Page 112 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

But even as I walk back into all the splendor inside, I’m not really seeing it.

Because the truth is that I don’t care about the fantasy.

Not any longer.

I just care about making sure Thorn knows he’s mine.

Thirty-Three

Thorn

The fantasy ball begins at seven.

I know this because I’ve checked the invitation in my inbox six times.

Not because I’m going.

I’m not. I won’t ruin River’s night by forcing her to interact with me.

Even though I’m sure that she’ll look beautiful.

Fuck, what if she’s so beautiful another man asks her to dance and touches her and?—

“Then she would be better off,” I grind out.

At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.

She’s better off without me, without my life poisoning hers, without?—

“Meow?”

I exhale, pushing away from the windows, from the sparkling city beyond, from my attempts at staring through the darkness, like I can spy on River at the ball from here.

“What do you want, little cat?” I ask, crouching down and scratching her behind her ears.

“Meow. Meow. Meow!”

“Right,” I mutter at her aggrieved tone. Yet another person—er, creature—telling me what an idiot I am.

Sighing, I scoop Violet up, walk over to the couch. There’s a book laying open on the arm, the same book I began reading with River asleep next to me a few weeks—a fucking lifetime—ago.

But even with Violet’s criticisms my apartment is quiet.

Too damned quiet.

Groaning, I pick up the book and start reading.

* * *

The king dropped to one knee.

Not because anyone demanded it.

Because it was all he had left to offer.

She stood across the throne room, tears shining in her eyes, and the sight nearly destroyed him.

“I told myself I was protecting you,” he said quietly. “Every secret. Every lie. Every terrible decision.” His throat tightened but he forced the words out. “I convinced myself it was all to protect you.”