Page 18 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Glancing around, Quinn searched for her friends for help, but they had already traveled on without her, leaving her to face these demons alone.
The countess waved down a waiter and ordered a cocktail before turning her attention back to the obstacle in front of her, glaring. Her eyes searched Quinn from her toes to the tight corset of her green gown. A disgusted expression flashed across Teagan’s face but was quickly covered up with a sensual tilt of her lips. “I see the trash dressed up tonight. Who did you steal your frock from?”
Quinn clenched her teeth and smiled through a breath, nervously glancing down at Teagan’s dress. Feathers dripped from the bodice like dried wax, falling down the skirt like teardrops. It was beautiful and looked expensive.
The aristocracy always turned their noses down on the lower classes. The titled and rich generally had enough money and privilege to avoid the Bargainers and were never desperate enough to make costly deals, yet they still benefited from them.
As a medical examiner, Quinn was considered part of the working class, but as soon as she made it into the Queen’s Royalle Ballet, she would join the highest ranks of society. New Swansea’s currency was fame and fortune. And the most revered groups in the city were ballerinas and silent movie stars. The aristocracy were only figureheads, and their only real power rested in their titles and wealth. But as the century turned, a lot of their wealth was draining, and the business tycoons were taking over.
Emrys, of course, had both fame and fortune, placing him squarely at the top of society.
“You look dazzling tonight, Quinnevere,” the prince said with a velvet-smooth voice.
The countess suppressed a snort.
Quinn stilled. It was unclear if he was making fun of her, too. He had the ability to make his insults appear as compliments.
“I—” Quinn started, trying to figure out the right words to escape the situation. She needed to regroup and figure out how to trap him alone . . . preferably where no one would see them.
“Are you enjoying your birthday?” Emrys's gaze cut into her with the intensity of an earthquake.
Quinn’s throat tightened. How the fuck did he know that? She tried her best to hide it from her friends, let alone the people she disliked the most in the world. “It is unsettling that you know that, Emrys.”
“What?” He shrugged. “I keep tabs on all my enemies.” A playful smile danced on his lips, but a chill slid down her spine. “Still . . . it’s your twenty-third.The big year.Are you going to perform the rite?”
Yes, and now I have to seduce you.
“I—” Oh, Quinn needed to get away as soon as possible. She was falling apart. Words weren’t even coming to her anymore. Taking a big breath, she glanced around the room, looking for an excuse, anything to escape. “Oh, look . . .” She pointed into the crowd. “Jane. I must go.”
“Miss Ashelle.” Emrys nodded his head with respect. Quinn nodded back before darting into a group of festive people.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That went as terribly as she could have possibly imagined. She wanted to drown in a frozen lake.Oh, mirrors, you’re pathetic, Quinn. You can’t even talk to the prince, let alone kiss him.
As if adding to her misery, the clock struck eleven.One hour. Shit.
But she needed to regroup and get her friends. It didn’t take long for her to find them on a ledge. They usually watched the shows in one of two places. A private booth or the ledges surrounding the room.
“Constance said to get you in trouble, but I define engineering as trouble. I know she wouldn’t approve, but then she shouldn’t have left you in my hands.” From out of Giselle’s dress pocket, she pulled out a camera.
Quinn laughed. “Is this one of your new inventions?”
“Yes, it’s a camera with a portable darkroom, and it worked the other day,” Giselle said. “I want to test it again tonight, but it’s definitely better than what a mirror could create.”
Giselle didn’t like mirror deals for technology because they always left humans far more reliant and beholden to them. She much preferred to make her own things.
“It truly worked?” Quinn sat up a little straighter. Giselle was known for her inventions not fully working as intended.
“Well . . . It mostly works.” Giselle took a picture and showed Quinn. After a couple of minutes, a distorted picture printed out from the bottom of the camera. “See, it’s not perfect, but it works.”
“It’s amazing, G.”
Their conversation was cut off because the lights grew dim, and the dance floor cleared of patrons. With a loud pop and an explosion of blue fire, the show began, and dancers gilded in, feathers grazing the floor. Quinn was exhausted watching them. It was like they were shot out of a cannon, running and dancing,quick steps and kicks designed to expose as much of their petticoats as possible.
“Do you see their emotional expression?” Jane asked, pointing at the dancers, and keeping her promise from earlier to coach Quinn’s artistry.
Quinn rubbed her palms together. Of course, she could see it, but she couldn’t do it. “Yes.”
Jane squeezed Quinn’s hand empathetically, knowing the depths of her friend’s struggle. “As dancers, we are also actors. And in order to act, we need to have access to either true emotions or imagined emotions.”
