Page 9 of Fated to the Wicked King

My breath caught—not because he looked at me, but because some traitorous part of me remembered how it felt when that gaze had once been mine alone.

The women leaned forward as one, overwhelmed by curiosity, all their hearts set aflutter.

It struck me as fascinating how a heartless tyrant of a king could still inspire such interest in the fairer sex. Despite knowing what he was, knowing all he’d done. Were they simply attracted to his power? His position?

With piercing eyes that could weaken knees, cheekbones that could cut, his figure was striking, strong. One could not deny his objective beauty. But it was a cruel kind—one that would draw women closer, never minding their well-being, like the proverbial moth to an ever-destructive flame.

The man didn’t need to cast a spell for everyone to easily fall under his.

Heart hammering, I drew back into the shadows.

What was I even thinking coming here? I shouldn’t have let the Duchess talk me into this at all. Granted, I couldn’t remember much of my real life, but I was sure I’d always let logic run my decisions. It was highly improbable that I would have been so easily swayed by frail emotions.

Had I been in Wünder so long that the madness was starting to influence me too?

I slipped sideways, melting into the press of bodies and velvet shadows. I ducked behind a column thick with copper piping, my pulse so loud I was certain the pipes would answer it. Steam hissed. Somewhere, a gear caught and corrected itself with a soft metallic click.

I held my breath, cautiously peering out.

Across the ballroom, the king stilled, his gaze sharpened, fractionally, dangerously.

His jaw tightened, a faint crease forming between his brows. He scanned the crowd again, slower this time, eyes narrowing as if the air itself had offended him. For one terrible second, I was certain he could feel me—that same unerring sense that had once found me in crowded rooms and quiet ones alike.

Then his gaze slid past my hiding place.

He exhaled, just barely. Straightened. Clasped his hands behind his back.

He seemed to decide he was mistaken. I could see it settle over him like armor. Of course. How could he possibly have spotted me amongst the crowd? Why should I ever appear before him again at all?

The music swelled again. Conversation resumed in cautious trickles.

I stayed hidden until the ache in my lungs demanded air, then eased away, letting the current of guests carry me toward the outer edges of the hall. I kept to the shadows, to corners where the light fractured and the mirrors lay. I passed beneath archways shaped like interlocking gears, past tall windows fogged with heat and night air.

I told myself to leave.

I had seen him. That was enough. More than enough. I could slip back to the clock tower before anyone noticed I had been here at all.

The heart in my chest pounded—erratic, hard.

What the…?

I let out a short grunt and clutched at the sudden stinging in my chest.

Danger. Intent. Direction.

Something was wrong.

Inexplicable fury burned in my chest, squeezing my heart.

A sudden commotion from across the room turned many of the guests’ heads, grabbing the attention of all the guards on the dance floor.

The back of my neck prickled with discomfort. Instead of turning to look toward the disturbance, my breath slowed as my mind snapped into focus.

Back across the ballroom, I followed the invisible line which tugged my eyes forward. I scanned faces, hands, and postures. Ladies giggled behind feathered fans. Men clinked glasses of champagne. Couples drifted through the crowd, whispering and mingling before bowing to their partners and leading them onto the dance floor.

Then my gaze caught on a woman standing motionless beyond the ring dancers. My gasp caught in my throat as her brows snapped together in determination, and she withdrew something from hidden folds of her dress.

My stomach dropped.