Pushing my way through the now-crowded dance floor, I finally see a flash of blonde blur in front of me.
Graylen spins Opal a few paces away, angling her so that her gaze lands directly on me.
She smiles, and my chest tightens. It’s a smile I used to look for in the muddy camp, an expression that would brighten my day and chase away the heaviness of our lives.
But now it sickens me.
“Daimon told me I have to dance with him,” I grit out.
Graylen looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes encased in darkness, making it hard to tell where exactly he’s looking.
He grins, his features brightening. “What the Lord of Shadows commands, he gets.”
Opal juts out her bottom lip, but when she sees my frown, her pout dims. “Have fun,” she sings, disappearing into the crowd.
I don’t know what Daimon is up to, but if Opal and fake Graylen are happy about it, then I’mnot.
Graylen slides both of his hands around my waist, the feel of them like ice through the leather top. His hands have always been warm—inviting. But I don’t know this grip. It’s nothing like him, nothing like the touch I love so much.
“Enjoy the show?” Graylen murmurs, and my skin prickles.
I look away from him, but my eyes find more soulless gazes staring back at me, so I opt to stare at Graylen’s collar instead.
He’s wearing a black jacket with a ruffled white shirt beneath. It’s unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the scars beneath. It makes it harder not to stare, even though I know therealhim would hate this outfit.
His fingers press into my flesh, the rings on them pushing so hard it feels as if they’re bruising my hip bones.
“Probably not as much as you enjoyed it,” I snap.
Graylen chuckles, his breath spanning across my face as he leans close to my ear and whispers, “It was rather entertaining, I’ll admit. Though it might’ve been better if I were the one getting to do the killing.”
I swallow, hating each and every word that comes out of his mouth.
The Graylen that pulled me behind the throne earlier is gone, an impostor in his place.
There’s still no sign of Vidaris, nor any understanding of why I’mactuallyhere. This ball—this supposed introduction as the heir of Daimon—is like a twisted version of the gatherings in Crea.
Though at least the attendees here aren’t pretending to be someone they’re not. They’re evil inside and out, no fake smilesand pretty make-up on their faces to disguise the ugliness beneath.
My gaze lifts to Graylen’s, those depthless seas seemingly looking straight through me.
“Drink from me, little princess.”His voice fills my mind, causing me to blink rapidly at him.
I rear back, nearly jerking out of his hold.
He smirks, tightening his grip around my waist and yanking me against him.
I shouldn’t be able to hear him, shouldn’t be able to communicate this way with my magic now in Nightfall.
“Graylen?”I nearly sob with relief, but I try to keep my face calm.
His jaw clenches, but his eyes remain the same soulless void of black. It’s as if his body is still trapped, but I can hearhimnow.
“Do not trust my body, not yet,”he murmurs into my mind.“But if what Daimon is saying is true…then drink from me.”
If whatDaimonsays is true?
The base of my neck prickles at his words. Daimon is the last person we should trust. He’s only shown me time and time again that he isn’t on our side. First nearly killing Brielle, then bargaining for the shard—only to give it back to me so I could end up a prisoner here.
