Page 60 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

I don’t argue, I just follow him through a portal back to the school and up dark steps. He grabs my hand, gently guiding me left and right, over and over, effortlessly navigating the dim halls, taking me to a room on a floor I didn’t know existed.

“What is this place?” I ask when the lights flicker on. The room is full of dusty books on shelves, fancy clothes on racks, and foreign silver and wood contraptions on counters.

“The floor was made for the Royals, back when every world had monarchies.” He pushes a round table from the middle of the room to a corner lined with bookshelves, then dusts the contraptions. “Now it’s just my family and Kai’s, and we don’t come here often.”

A whole floor made for people who don’t even use it. Meanwhile, we have a family to a room this size and two beds—if you’re lucky—back home.

Music fills the room, forcing me away from my thoughts. It doesn’t sound anything like the music I’ve heard in my life. It’s slow, with different sounds and tones melding together. The music I know is upbeat, something they play in the factories to get the Folk’s feet moving when they’re tired or to lift spirits when they’re down over the many things there are to be down about.

Music must serve a very different purpose to the elites.

Then Lucian bows on one knee and holds up his hand to me. I worry I’m not doing a very good job of hiding how utterly shocked I am. “My pleasure,” he says, and I grab his hand.

He stands back, guiding one of my hands to the back of his neck. I don’t mean to pull away when he reaches for my waist.

“We can switch positions for practice, but you’ll be expected to dance the part of a lady during the Gerner,” he says, not at all unkindly.

I prefer the usual mocking edge to his tone. Kind is not an adjective I want to put to the prince, even for a second.

“It’s fine.” I step forward, and his hand comes back to my waist. This time, his grip is much lighter, like he doesn’t want to touch me, whereas before he didn’t mind at all.

He explains to me how I’m supposed to move my feet, then says, “Just follow my lead,” like I don’t understand.

“Your explanation was lesson enough.”

Lucian lets his hands fall down my hips, his grip almost nonexistent before he lets go entirely. “If you already know how, we don’t have to dance.”

I hold onto the back of his neck tighter, pulling him closer. “Just start.”

“Unless this was all a ploy to get your hands on me. If so, well played Marquees. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move.”

I laugh under my breath, drop my hands, and take a step back. “You have quite the ego.”

“And you’re bruising it right now, letting go of me like that.”

“So you’re the one who wants my hands on you?” I smile up at him.

Lucian smiles back. Different from his usual smirk. This is big, bright. The kind that highlights the dimples I didn’t know he had. “I didn’t know that had to be said aloud.”

Is he flirting with me? It’s by sheer force of will that my cheeks do not redden.

I grab his hand and put it on my waist. “Then you better milk it for all it’s worth,” I say, trying not to grit my teeth. Then I decide to just grit my teeth—better for Lucian to think I’m angry at him than myself. “Because this is the first and last time.”

“You know,” he lifts his hand from my waist and begins to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “You’re a temperamental little thing.”

I hit his hand with the back of mine. “Am not.”

“Oh, no.” He lifts his hand with a smile. There’s a red mark where I hit him. “Of course you aren’t. My mistake.”

“Is that a problem? Because I’m thinking of stepping on your toes next.”

He laughs. I don’t want to like the sound. “Anything but. I find it amusing.”

I raise an eyebrow and ask, “You like when people step on your toes?”

“No, darling. I’d like to watch you try.”

“Start dancing,” I demand.

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