If she meant to distract him, her smile was all that was needed. He grasped both her hands. “I love you. If you truly want me as your Consort, then yes. I'm yours.”
A hint of the Queen hardened her eyes. “No running away this time.”
“The only way I leave you again is if my heart stops beating and my world ends,” he promised.
She considered his words. “You think you don’t deserve me. To everyone else, to all my Escorts, I am the Queen. I think, to you, I am a bit more. You are something that’s all mine.”
She was wrong about her Escorts, but he rather liked the possessive note in her tone.
He’d show her the error of her ways later. There was plenty of time.
A lifetime.
Chapter 48
Castien
A curtain of black satin billowed in his wake, the velvet inner layer of the cloak wrapping his body like shadows. The sword in his hand was a natural extension of his arm. Each clash of steel rang in time with the beat of the drums.Thump, thump,clang. His feet shifted. He spun again.
Nobles crowded the Great Hall today. They could never resist a celebration, and he was used to a crowd. Just like House performances, they tracked his every movement.
They seemed curiously focused on his ass.
Black, oiled, shiny leather pants hugged his legs and ass like overly-familiar hands – comfortable, yet… hmm. He eyed the crowd. No, he liked them.
He approved of the entire ensemble. Black boots clipped the floor. Embroidered vines climbed up his black suit, rose petals splashing color through his blur of darkness. The suit’s collar was utterly ridiculous and impractical, rising behind his neck and flaring down his chest. If the nobles caught the details of his shirt, perhaps they could make out the sewn feathers – the tip of a hawk’s wings as it flew with a snake in its claws.
Even his sword was etched with a rose.
Every inch of him belonged to her – the Queen whose sword swirled with his cloak and somehow didn’t cut the fabric. Bright red silk encircled her neck, darkening as the dress flared downher body. The illusion of blood pooling at her feet was complete with the tiny sparkling rubies hemming her steps.
He just had to be careful not to let actual blood spill. She wouldn’t like that.
Thump, thump, clash.
The rhythm quickened, as did his feet. She had suggested choreography for the Swords’ Dance, but he wanted a challenge. As their blades met again, the exhilarated evergreen of her eyes confirmed he had made the right choice. He wouldn’t mind bleeding for her.
But not for the court, and they were on display.
Another turn, another glance. Gaudy gold glimmered left of the throne – Prince Balak met his gaze with a smirk and a tip of his wine cup. At the next table sat Commander Aurora, her stern posture a contrast to her temporary neighbor.
The Queen’s council had demanded a tournament. This time, she had denied them. She proposed that any competitors for the title of Consort should be drugged, kidnapped, and tortured for a few moons – otherwise, Castien had been tested enough.
The council settled for witnesses.
It was his idea to perform the Swords’ Dance with her today. If the nobles wanted to watch him perform, he would do so on his terms. He didn’t give them more than a moment of his attention – the moment he used to center himself as he spun.
Today’s dance was a little different. If he were the Knight, he was a Knight Villain. Off to the side kneeled the captain, head bowed, swords stolen. The Villain flung his cloak over the Knight, and the defeated man vanished.
The Maiden strode confidently onto the dance floor with swords already in her hands.
The cold was his mask, and hers fury.
He led her on a merry chase, evading her lunging strikes and wild, flashy swings. Beams of sunlight angled through the tallwindows, forming a corridor down the middle of the hall. They wove in and out of the light, flashes of shadow twining with blood. Behind the harsh beat of the music and her sharp motions was a hint of laughter, a hint of Anais. She was having fun.
He stretched out the dance a little longer for her.
When he finally stepped inside her guard and held a blade to her throat, his lips spread into a victorious, smug smile. She’d allowed him the advantage, but he’d earned it.
