We bowed to each other—his a little deeper than mine.
The prince was older than I was, but he was very boyish in appearance. His hair was chestnut-brown and slightly curly, puffed up in a way that suggested it had evaded many attempts at styling, or maybe that he’d spent a very long time getting it to look that way.
I cleared my thoughts, eternally conscious of the Shadowborn’s mind abilities.
“You throw an incredible party,” he said, as he straightened. “My father will be disappointed he couldn’t make the trip.”
“No expense too great for my general’s wedding.”
“I have to admit, I expected to see… well, not to be morbid.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I expected to see something much drearier. We hear stories.”
The Shadowborn were known for being cold and unfriendly, but I wasn’t sure what to make of this man’s overly familiar attitude—though the entourage with him certainly seemed to fit the stereotype much more than he did.
I kept my smile pleasant and cocky and just the right amount of cruel.
“We had our pests,” I said. “Nothing we couldn’t put down. I’m sure you’ve had your own in the past.”
“Of course,” he said cheerfully. “Never needed the Bloodborn to help us with ours, though.”
I almost let my surprise show at that, catching myself just in time.
“Like I said.” I lowered my voice. “We have our pests. The Bloodborn had their uses, but—”
I glimpsed movement over the prince’s shoulder, at the entrance. I allowed myself to get distracted.
How could I fucking not?
I could’ve sworn that I wasn’t the only one—that the room went damn near silent.
Or maybe I imagined it.
Maybe I just imagined that the entire world stopped when my wife walked into the ballroom.
37
ORAYA
It surprised me, just how unafraid I was.
I’d gotten through the church’s ball wearing nearly as little clothing as this, yes, but I thought that there would be something different about walking into this particular party, in this palace, so similar to all the parties I’d never been allowed to attend. Always reminded that they were nothing more than traps for me.
But I walked into that ballroom with my throat exposed, and I didn’t feel afraid. The vampires stared at me, and I didn’t feel afraid. I showed off the Mark I was supposed to hide, and I didn’t feel afraid.
Maybe it was because there was something different in the way they looked at me now—not like another blood vendor or a curious forbidden delicacy.
They looked at me like I was an actual threat, and I liked that.
My eyes found Raihn immediately, even through this massive crowd, like somehow I’d already known exactly where he’d be.
He was staring right at me—staring with an intensity that made my step falter a little. He was dressed much like he had been the day he’d had to receive the nobles, which was to say, uncomfortably polished. Our outfits, of course, complemented each other’s, his silver-trimmed, dark-blue jacket an obvious mate to my gown. His image was perfectly befitting that of the powerful Nightborn King.
It looked fake.
But not his stare. That was… too revealing. He shouldn’t be looking at me like that here. Not with all these people watching.
I recognized those with him right away—House of Shadow royalty. I wasn’t about to interrupt that.
I turned away, breaking our stare. Strange how all these eyes on me meant nothing to me. But Raihn’s… my fingers fell to my chest, over my quickening heartbeat.
“Gods!” Mische was beside me in a flurry of gold and the scent of lavender. “You look incredible!”
She was holding a glass of blood in one gloved hand and some kind of meat-and-blood filled pastry in the other. She looked like the embodiment of sunshine—so dazzling it actually stunned me.
Her eyes were round as she looked me up and down and leaned close.
“Is this… did Cairis pick this?”
“The dress? Yes.”
“But the—”
She stared pointedly down at my chest—my Mark.
“The top piece was uncomfortable,” I said. “I decided not to wear it.”
A sly smile spread over her lips. “You’ve got such balls. I love it.”
I took in Mische’s dress, the gold shifting and glittering under the Nightfire lights. It was so… un-vampiric. So unabashedly her. I couldn’t imagine a single other soul wearing it as well.
“You look good, too,” I said, even though good was too weak a word for it.
My gaze slid across the room again over her shoulder—to where Raihn was talking to the Shadowborn prince. The prince’s eyes kept wandering away from him and landing on Mische.
Poor Raihn. Such an important conversation, and he couldn’t even keep the man’s attention. Then again, could anyone blame him?
“Looks like the dress has earned you some admirers.” I nodded to the prince across the room, and Mische turned to follow my stare—
—And froze.
Her smile faded. Her cheeks, normally flushed, went ashen beneath speckles of gold.
The difference in her was so sudden and stark that it had me startled. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
I touched her shoulder, as if to physically pull her out of her trance.
“Mische,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
I let more concern creep into my voice than I’d meant to.
She turned abruptly back to me. “Nothing. Nothing. I just—I suddenly have a headache. I think I need a drink.” She set down her nearly full glass and turned away, then turned back to me, like she couldn’t decide which direction to go. Her eyes were wide and frantic. “Don’t tell Raihn I’m—just tell him I—I needed more food.”
“Mische—”
But she’d slipped back into the crowd before I could get her name out. I started to go after her, but someone caught my shoulder. I jerked away and turned around, a snarled word already halfway to my lips.
Standing before me was Simon—Raihn’s troublesome Rishan noble.
I recognized him right away, even though we’d never met. He strongly resembled the brother Raihn had killed during that first meeting. But even aside from that, his real tell was that his entire being reeked of vampiric noble entitlement. I knew the type well.
He extended a hand.
“May I have a dance?” he asked.
I’d already taken two strides away from him, my back to the wall.
“I don’t dance with people who touch me without permission.”
Raihn had to kiss this man’s ass, maybe, but I sure as hell didn’t. Besides, I had a role to play: I’m the brute king, and you’re the prisoner wife who hates him.
Simon’s smile—a cryptic curve of his lips that seemed to hint at all kinds of unspoken secrets—didn’t falter. “It was rude of me to do that without introducing myself. I’m—”
“I know who you are.”
Delight sparked in his eye. “Did your husband tell you about me? How flattering. We’ve known each other for a very long time.”
I made a noncommittal noise of agreement and began to turn away, but he caught my arm, pulling me back.
I yanked it away.