Page 115 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

She pushed her shoulders back and took his offered arm, unable to deny that they looked a matched set. “Ready.”

His hand touched her chin, lifting it slightly. “Tonight,weare the terror of the night.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The king and queen of faerie stepped into the midnight frolic.

All eyes turned their direction as they made their elaborate entrance. Fashionably late, with enough drama to feed those in attendance. Arms linked, heads held high, stride cool and confident. Imperious, deadly, superior. Whispers swirled the room like a vortex, collecting the myriad thoughts of the attendees on their elaborate attire and terrifying visage.

Graves’s face was austere and arrogant. Kierse played the lady at his side with poise and allure. She had done this once before, but it had been a different game. At Imani’s party, where she had proven her abilities by stealing furtive letters for Graves and had felt her magic blown to bits by the warlock’s deadly wish powder, she had been a pet. A silly little wren at his side. She hadn’t even known what a wren was to the holly king, then. But she had gone from plaything to queen within the year. A giant step up.

She would have happily played the pet tonight if it kept the most powerful beings in the city from sizing her up. Her entire life she had been a creature of stealth. Trying to fit into her new role was like stuffing her feet into shoes a size too small.

But she was on the outside of the game no longer. Shewas a player.

A waiter in a black tuxedo offered them champagne flutes from a tray. Graves took one and handed it to Kierse, who took a sip, tasting a floral hint to the dry refreshment.

The room was awash with in-bloom cherry blossom trees. The pink petals brightened the rooftop, heedless of the fact it was too late in the season for such flowers. She could almost scent the magic that had been used to create such a spectacle. The roof itself was made of retractable glass, halfway open to the midnight air for the guests, but covered over the theater performance. Tables and chairs were scattered amongst the costumed attendees, who were watching the folly and each other with unequal intensity.

“This place is stunning,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“It’s an exact replica of its Ziegfeld days,” Graves said. “Impressive.”

Kierse had only seen grainy photographs of what it had once looked like, but if Graves was awed, the similarity was beyond what she could discern.

The show itself was well intoA Midsummer Night’s Dream. Hermia lay on the forest floor in nothing but a silken night gown with her lover, Lysander, pressed against her breast. The girl was captivating to watch, dragging eyes back to the stage as she lay there disparaging the man for touching her, while her eyes longed for him.

“She’s incredible,” Kierse murmured.

“Lyra Anderson,” Graves supplied. “I’m…acquainted with her parents.”

“Of course you are.”

“Her father, incidentally, does not want her on thestage,” Graves added.

“What?” Kierse said with wide eyes. “Why not?Lookat her.”

“Are you speaking of her talent or her beauty?”

Kierse lifted her chin, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Both.”

“Her talent is unparalleled,” he agreed. “Her beauty doesn’t hold a candle to the sight before me.”

“Are you turning into Shakespeare?” she asked with a flush to her cheeks.

“Certainly not. I know my strengths. I shall leave Will with his.”

“First-name basis? Of course you knew him,” she said with a soft laugh.

“I was there when the Globe burned down,” he said with a shake of his head. “One of the times. And I confess,” he said as his eyes lifted back to the stage, “she is a very compelling Hermia.”

“Well, now I might be jealous,” she teased.

His arm wrapped around her waist as he leaned in to whisper, “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.’”

Kierse had read that exact line earlier today while getting ready. It struck a chord within her when Helena said it to show that her love was not just rooted in attraction, but also connection and understanding. That Graves was quoting it now made her shiver.

“I thought this wasn’t your strength,” she said softly.

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