Page 31 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Jac held out his arm to me. “May I escort you in?”

If I didn’t move, I was going to puke. I nodded and took a deep breath, winding my arm through Jac’s. This time the servants opened the doors to the ballroom without hesitation.

And I stared into a room full of godtouched who hated me.

Partygoers waltzed across the dance floor; others watched from the sidelines. Guests were dressed in long gowns, necks adorned with precious gems. Some wore dark suits with red sashes marking them as military. There were banquet tables set up around the perimeter, filled with more food than I’d seen in months. Had the Fastian royals brought it with them? The Fastian colors were draped across every available surface, emerald green creating a sea of color around the room.

When the audience saw me, hushed murmurs spread across the room, winding their way through every nook and cranny. I fought every instinct and tilted my chin high. I might be out of my element in this ballroom, but the pantheon would fall before the godtouched saw me cower.

My father sat on his favorite throne, adorned to look like gold. As a child, I found him most intimidating there. Now I only saw his insatiable lust for power, his desperation to seize control however he could—over Kryllian, over the godforsaken, over me.

Loathing crept through me at the sight of him. Tonight I would take the upper hand.

The rest of the royalty were no less imposing. On my father’s left was my mother, seated on a smaller, black throne. On his right, the Fastian King and Queen had each been offered white thrones, bothsmaller than my mother’s. The white accented their emerald green finery and dark skin. They were easily the most beautiful people in the room. Jac kept me pressed tight to his side as we were announced, then began a winding path through the room.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

My brother’s expression didn’t change. “As far away from Father as possible. If we have to be here, the least we can do is avoid the formality of it all for as long as we can.”

I raised an eyebrow, smiling. I’d never been as close to Jac as I was Frode, but he had surprised me today.

“Thank you.”

He frowned, steering me away from an aristocrat who eyed us with too much interest. “For what?”

I shrugged. “For supporting me. For agreeing to this scheme.”

Jac chuckled under his breath. “The war has kept us apart. If I’d known you were doing more than performing petty acts of rebellion, I would have joined you in your endeavors long ago. The efforts to overtake Kryllian have continued for far too long.”

I smiled, grateful he’d snuck his way into our plans.

With so many unknown godtouched surrounding us, we kept our conversation generalized. Curious eyes followed our every movement, and I had no doubt ears were fine-tuned to listen in on our exchange. Still, Jac steered me clear of sycophantic conversations with those who sought to belittle me. I was under no impression that any guest was here to offer their blessings on my impending nuptials.

We turned our conversation to the war. “Do you fight with a bow and arrow on the front?” I asked, realizing for the first time I didn’t know the answer. “Or do you use your godtouch and transform into a beast?”

“Depends on the day,” he said. “If it’s a larger battle, I’ll use my godtouch. For little skirmishes, though, a bow and arrow do fine.”

“Tell me about the Hellbringer.” It had been over twenty-four hours since I thought I saw the masked Kryllian general outside the prison, but he haunted my thoughts. I wondered if he watched me from hidden places—if he knew what we were planning to do tonight.

If he was even real. It was entirely possible I was losing my hold on reality.

“What is there to say?” Jac’s voice was gruff. “He’s a terror in a mask. A monster in human skin. It’s hard to believe people see him and live to tell the tale.”

The description warred with the glamour of the ballroom around us, just as the beauty of the party warred with the unsubtle glances and vicious stares of the attendees. The Hellbringer was a monster in human skin and I was a privileged royal daughter dressed in finery I didn’t deserve. A pawn in a ballgown.

Though if everything went right tonight, that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Frode approached us, parting the crowd like a wave. The godtouched were disgusted by me, but they didn’t love Frode either. He had a reputation as a drunkard, a shameful addition to the royal family. The two of us originally bonded over our shared notoriety, black sheep left to their own devices.

Tonight he looked royal as ever in his finery. “It’s time,” he told me. I couldn’t read minds, but it was easy to see the nervousness on his face. He smiled slightly when he heard that thought. “I’m not as nervous as Volkan. Though I’m not sure what he has to be nervous about—you’re the one who will suffer if this doesn’t work.”

I glanced around, grateful none of the partygoers seemed to be paying us much attention. I released Jac’s arm and took Frode’s instead, the older brother guiding me to the dais where the thrones awaited.

Volkan waited for me on the dais and I stepped up to standbeside him. Frode gave me an encouraging nod before stepping down to stand in line next to the thrones with my mother and other brothers.

When my fiancé took my hand in his, I was surprised but not ungrateful. There was a gentleness about Volkan I appreciated. It bolstered my strength.

I bowed low to my father. He smiled, but I knew not a soul in the room fell for it. Each person in attendance tonight was godtouched. They each had their own magic. And they’d all whispered to each other on the day I turned nine what a disgrace it must be to father a godforsaken child when magic supposedly ran so strongly in one’s bloodline.

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