with her escort and his bodyguard toward a man wearing Itherel’s colors. Part of the exchange was blocked by a group of dancers, but he watched the dark-haired man lean in again and place a kiss on her cheek before dismissing her. She bowed her head, shared a nod with the bodyguard, and sank into the crowd as the men moved toward a side room.
It would have been an effort to pull his gaze away from her if she hadn’t completely disappeared from sight in a matter of seconds.
Boelyn patted him on the back—slapped, really—before resting his shoulder on the pillar. “Of all the women surrounding you…”
“Gods, she’s gorgeous. No wonder you kept bringing her up earlier,” Serill chimed in, very obviously trying to find her in the crowd. Cason groaned and pushed off the pillar as Serill turned back. “Where are you going?”
“To find a different pillar to lean against so I can resume my glaring in peace and quiet,” he growled.
Boelyn chuckled. “He’s going to find a pillar that has a better view of her.”
He didn’t need his sun-blessed senses to hear Boelyn who practically shouted that sentence to Serill who was choking on laughter. The man was right, but Cason didn’t have to give him the satisfaction. If Maeve was here, she would probably flash his friends an obscene gesture. Hells, the woman from the market would do it too.
Not Cason. Never Cason. He steeled his face, unfazed as the crowd parted for him, and let the fire burn in his chest.
* * *
The bellyof the beast was exactly as she imagined it would be—bright, cheerful, and utterly repulsive. Rich fabrics and decor lined the walls. Colors of every kingdom except her own swirled the ballroom. It made her sick.
The lack of black and purple barely scratched the fortress where Brela stored her anger—like a claw trying to find any weakness in those obsidian walls she built to keep herself safe. There were no cracks, no dents, no nicks in the surface to cling to, so the claws retreated just as quickly as they scratched.
Not even the glares she got about her outfit could break her. This was her own face, her own body. She had mastered her features to withstand the disgust, shielded her ears from the cruel whispers, and stilled the pulsing and throbbing of the Veil shard in her chest that trembled through her muscles and threatened to buckle her knees.
Not here.
Brela lifted her chin. Let those men and women glare at her, memorize her features, and then dismiss her as nothing more than Ovir’s whore. She was still dressed more modest than most, but that didn’t stop the hisses under breaths as she breezed through the crowd.
