Page 115 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“Such a shame. They’d make this evening easier.”

“If you’re looking for a steadying force,” Ark said, voice warm, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

She turned to him, and there it was again: that steadiness, the way he watched her, present and unwavering. The same way he’d watched her across a candlelit table, a flour-dusted counter, a pillow in the dark.

“Tell me what to expect with your mother,” she said. “I need intelligence before walking into hostile territory.”

Ark’s mouth curved, but there was no humour in it. “She’s a queen among demons. Queens don’t receive; they permit an audience.” He looked at her. “Don’t expect her standing at the door, playing host. She’ll appear once the room is comfortable. Once they’ve forgotten the noose, she’ll glide in and tighten it again.”

Cassia sucked in a deep breath. “No pressure,” she muttered, still eyeing the building and the high-society guests crowding the steps.

“This evening is not for the faint-hearted,” he agreed. She turned just in time to catch the quick grin flashing across his face. “But you, Aura Cassia, are anything but.”

Her mouth curved.

He opened the door. Snow fell around him as he turned and offered his hand.

28

CASSIA

The moment her feet touched the ground, conversations faltered. The crowd gathered at the base of the grand marble steps slowly turned as one, their attention sharpening with that charged stillness that always came before judgment.

It was her cue to lift her chin, square her shoulders, and meet the moment head-on. She turned to Ark with a smile—dazzling and composed, touched with a softness meant only for him.

That part, at least, didn’t need pretending.

She took his arm. Together, they ascended the steps, ignoring the tightening knot of stares and the soft ripple of murmurs that rose through frost-crisped leaves.

“So it’s true.”

“I thought it was only a rumour!”

“No one at the auction thought it would last.”

“What will the Daemaris think of this?”

Cassia felt the wild urge to lean toward them, to wink and whisper, ‘Why don’t you come inside and we’ll find out together?’

She bit the inside of her cheek instead, holding back laughter. Ark leaned in, his voice low and dry in her ear. “I’m pleased to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

She shrugged, the smile still in place. “If they’re going to talk, I might as well give them something to talk about.”

They left their cloaks with attendants and stepped into a soaring foyer. A grand staircase swept up from the far end, dividing into two branches that curved toward the upper floors. Like currents, guests flowed through the space, voices humming. Ahead, through a wide arched doorway, a vast ballroom opened before them. Snow fell from a silver-threaded sky, vanishing before it touched the floor. The marble floor had been enchanted to look like a frozen lake. Frost retreated from their footsteps as if the ground itself made way. Ice sculptures—wolves, stags, a bear mid-stride—stood sentinel in the alcoves.

It was beautiful in a way that felt untouchable. A fairy tale forged for demons, and she was just passing through.

As they passed through several clusters of guests, Cassia felt the stares—curious, assessing, hungry for a story. Her shoulders tightened. Here we go.

Ark’s arm was steady on hers. He nudged her, head tilting toward the dance floor. “Shall we get it over with?”

She looked at the dancers gliding effortlessly across the polished floor. She’d only ever danced at village gatherings, and badly at that. She looked back at Ark. “I don’t know. Think you can keep up?”

He studied her, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “I’ve been known to manage. Besides”—he bent down, his lips brushing the curve of her ear—“you were always meant to end up in my arms tonight. From the moment you agreed, that was the inevitable end.”

She smothered a smile. “I apologize in advance if I step on your feet.”

“I’ve survived a cursed mirror. I think I can weather a bruised toe.”