Page 92 of The Faceless Queen

“Do you?” I shot back.

“No,” he said. “Not by name. You didn’t answer my question.”

“You are too demanding of me, my Lord. I feel you forget who I am, and who I am to wed.”

“And yet, you are not wed yet, Princess. Believe it or not, I care about my cousin, and I find it remarkably suspicious that you can’t answer such a simple question.” His eyes darkened.

“I don’t know her,” I said, my voice starting to shake. “Of course, I don’t. Does that answer please you? How would I know her? I’ve not been in your country long enough to know anyone beyond my kin, my ambassador, and those family members and friends closest to my betrothed. Does the dancer fit into any of those categories?” I shook my head, not even waiting for his response.

“You know,” he said, “I have often found that women lie, and the more loudly they protest, the more they’re trying to hide.”

“And when men lie?” I seethed.

Jaron only chuckled.

“I have answered your question fairly,” I said, “and I shall have to tell my prince of this conversation.”

He smirked. “Go ahead. I’m quite finished here. You’ve given me exactly what I wanted.”

I glared. But Jaron released my hands and spun away from me, grabbing hold of another girl to dance with as I took the hands of Lord Dovan.

What had Jaron gotten? What could I have possibly given him?

I’d been so thrown off, so horrified at his presence that I hadn’t fed from him. I hadn’t gotten anything from his touch, or his emotions. And that was when I realized my mistake.

Olivay would have never reacted as I had. Never been bothered or cared. Not just over Cecelia, but over anything Jaron had said to goad me. I’d messed up. Again. I’d become the prey to his predator. Again. Gods. He’d been the one to force a rise out of me. He’d been the one to force me to show emotion. And the sudden burning of my scar was all the confirmation I needed.

I quickly moved through another round of the choreography, my heart racing at Jaron’s deception.

Then Finlay called out above the music. A signal he used to yell at the tavern that only meant one thing. The song was ending. The tempo sped up and sped up again. Dancers crashed into each other trying to maintain the beat, and in half the time it should have taken, I was spun away from my next partner and into the arms of my next. Brennan.

“There you are,” he said. “I was missing you.”

“I missed you,” I said, and I meant it. The safety I felt in his arms was real. Even if it would soon come to an end.

His face softened at my response, and yet he looked away. His gaze had grown distant, and that sense of guilt that he so often felt washed over him.

“Hey,” I said. “Where did you go?”

Shaking his head, he brought his attention back to me and smiled. “Preparing myself to finish this dance—I’ve never performed it at this speed.” He glanced around the room, his expression dubious. “Ready?”

“Ready!” I said, watching as he bit his lip, his expression now one of total concentration as he led me through the steps while trying to keep up with Finlay’s erratic pacing.

It took us both only seconds to learn that, in fact, we couldn’t keep up. One quick spin into his arms and our noses bumped. We burst into laughter, and he managed one final spin before he pulled me into his arms and held me close, abandoning the choreography completely as the song finally came to a close.

Everyone clapped and laughed good-naturedly at the musicians.

Thomas stepped forward and bowed low, rising to place his hand on his chest. He shook his head as if in apology for the frenetic dance we’d just done and began plucking at the strings of his mandolin. Carefully, slowly.

“Did I hurt you?” Brennan asked, still laughing.

I rubbed my nose and grinned. “No. Not much.”

“Not much is too much. I’m sorry.” His eyes blazed, his lids suddenly heavy. “Can I?” he asked.

I pressed my lips together. I needed to say no—Gods, I needed to—but I didn’t. I said yes instead.

And Brennan brought his face to mine and gently kissed the tip of my nose.