He stroked the silky lace panties in his pocket, trying to calm the blood rushing for his groin. Though if he seemed a bit lust-addled tonight, all the better to perpetuate the ruse.
He placed his hand at the small of Cassandra’s back, tucking his fingertips into the back of her dress and resting them against her tailbone. Might as well enjoy this while he could before Cassandra rebuilt her walls and went back toall businesstomorrow.
The tart scent of her nervous energy tickled his nostrils. “Ready?” he asked as she shifted from foot to foot in the gravel.
“As I’ll ever be.” She blew out a shaky breath as her head tilted back to take in the massive fortress.
Tristan was immune to the grandiosity of the Vicereine’s palace, having visited plenty of times for both professional and personal reasons. But he understood the awe it could inspire in a newcomer.
Three stories of arched windows peered between stone columns on an expanse traveling nearly two hundred feet in either direction. Three slate-tiled domes topped the structure, one on each end, the largest in the center. Magically powered spotlights hidden behind groomed hedges illuminated the facade, casting shadows that made the windows look like grinning skulls.
Appropriate.
“So much for our spectacular entrance,” Cassandra snorted. Theirs was the only carriage in the driveway. Tristan had wanted to arrive fashionably late, but may have spent a bit too long delighting in his feast.
Cassandra shivered, then tore her gaze from the building, settling her features into a bored, blasé expression. “Let’s get this over with, master.”
And though the words were only for show, the sound of them dripping from her wine-red lips speared straight for his heart.
He chuckled, stroking his fingers against the base of her spine before guiding her through the arched entrance.
And into the lair of awaiting predators.
* * *
Tristan whiskedCassandra through the palace’s imposing stone facade, then down one plushly carpeted hallway after another. Richly detailed frescoes lined the high, curved ceilings, scenes full of pomp and blood—a blustering visual chronicle of the Empire’s power.
Cassandra wanted to linger, search for the iridescent, black wings of Tristan’s family. But he didn’t seem particularly interested in reliving the history, hurried her along with a gentle press.
After a long and winding trek, they arrived at a pair of gleaming white doors carved with the raven’s wings and radiating lines of the Empire’s seal.
Giving her a scant minute to compose herself, Tristan pushed the doors open and they stepped through onto a marble mezzanine. A thick red carpet cascaded down two matching curved staircases, ending at the ballroom’s parquet wood floor.
To Cassandra’s right, a row of arched windows climbed to the soaring ceiling, their view bracketed by red velvet curtains tied back with golden ropes. Through the windows, the geometrically-shaped topiaries and trimmed hedges of the palace’s famous gardens stood at attention in military straight lines. Black-crystal chandeliers oozed from the ceiling, highlighting long tables overflowing with roasted meats, glistening fruit, frosted cakes—all untouched. Gathered around circular high-tops, the party-goers glittered, an extravagant blur of jewels, sequins, satin, and tulle.
In the center of the hall, several couples danced to the harmonious, lilting stylings of a string quartet. But Cassandra didn’t see any musicians and couldn’t imagine where the music was coming from.
A series of alcoves ran along the wall opposite the windows, each hidden behind curtains. Cassandra could easily guesstheirpurpose.
Between each alcove, a pair of impassive Vasilikans—the Emperor’s own legendarily lethal personal guards—monitored the room from beneath their raven-head helmets, their wings on proud display.
Wariness gnawed at Cassandra as she and Tristan glided down the staircase. The party was sosolemn—conversations whispered, laughter swallowed, dancing subdued. This was certainly not the kind of warm, joyous occasion she’d seen in her supplicants’ memories.
The spiritless atmosphere heightened her self-consciousness—there was not nearly enough revelry to distract from their entrance. Her skin crawled as every pair of eyes in the room grazed over her, poking, prodding, assessing.
Tristan traced soothing circles against her lower back.
“Deep breaths, Daredevil,” he murmured into her ear. “Have the effects of our carriage ride really worn off that quickly? It’s far too early in the night for me to have to pull you into one of those alcoves to calm you down.”
Her curiosity sparked at the thought of performing such acts with nothing but a curtain separating them from the crowd. And she was a bit shocked by how tempted she was to try it.
But despite his teasing comments, his shoulders were tense and worry swirled through his hooded eyes. Worry she suspected was not for himself but for her.
She gathered her courage, determined to keep it together for him, to be his partner in this quest. She knew he would protect her at any cost—a thought that both thrilled and terrified her.
She wrapped her arm underneath his jacket and lightly stroked the hard muscles above his hip. He relaxed at the contact, her touch soothing him as much as his soothed her.
“Brother!” a booming voice called from the center of the dance floor.
