Page 35 of In the Ravenous Dark
I snatch the first goblet of wine I see from a passing silver tray and down it. I’ve frankly tried to forget about the princessandour kiss. I still can’t help but wonder how she’s dealing with the likely possibility of her betrothal… and then tell myself I shouldn’t care. I have enough on my plate.
Handing off my empty glass to someone I’m not even entirely sure is a servant, I turn away from the dais. “Damn expectations and damn the king. I don’t care.”
“I agree.”
I nearly choke in surprise as Lydea slides up alongside me as silently as a shade, mirth and something more dangerous glittering in her dark eyes. Real-looking raven’s wings and thorny branches wrought in silver crown her black hair. A stole of black feathers lines her shoulders, from which falls a dress made of silver links, woven loosely enough that I can catch glimpses of the bloodline and pale skin underneath. Not that I’m looking—much. Lydea’s own gaze travels the length of my body, tracing black silk and ruby strands and leaving heat in its wake.
“Mm, so you have a dark side as well, do you?” she asks.
I struggle to recover from the sight of her, never mind the suddenly irresistible memory of our kissing. Lydea is flawless. Beautiful and deadly, she reminds me of the perfect, shining coils of a waiting snake. As with the dead man, I want to disturb her perfection. I summon a sardonic tone. “My life did just get upended.”
Lydea’s smirk fades. “Indeed. I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you?”
She shrugs, uninterested in meeting my challenge. “As far as I’m capable.”
My fists tighten involuntarily.
Japha edges closer, between me and the princess, smiling brightly—an obvious diversion. “If you refuse to pay your respects to the king, Rovan, shall we dance?”
Lydea squeezes Japha’s arm lightly. “I believe my rank surpasses yours, and so it ismyright to ask Rovan for a dance.”
My eyes widen in alarm.
Japha laughs, but there’s an edge of nervousness in it. “You, dancing with a womantonight, of all nights? People will talk, dear cousin.”
“As if you were one to care aboutthat,” she says, running admiring fingertips over Japha’s latest inspiration in formal attire: a dark teal strophion meant to define the female figure, crisscrossing over a copper breastplate shaped for a man, with a long wine-colored chiton underneath. A crown of teal flowers slowly blooms and refolds, over and over, atop their close-cropped hair—magic, of course, literally and figuratively. Lydea smiles wickedly. “Anyway, let them talk. If it is a question of who will lead… I will.”
My heart speeds up. I don’t trust Lydea… and maybe I don’t trust myself.
“Please, Rovan,” Lydea says, her voice low and husky. “It islikely my last night to be free. Fly with me.” She holds out a pale, slender hand, traced in red sigils.
Is this flying?I remember asking her in a drunken haze.
Like Japha, Lydea must feel the bars of a cage about to come down around her this evening. I see the princess’s headpiece—the branches tangling the raven’s wings, thorns pinning them down—in a new light.
I take Lydea’s hand. As the princess leads me down along the tiers toward the ebb and flow of dancing couples in the low center of the room, I shoot a panicked glance back at Japha. They merely shrug, as if to say,You got yourself into this mess.
Lydea turns about, liquid smooth, entwining the fingers of one hand with mine and putting the other at my hip. Her fingernails graze my skin through my gown. I suddenly wish I had a lot more wine, but then we’re dancing.
I’ve never been a skilled dancer, despite my recent lessons. But with Lydea leading, I don’t need to be. She dances well enough for the both of us.
“Why do you want to dance with me?” I ask bluntly. “Is this some attempt to humiliate me further?”
“Does it look like I’m humiliating you?” she asks with a delicate arch of her black eyebrow. We glide and twirl across the blue-veined marble in a shimmer of rubies and silver links.
“I can’t say this is humiliating, no,” I say, trying to pull myself together, “but I can’t fail to remember the last function like this. Your family punished me and shamed my father.”
“Do you forget what happenedafter, or were you too drunk? Or maybe you just want to forget, because of my family?” Lydea’s hand tightens on mine. “Remember, it wasn’tmewho forced your father to bow. That wasmyfather.” No amount of warm honey can hide the bitterness in her tone.
I’m surprised. “You really don’t like him.” It’s not a question,and I should be more careful than that. Not only are others close enough to eavesdrop, but our ever-present, if currently invisible guardians can likely hear everything.
“Ah-ah,” Lydea says, leaning forward to breathe the admonishment into my ear, sending shivers down my neck. “Don’t expect me to spill my guts when you haven’t even stabbed me yet.” She draws back, red lips pouting. “You haven’t even tried tokissme again.”
Blood blossoms in my cheeks in a rush, and the princess laughs, damn her.
“So youdoremember what happened last time.” She sounds delighted.
