Page 7 of Point of No Return

The comment gives her away completely.My suspicions were correct. It isn’t likely that a fellow Prevyain was sold to the house as a simple lady’s maid. We’re valued for more… distinctive traits.

I smile all the same. “Do most lady’s maids try to get to know their ladies?” She visibly blanches at the question, and I smile again at the confirmation. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone your secret.” I turn toward the door knowing that over the last hour, guests have been arriving by the handful.

“You’re clever,” she says, and I slow as I approach the door. “I like that.”

“I think you and I will get along far better if we’re honest with one another.”

“Then you agree: No lying.”

I raise a brow at her, wondering what her newfound angle might be. She wants information obviously, but everyone knows why I’m here. Or at least they think they do. My engagement is a match made in heaven by the hands of men. Or at the hands of my mother, I should say. This match isn’t for love- it’s a transaction. The Benenatis know it. I know it. The only difference is that status isn’t all I’m after.

“I have no reason to lie,” I agree half-heartedly, and she nods once.

“How much are you dreading it?” she juts her chin toward the hall where music is already floating in from the ballroom. “Marrying him.”

I scoff a laugh.

At least she’s being direct about something.

“Tell me, did you like being sold to the highest bidder?”

She pulls another smile, but her lips are drawn tight. “He’s powerful enough that I don’t have to worry about being sold ever again.”

That’s probably the only real thing I know about her. The only real truth she’s given me, and I return her a smile, glad I’ve avoided her line of questioning for now.

“Small mercies.”

We don’t speak for the rest of the trek toward the ballroom. Two hallways overlook the first floor of Viserion. One, overlooking the gardens, houses the dining hall. The other hall on the opposite side overlooks the stairs and ballroom. I’m not surprised to find Aleks at the head of the stairs, nursing a crystal glass of champagne as he looks over the crowd.

He grins when he sees me, the same grin his father wears only less crooked and with all of his teeth intact. “You look as amazing as always, Charlotte.”

He, himself, looks particularly suave in a suit. Clean, polished, regal even. It’s likely the reason he flirts with every living, breathing thing under the sun.

“You don’t clean up so bad yourself,” I smile and bat my lashes prettily. “Have my parents arrived yet?” I survey the crowd below us, but with the bustle of dresses and suits clambering around, it’s difficult to make anyone out.

From behind, a voice replies: “I’m happy to take you to them myself.”

I don’t have to turn to know who it is. My fiancé’s reputation precedes him: He’s always been known as the recluse of the Benenati brothers. Reserved, slow to anger, but just as dangerous as the rest of them.

What the stories didn’t tell me is that he’s even more handsome than his brother. Rather than Aleksander’s blond locks, his hair is midnight black, but they both have the same blue-gray eyes. Though his are far more insightful. As soon as they landed on me the first time a few days ago, I knew hiding from him was going to be a great-deal more challenging than I thought.

His eyes burned into me like a brand, and I saw only one thing in them: Hatred. That same look is in his eyes now.

“He speaks,” I say after a beat, but as he nears, the humor drains from my voice. “Though I doubt many things can actually make you happy, Skar.”

He narrows his eyes as he comes to a stop beside me. I have to look up in order to meet his eye directly, and I study him closely.

Say something. Tell me what I need to know about you.

“Seems she’s figured you out already, brother,” Aleks laughs behind his glass, but my eyes never leave Skar’s.

“He’s made his distaste quite clear,” I say, lacing my arm through his and saddling up beside him anyways. I know my part to play. “Now… my parents?”

He doesn’t bother objecting, and a winning smile graces my face as he shifts uncomfortably beside me. But we descend the stairs to the party, arm-in-arm. Every eye floats our way. People speak in hushed voices as we pass, whispers of our appearance together spreading like wildfire:

“He’s with the Prevyain girl after all.”

“Did you know the Orlovas were going to be here?”

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