Page 16 of The Dead Queen

Hunter leans toward them. “Isn’t my betrothed charming?” He winks.

The man stutters as if he doesn’t know how to respond to a royal couple. Hunter saves them by whisking me away to another part of the dance floor.

“Smooth,” I say, somewhat breathless.

“So, what do you say?” he asks.

“To what?”

“To my romantic proposal.”

“Your romantic proposal to be romantic?”

“Exactly.”

My stomach is aflutter. Am I flirting with my longtime childhood friend-turned fiancé? I suppose I am. But …

“If we’re going to be friends again,” I say. “If we’re going to make an honest try for this …” I’m not sure what to call it. Forced marriage? Friendship turned more than friendship?

Hunter nods. “This once in a lifetime love story that will make everyone jealous. Mhm, yes, please go on.”

I roll my eyes and he pulls me a little closer.

“If we’re going to put on a show of the greatest romance in a century, then I’m going to need one teeny-tiny favor.” I hold my fingers up and make a pinching sign.

“Oh?” He spins me and the suddenness takes me by surprise. A genuine giggle escapes my throat.

Nearby couples give each other knowing glances as Hunter spins me back toward his chest.

I look deep into his eyes. “Then I’m going to need you to cover for me.”

“Cover?” His eyebrows pull together in brief confusion. “As in, offer a distraction? What for, darling?”

“Subterfuge.”

He dips me low, his mouth is a whisper away from my lips. “I’d love to.”

He pulls me back up to my feet. “I think I’ll need something from you, too. To make this convincing.” He holds one of my hands as we glide forward in formation with the other dancers.

“And what’s that?” I ask as we bring our bodies back together.

“A kiss.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Are you bribing me for affection, Hunter? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“Not at all, darling.” He does a silly spin himself. I cover a laugh with my hand like a polite court lady. He returns to grab my waist. “It’s all a part of the illusion.”

“Hmm …” I try to smother my grin. “I suppose if it’s for the cause.”

“Oh, I assure you, it is.” He nods earnestly. “But it will have to look convincing.” He adds, as if an afterthought.

“I think I can handle that.”

The song ends, its final notes lingering in the air. While everyone claps politely, I pull Hunter toward me, catching him off guard. The sudden movement causes a ripple of surprise through the nearby crowd. Dozens of black masks tilt in our direction.

I throw my arms around Hunter’s neck, the fabric of his crimson tunic smooth under my fingers. Without hesitation, I press my lips to his with as much conviction as I can muster. His scent envelops me, a heady mix of fresh linen, citrus, and something uniquely Hunter. It takes a moment for him to register what’s happening, his body tense with surprise. But then he softens, melting into the kiss. He wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me closer, while the other tangles in my long auburn hair. The sensation sends goosebumps prickling along my skin.

The surrounding crowd grows quiet, the sudden hush falling over the ballroom like a blanket of snow. The only sounds are the soft rustle of fabric and the distant tinkling of crystal as chandeliers sway above us. It feels as though time has stopped. Like even the room is holding its breath.