She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. Can I trustyou?”
I shake my own head. “I don’t remember much before our first day here. But I can assure you, my intentions are clear. I want a fair chance at exploring a potential marriage to King Cyrus. To see if we’d be a match. But that…” My voice shakes as I recall the flashes of women being riddled by arrows. Of crawling through the blood-stained dirt. “That trial today…?”
I can’t even finish my sentence. Unable to put words to the terror still lingering in my bones. Her lack of hesitancy and fear during the trials compared to whatever fear drove her to stealing a knife sticks in my brain.
The thought that maybe there’s something even more terrifying than the trials.
I whisper, “If you know something I do not…if something is scaring you…”
She takes a few steps for the door. “My biggest fear now is Lady Bethany’s wrath for us being late.”
I snag her forearm, willing her to look at me. “Do you mean that truthfully?”
Her gaze meets mine before it falls to the ground, and she pulls her arm from my grasp then opens the door.
We walk to the dining room in silence. With solemn expressions, eyes set only on the path ahead. Our heels click against the marbled tiles between the rugs lining the hallways.
When we get to the dining room, guards are posted at the door. They open them, ushering us in. A soft lull of music wafts over us, settling the tension in my bones. Down the steps, into the room, the long table and chairs are gone from where they normally are. Instead, smaller round tables border the room. The chandeliers are lit above, with standing candelabras speckling the expansive space. To the left side are long buffet tables with an assortment of food. And to the right is where most of the women congregate. Chattering with wine glasses in their hands, picking off the servers’ platters that float from group to group offering hors d'oeuvres. The opposite wall from where we’ve entered hosts a quartet, playing an elegant melody.
Lady Bethany patters up to us, her features pinched in disappointment. “Ladies, you are beyond tardy. Where have you two been?”
We both shift a look at each other as we make our way down the steps.
Marcella says, “She busted a seam?—”
“She lost an earring!” I blurt at the same time she does.
Lady Bethany’s eyes narrow before she directs most of her frustration at Marcella. “You have kept the King waiting.”
She stiffens in her red gown, but holds her head high. I sweep my gaze across the room, finding his towering frame speaking with Devin at the farthest corner. Both are deep in discussion, then Cyrus pats Devin’s shoulder and looks up to where we stand. But his eyes don’t shift to me. They sink into Marcella, while Devin’s latch on to me. A hint of suspicion in his features. Something almost like disappointment.
Marcella and I descend the rest of the stairs, me a few steps behind her. Once we both have hit the bottom floor, Cyrus is already on his way over.
“Your punishment will come later. But for now…” Lady Bethany mutters, turning as King Cyrus closes the distance between us, her scowl transforming into a smile. “Enjoy the evening.”
King Cyrus bows before us before rising to eye Marcella. Extending a white gloved hand out to her, he asks, “May I have this dance?”
She scoffs, but when Lady Bethany tosses her a glance, she drops a curtsy and responds with a mocking tone, “Of course, my King.”
I can’t help the stab of jealousy as King Cyrus takes her hand and sweeps her off.
Seventeen
- MARCELLA -
Cyrus leads me away from everyone else. The quartet’s music rolls over us in soft, lovely swells. And yet, I can’t ignore the fear bubbling inside of me as my hand rests in his.
As soon as we are in the center of the dance floor, he turns me to him. As is customary, he bows, and I follow. Gently he guides me to him, his hand bracing mine, with his other tenderly cupping my waist.
“For a moment, I thought maybe you decided to leave,” he whispers, and takes the next beat to lead us into a gentle dance.
“Why? Because you have secrets you aren’t telling me?”
“You know all my secrets.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance off to where Lyra is. I watch her join Aelia at a side table, and I can’t help my jealousy for how easily the other women accept her. Because to everyone else, I am rough. Unpolished. Unrefined. And yet, they don’t know the actual reason I am here. To spy on them. To make sure they don’t kill the man leading me into a slow, swirling dance.
“You couldn’t allow me to at least settle first? To grab a drink or something to eat?” I ask, not yet looking at him.
