Page 60 of Escaping Pirates
“Congratulations on your engagement,” Tyrone told her smoothly, his charming personality back in place. “I heard the news and was thrilled for you. A throne is much better than a prison cell, isn’t it?”
Dahlia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You always did know how to make a girl feel appreciated,” she said, hervoice sweet as sugared poison. Her gaze flicked briefly to me. “And who’s this? I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
Tyrone’s grip tightened. “She’s my guest, and she doesn’t like parties.”
Dahlia arched a brow. “Strange place for someone who doesn’t like parties. What is your name, guest?”
“Her name is—” Tyrone began.
“Let her speak for herself,” Prince Korth cut in.
Tyrone’s fingers pulsed around my hand in a warning. “Go on, Leia.”
“I’m…Leia.” I dared a glance at Dahlia, hoping she could see the fear in my eyes, the silent scream beneath my stillness.
“Leia, your lip stain is smudged,” Dahlia told me casually, whipping out her silk handkerchief and leaning in to blot at a spot on the side of my mouth. My heart sank. Did she not understand after all? “Do you need more? You can have mine.” She handed me a thin tube of rouge along with the slightly stained handkerchief. “This is my fiancé, Prince Korth of Haven Harbor. Do you know him?”
“We’ve never met, but I’ve seen you and your sister before,” I told him while Tyrone’s nails dug into the back of my hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Korth told me, and he turned his gaze to Tyrone. “Remind me who you are.”
“Captain Tyrone Renshaw. I helped your lovely fiancée about a year ago when she needed an escape. I believe she was intended for the gallows before that.” He met Korth’s gaze with a challenging one of his own. “She owes me her life.”
“You were compensated for your efforts by the rebellion,” Dahlia said dismissively. “I owe you nothing.”
Tyrone’s jaw locked. “It’s dangerous to burn bridges.”
Dahlia smirked. “I don’t mind doing so. I can swim. Besides, burning bridges will often light the path ahead.”
Tyrone's eyes narrowed and Korth looked thoroughly discomfited.
“Thank you for your help,” I told her, trying to hand back the handkerchief and tube.
“Keep it,” she told me, keeping her eyes locked on Tyrone. “You need it more than I do.”
She and Korth left, and it was only by thinking of Harlan that I managed not to shout after them.
“Let’s go,” Tyrone snarled, dragging me along as we made our way out of the ballroom and down the sweeping staircase. His grip was going to leave bruises. The music swelled behind us, a false note of elegance against the panic racing through my chest.
I stumbled, just slightly, and sucked in my breath from the pain.
He kept me upright. “What?”
“My shoe,” I said breathlessly. “It’s rubbing my heel raw. I just need a second, please.”
He looked me over, calculating. “Fine. Make it fast.”
I lowered myself onto the steps, letting my shadow shield my movements. My fingers shook as I pulled Dahlia’s silk handkerchief from my sleeve. Clutching the small vial of rouge, I scrawled quickly on the inside of the handkerchief in trembling letters:
I folded the cloth and tucked it deep into the toe of the shoe, then slipped it back on, except I didn’t push my heel all the way in.
“Let’s go.” Tyrone bent to clamp his hand around my arm.
I stood, and as Tyrone pulled me down the rest of the steps, I let my shoe slip free behind me. There was the faintest tinkle as it came to rest, and I faked a sneeze to mask the sound. I looked back once, heart pounding, as we disappeared into the shadows of an alleyway. The slipper gleamed faintly on the bottom steps of the stairway.
I stumbled, but Tyrone’s grip kept me balanced. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Blisters.”
He nodded sympathetically. “We’ll see to them back at the ship. You’ll live.”
