Page 58 of The Dragon and the Dove

That, and he was never far from his next kill.

Barely a month had passed since they’d come here looking for Andreas. The library had felt like a shrine then, a pocket of the world untouched by time and greed.

Gone were the towering wooden shelves and the tomes therein, the scent of parchment and ink, and even the oil paintings on the walls. The armchairs had been removed, along with the tables and rugs, transforming the venerated library into a grand ballroom.

Servers milled about, carrying trays of goblets and finger food, while Rose-bearers stood stiffly along the walls, watching the evening unfold.

Once inside the ballroom, they followed the plan they’d devised yesterday, and split into two groups.

‘A bag of gold for whoever finds the prince first,’ crooned Anouk.

‘And three more for whoever stabs him in the neck,’ said Ransom, ghosting his hand against the steelfire in his waistband. ‘Don’t forget the signal.’

‘Watch out for the exploding chandelier.’ Anouk tapped the side of her nose as she followed Val and Versini towards the left side of the ballroom.

Peeling off towards the right, Ransom and Seraphine played their parts well, smiling and dancing as they lost themselves in a sea of revellers. Every time she tossed her hair or bunched her skirts to take a twirl, he had to remind himself it was all an act. But as the music slowed to a Valterrian waltz and she melted into his arms, he let himself pretend they were somewhere else entirely.

Dancing for the love of it.

For the love of each other.

He drank her down, committing her staggering beauty to memory, so in the darker times, when his magic finally gnawed through the ribbons of his soul, he could reach for it. And come back to the light.

Time wore thin, the music soaring to the rafters, and still the prince did not appear.

Tension coiled through Seraphine, and she grew rigid in his arms.

‘Where is he?’ Frustration made her falter, and she bumped into another guest. ‘Excuse me,’ she said hastily, but the guest – a tall grey-haired man in a skunk’s mask – seemed not to notice her at all. He danced on.

She stared after him. ‘Odd.’

It was all odd, but if they started to act like they knew it, the Rose-bearers would notice.

He tucked a strand behind her ear. ‘Try and relax. There are eyes everywhere.’

‘But it’s all so strange. No one’s eating or drinking.’

He had made the same unsettling observation. And there was more: the soldiers had begun to patrol the ballroom.

‘Just look at me, Seraphine.’

Turning her face up to his, she whispered, ‘I’m afraid, Ransom.’

‘I know, spitfire.’ He wanted to kiss her fear away, dance with her through this room and outside into the wildness of the night and beyond, to a life past all this uncertainty and terror.

For now, he could only hold her tighter, and remember Saintkiller glimmering beneath his shirt.

Seraphine gritted a smile. ‘Can you see Lark? Or Nadia?’

‘Not yet.’

The music changed to a low keening lament. The hairs on the back of Ransom’s neck rose, his arms tightening around Seraphine as they swayed, mirroring the other couples in their midst.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said, laying her head on his chest.

The thundering of his heart must have given his own unease away, because she snapped her chin up. ‘We should go.’

Too late. ‘The doors are barred.’