Shoving that aside is easier now, with seven years of distance and Bell’s growing smile brightening the room. Rakos pulls Bell into his arms. “Stab me if I step on your feet.”
“No weapons allowed.” Bell wrinkles his nose. “I’ll get my revenge later.”
Rakos laughs, and they fall into the rhythm of the dance.
They try to, at least.
Rakos holds his tongue the first three times they nearly knock into other dancers. But when he almost loses an eye to a noblewoman’s hair pin, he has to say something. “Bell.”
“Hm?” Bell stumbles over his own feet, barely remaining upright with Rakos’s grip on his waist.
“You said you knew how to dance.”
“I did.” Bell rights himself and smiles winningly. “I never said I was good at it.”
“You are a menace,” Rakos growls, but smiles back. With Bell’s skin warm under his hands, his body swaying closer to his with every step, Rakos could dance all night. Even with the pain of Bell’s boot colliding with his ankle.
Casual. This is casual. It can’t last.
But while it does, he’ll savor every taste of Bell he can get.
A flash of familiar sky-blue hair interrupts Rakos’s thoughts. At Teodor’s plush couch, the next hopeful client appears to be Ludvik, Captain Irenka’s retainer. As Rakos spins Bell around on the floor, Ludvik talks with animated gestures while Teodor’s smirk reaches ominous levels. A surprisingly good match.
But that’s not what interests Rakos. If Ludvik is at a bloodmasque, Irenka is too.
Sure enough, Rakos spots her a moment later. A shock of red and violet hair over a silver mask, floating between partners at the far end of the dance floor.
Rakos pulls Bell closer to murmur in his ear. “I just saw someone I know. Do you mind if I talk to her for a minute?”
“I don’t mind,” Bell says. “Let’s go.”
Reluctance seizes Rakos. He forces himself to ask anyway. “I mean, are you all right for a minute by yourself?”
Bell bites his lip. “You want to talk to her alone?”
“Not if you don’t feel safe,” Rakos replies immediately, and it’s the truth. Fuck his plans—if Bell so much as pouts, Rakos will stay with him. “I can talk to her some other time.”
Bell tilts his head, with an almost guilty expression beneath his mask. “I’m just teasing you. Meet your friend. I’ll go chat with—okay, actually I’ll avoid Teodor, wow.”
Over at the couch, Ludvik is now on his knees. Teodor fists a hand in Ludvik’s blue hair and says something inaudible to him.
Rakos silently congratulates Ludvik, or extends his condolences. “Are you sure?” he asks Bell.
“Very sure.” Bell holds Rakos in place for another teasing kiss on the lips of his mask. “Where should we meet?”
“In the main hall?” Then Rakos remembers Bell’s pallor at the blood duel, plus his sense of direction. “No, you should stay here. See if the band will let you sing a song or two. I’ll be back in a moment, I swear.”
“Don’t get lost, got it.” Bell kisses him again, flushed pink beneath his mask. “Don’t you get lost either, all right?”
His flush deepens when Rakos catches his hand and presses it to his porcelain lips.
Rakos lets go before he gives in to the temptation to dance with Bell forever. The music lifts as the band changes to a faster song. Irenka closes the dance with a final bow to her previous dance partner, then heads towards the southern door.
She’s the sharp sort of beautiful. Her red-purple hair is the same color as her dragon Miklan, cut short on the sides to highlight the sun-tanned angles of her face. Tall and green-eyed like most people from Kaiskara.
Rakos was attracted to her ten years ago, when they were both teenaged recruits and hadn’t realized they disliked each other yet. Irenka likes war more than Rakos does, but he’s better at it.
Tonight, Rakos grabs her by the wrist before she reaches the door. Irenka whirls to face him, cold magic welling beneath her skin despite the bloodmasque’s prohibition.
