“Sebastian?” She stood in front of him, smelling like cinnamon and oranges, and he forced himself not to look at anything but her face.
Worry filled her eyes, and she leaned closer to him. He tensed but it wasn’t because he thought she might touch him.
It was because for the first time, he desperately wanted her to.
He was in so much trouble.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly. “It will be all right. You can—”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Pink blossomed in her cheeks, and her chest—which he was not supposed to be looking at—rose and fell a little faster. “Are you sure? Because if you need—”
“I’m sure.”
She smiled—shy and pleased. He’d thought he had her smiles memorized, but this was something new. His lips twitched upward in response, and her smile grew.
He should say something. Compliment her. Ask her to accompany him to the ballroom. Anything but stand here staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
“You look . . . that dress is very . . . it’s nice,” he said, and groaned inwardly. She was going to think he was an imbecile.
She looked down at her dress, and he fought to keep his eyes from following hers. “Well, I was going for something a little better than nice, but—”
“You succeeded.” He breathed the words, and the faint pink in her cheeks bloomed brighter.
He really, really needed to not be alone with her in this kitchen for another second, or he might do something he could never take back.
“I believe you said something about excellent snacks,” he said, relieved that his voice didn’t reveal the way his heart raced and his stomach spun in lazy circles.
She stepped back and swept an arm toward the door that led to the main palace. “I’m a girl of my word. Come with me.”
The ballroom—an ornate space with arched windows, marble pillars, and gilt practically dripping from every available surface—was nearly two-thirds full. Servants carrying trays of sparkling wine or cheese or pastries lined the outskirts, and musicians sat on a stage at the north end of the room playing a swift, lilting melody. A fiery sunset spread across the sky and lit the western windows with gold and orange.
Guests were scattered throughout the room. The older ones, dressed in the kind of sweeping sheaths that the princess usually wore, were seated in clusters, wine and cheese in their hands. The younger ones were wearing brilliant jewel-toned dresses or long-tailed jackets and were already dancing. Sebastian swept his gaze over the room, noting the two open doorways in the western wall that led out to the garden where torches had been lit, though a servant stood at each door to warn guests not to step past the veranda that hugged the outside wall.
Nobody wanted to give the beasts cause to attack.
“You won’t want to go back to the arena tonight,” the princess said, turning toward him with dismay on her face. “Not with those beasts stalking you in the dark, even if they do know your scent. I didn’t think of that. I’ll find a place for you to stay in the palace.”
He shrugged. “I’ll manage. I can always sleep in the kitchen.”
She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t sleeping in the kitchen. I think all the guest rooms are taken, but if I can’t find anything else, you can always have the couch in my sitting room.”
Stars no, he wasn’t going to sleep in the princess’s rooms. Not when simply standing next to her was making everything inside him tumble like he was caught in a hurricane.
“I see we’ve invited the riffraff to the ball.” Makario, the nobleman who liked to taunt Sebastian in the arena, sneered at him as he approached. “Really, Your Highness, have a care for your reputation.”
The princess snorted. “If you haven’t figured out by now that I don’t care what you think of me, let this be the lesson that sticks.”
Anger lit Makario’s eyes. “If you won’t have a care for your own reputation, then consider the reputation of Súndraille. Imagine what would happen if the nobility from other kingdoms saw a sewer rat from east Kosim Thalas attending a royal ball as a guest.”
“If you are disrespectful toward Sebastian one more time, I will permanently ban you from the palace,” the princess said, wrapping her arm through Sebastian’s and pulling him against her hip. “Sebastian is my invited guest. He will be treated as such.”
Makario’s lips thinned. “I mean no disrespect, but he is beneath your new status, Your Highness.”
Sebastian flexed his shoulders and rolled to the balls of his feet.
The princess’s voice was cold. “The only ones beneath my status are those who treat others like chattel.”
Makario lowered his voice and took a step closer, crowding the princess against Sebastian. “Do you think we don’t know why you brought your little toy with you?” He flicked a glance at Sebastian. “You think that now that you’re the acknowledged princess, you can make up your own rules. Do as you please with no consequences. That’s not how life works, Your Highness. You’re a bastard princess, a half blood. You need to think very carefully about your next move.” Makario’s voice rose, and those closest to them turned to stare.
Sebastian’s pulse roared, and his breath quickened.
The princess gripped Sebastian’s arm tightly and lifted her other hand to stab her finger at Makario’s face. “My next move is going to be to remove you from the palace.”
Blind rage flashed in Makario’s eyes. “You fat, ungrateful—”
Sebastian tore free of the princess’s grip and plowed his fist into Makario’s face.
Screams rose from the crowd as Makario stumbled back; and for one second, Sebastian thought they were screaming because a servant had just broken a nobleman’s nose.
“Sebastian!” The princess’s voice was bright with panic. She grabbed his hand and spun him to face the western wall. A bone-chilling cry echoed across the ballroom as the monsters from Llorenyae stood upright in the open doorways that led to the garden, their amber eyes feral and vicious, their snouts dripping saliva as they snarled at the crowd.
Behind the tallest beast, Teague stood illuminated by the garden’s torchlight, an ivory pipe in his mouth. He smiled, cold and cruel, and said, “Ithe.”
With bloodcurdling screams, the beasts launched themselves into the ballroom.
TWENTY-THREE
“GET TO THE cellar!” Ari yelled to those around her. When they stared at her in confusion, she grabbed the closest servant. “Lead the way to the cellar and get as many inside as you can. Shut the door and lock it behind you, and don’t open it again unless you’re sure it’s a person knocking and not those monsters.”
The maid dropped her tray of pastries and ran for the east exit.
“Follow her.” Ari pushed those closest to her in the right direction, while terrible screams of pain rose from the western side of the room. “Go!”