Carwyn was not stupid: he had not made a fatal error that would betray him. Nobody was going to guess what he was from this. He still had a champagne bottle in one hand—they were just going to think he was drunk.
But he did look aware of how he had messed up, and that people were startled by it. He looked uncomfortable. It was small and petty, but it was the only revenge I’d had for all the misery and uncertainty he had put me through.
He turned his face away from a startled man looking at him, as if a monster could feel self-conscious, and caught me looking at him too. Whatever cruel hunger he saw in my face, it made his mouth curl.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.
I smiled, and knew the smile was as vicious as any of his. “Actually, I am.”
Chandelier lights shining on gilt-framed oriel windows made the air seem the same color as the champagne I had drunk. Mirrors were all over this room, inlaid in pillars, mirrors spelled with Light magic so that the reflections would be lent a flattering glow. I caught a glimpse of myself and him in one.
My long silver dress fit close as skin until the skirt widened into a pool of silver fabric, ending in a train like a mermaid’s tail. It stood out in the golden room in a way that I hadn’t intended, like seeing the cool glint of the moon in a sky drenched with stars.
Carwyn was a tall, dark figure holding me in his arms, his hair ruffled and his scarf still hanging over his shoulder. The only thing about him that was not elaborately louche, a perfect performance of casual unconcern, was the tight line of his shirt collar.
“I’m enjoying myself too,” he claimed, and at my skeptical glance he laughed, and people around him smiled, as if his laughter was sparks setting everyone else alight. “Of course I am. What’s not to like? You know, someone told me that we were a perfect couple. Isn’t that lovely? I knew you’d agree.”
“Of course I do,” I told him.
I smiled at him, and his smile went sharp. He did not quite like my serene agreement, I thought.
“You do?”
“With one small alteration. It’s a pretty easy mistake for them to make,” I said. “Right face. Wrong boy.”
He didn’t like that, either, so he pretended to ignore it.
“Of course, so many people think that about us,” he continued. “The golden boy and the Golden Thread in the Dark. Could any couple ever be more perfect? Could any couple ever be more boring and clichéd?”
“I agree with that, too,” I told him. “You are really boring. I just think of the most evil thing anyone could possibly do, and I expect you to do it.”
Carwyn nodded, his face suddenly grave, as if he was paying serious attention to me. I did not have the feeling of being listened to: I saw the way he was bending toward me in the mirror, his shadow falling across my face, and he seemed like a vampire intent on his prey.
“All right,” he murmured. “Guess what I’m going to do next.”
“You’re going to tell me what you did with Ethan,” I said. “You’re going to tell me tonight.”
Carwyn laughed, warm and amused. Anyone watching would have seen how close he was and thought that I wanted him there, that I was as delighted as he was.
All he told me was “You’re wrong.”
Then he leaned down and kissed me.
It was as if his shadow had not only fallen on me but swallowed me, his arm tight around me, my mouth open on his, with no way for me to fight him or do anything but give in to the drowning dark.
When he was done kissing me, my hands were against his chest. I would have put some force behind the gesture, I would have pushed him away, if I could have.
“Forget you. What do you think I’m going to do next?” I whispered.
He was smiling again, a small, private smile. I wondered if he thought he had won this round, if this was gloating. He murmured, “You’re going to kiss me back.”
I spoke low, but as clearly as I was able, my voice all I could use to fight against the glitter of the ballroom and a boy who thought he knew better than me, cold and harsh to contrast with the soft, thrillingly romantic music.
I said, “You’re wrong.”
Then a cry broke through the bright air and silenced all the laughter and the whispers.
As if I had caused it to happen by sheer force of will, the music stopped.
We all turned to the sound of the scream and saw the waiter whose face I had thought I knew. At his feet was one of the Light guards, lying in a pool of his own blood. It spread as we watched, a dark blot on the shining floor in the bright room, and I thought for a moment that shadows had come to swallow us all.
All the waiters drew weapons. Some of the members of the media put down their cameras and produced arms. New people poured in from the side doors. And the guests and guards who had not worn their swords, to show the city they had nothing to fear, found that this showcase of their power had become a trap. They drew together in a shining knot at the center of the room. Their exclusive, expensive group seemed suddenly so small.