“Curious about what?” I keep my gaze pinned on his shoulder so he doesn’t see the flush that still clings to my skin, which is thankfully going away, but not as quickly as I’d like.
“Why are you here? Isn’t this supposed to be a ball so that a family of witches can find husbands?”
I tilt my face upward and he glances down. Silver flecks constellate the sapphire of his eyes. “Who says I’m not looking for Mr. Perfect?”
“You certainly don’t act like it. Attempting to escape.”
My voice rises. “I was not—” I drop my volume and glance around to make sure no one heard my outburst. People murmur to one another, barely watching us. The coast is clear. “I wasn’t doing that. Just likeyouweren’t doing it.”
“I already said why I was outside.”
I tap my fingers impatiently on his shoulder. “Right. Looking for me—supposedly.”
He sweeps me to the right, and I follow, becoming liquid mercury in his arms. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“Why areyouhere?”
“Brilliant deflection.”
“I’m a master,” I retort.
“What if I told you that Iamhere to find a wife, and fromthe look of it”—he nods—“there’s the creature of our celebration right there.”
I gaze to the right as he turns again, following his sight line and spotting Blair, who stands at the head of the room, a flock of men lining both sides of her. She’s talking to one—a blond-haired wizard I don’t recognize. And she’s smiling.
My heart constricts. She looks happy. So very, very happy, while I just got dumped and am stuck dancing with Mr. Arrogant, who obviously thinks Blair’s beautiful, like everyone who sees her does. Otherwise he wouldn’t have pointed her out.
“You should meet her,” I say, feeling an unexpected twinge of jealousy.
“Why?”
“If you’re here to marry, she’s a great option.”
“Maybe.” His gaze drops to my lips before it slowly skates back to my eyes. “Maybe not.”
A flush starts to work up my neck again, so I quickly glance away and greedily scan the throng for my parents, but I don’t spot them.
Mama’s still probably doing things that need to be done because Nana died.
Nana.
Before sadness overcomes me, I pivot the conversation again. “They say the fae moved into the castle on the hill.”
“Ah, the mysterious fae.” His thumb glides softly back and forth over my finger. It’s distracting. “And why are you concerned with them?”
“I’m not.” I shrug. “But if I were—are the rumors about them true?”
“What makes you think I know anything about fae?”
“Just making conversation.”
His fingers tighten on my waist slightly. “What have you heard?”
“The usual”—I flick the hand that’s resting atop his shoulder—“they’re ruthlessly cruel, sponsoring games that lead to vicious deaths. You know, they think blood sport is entertaining. They also hate witches.”
“But witches hate them, too.”
“Then I guess the feeling’s mutual.”
