Page 56
Now bow to the court.
During the restless day before as she slipped into her alias and readied for the masquerade, Elarian prepared herself to obey until she found the perfect moment to strike.
Instead, Lucan asked nothing of her.
One hand shifted against her hips, and somehow, her body listened even as she cursed his name inside. When she faltered, his stride paused, waiting for her to catch up. Each time she drifted too far from his arms, his fingertips effortlessly coaxed her back into place. By the third dance, she no longer looked down.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Lucan murmured effortlessly against the shell of her ear as they danced. “You seem surprised.”
Elarian blinked. She hadn’t felt his eyes watching her every movement.
“The masquerade…it is excessive, I know.”
“No, my prince, it is beautiful.”
She wasn’t entirely lying. Parts of it were: the black throne, empty as the prince courted his new prize, and the stained glass decorated with flaming suns and bloody handprints.
And…Lucan.
“The countess might agree. I prefer it simpler, as I do most things.” Smiling, Lucan’s words faded as he resumed humming along to the music.
Dazzling silks and tulle skirts of nearly every color bloomed around them before fading into muddled colors. The witchlights hung overhead from dozens of chandeliers, drifting lazily like stars. Once, when Elarian spun away from Lucan, a noblewoman’s moonstone necklace enraptured her gaze. The silvery-blue gems spilled across her throat. For a moment, the moon elf sundered from her kin thought of her Mother Estarin, limbs laden with starry flowers.
Would Reshva think this dance necessary for her directive?
She found she did not care what the answer was. The longer they danced, the more Elarian’s gaze never strayed from Lucan’s face, fangs glistening in the lights beneath his gentle smile.
She hated it.
Hated him.
Hated herself.
Because the longer she glided across the polished marble floor, the more she forgot which mask she wished to take off. Lucan dipped her low, lips brushing against her neck as he leaned over. Their reflections slid beneath them over the sea of black. For a breath, Elarian saw another woman in her stead—a courtesan arrayed in crimson, smiling at the vampire prince of her dreams.
Elarian scarcely recognized herself.
Eventually, the music faded into applause and breathless laughter. The ballroom blurred into an oil painting as she twirled over the polished marble and flew high above Lucan’s head. Two goblets and more of bloodwine slipped past her lips; it was surprisingly sweet, and not nearly as vile as she expected. Crushed flowers steeped in iron clouded her senses until she almost found herself comfortable in dancing with the vampire prince.
Comfortable.
She fervently hoped he felt the same—that they would slip away from the court and her silver would at last sing again.
Lucan looked down at her, eyes heavy with some emotion she could not place.
“Well…” His thumb brushed against her lips. “It is time to discover whether you are just as exquisite beneath this mask, darling.”
Elarian shuddered.
“I have never disappointed my master before,” she whispered breathlessly.
This was what she had waited for. This moment, this chance to finally fulfill her purpose, to rest knowing the torment was at an end.
So why did she suddenly feel frightened?
As the court erupted into applause, Elarian could only stand by Lucan’s side with a smile.
twenty
