Page 143 of Esperance

His grip on her arm tightened briefly, then fell away. “You’re welcome.”

“No, really—thank you.” She pursed her lips, and her heart beat a little too fast as he met her stare. “No matter what happens tonight, I’m grateful that you trusted me.”

His eyes softened. “I’m glad you trusted me, too. But nothing bad is going to happen tonight.”

“I know.” The words were quiet, but weighted.

She felt his slight tug of hesitation before he shifted closer, his hands lifting to frame her face. “This isn’t a goodbye, all right?”

Her chest tightened. “All right.”

Carver leaned in, and his anticipation amplified her own. His breath teased her skin a second before his lips swept over hers, slow and gentle. His hand curved around the side of her neck, holding her close.

Her pulse pounded. She melted against him, her toes curling as he changed the angle of the kiss.

He was right, this wasn’t a goodbye. It was a promise. And when he pulled back and looked at her with bright eyes, she knew it was one she would carry with her for far longer than tonight.

Saints help her, she was in love with her husband.

Amryn tugged on the edge of her mask. It covered the top half of her face, a silver and black affair with imitation diamonds. Ahmi had outdone herself, but it looked like all the maids had been busy—everyone looked elegant, and the air was festive as she and Carver stepped into the vaulted ballroom.

Clerics with musical talents played an assortment of instruments in the corner, and just the sight of a cello made Amryn’s fingers ache to dance across the strings. The room itself was brightly lit and decorated with potted fronds and bright flowers from the gardens. Perfumes scented the air along with sweet pastries, diced fruit, fresh bread, and savory meats. There were tables and chairs on one end of the room, and most of the seats were taken by clerics and off-duty servants. The crowd of masked dancers was thicker than Amryn had expected, as not only the Empire’s Chosen but also clerics danced. Food, wine, music, dancing—everything about the atmosphere was festive. The darker edge Amryn felt was certainly not perceived by everyone in the room; most of the people on the dance floor had no idea what was coming.

Amryn kept running the plan through her head.

A half hour before midnight, Jayveh would retire to her room with a headache; in reality, she would be escorted by her guards to the library. Argent hadn’t wanted her in the ballroom at all, but she’d insisted that not putting in any sort of appearance could make the rebels nervous and disrupt all their plans for the night. Carver had agreed, and Argent had been outvoted.

Just before a quarter to midnight, Amryn would make her way to the ladies’ tea room.

Ten minutes to midnight, Ford—who was waiting in a nearby room—would exchange clothes with Argent. He’d return to the ballroom as the prince, with Argent’s bodyguards around him. Disguised in simple masks and nondescript clothing, Argent and his remaining guards would join Jayveh in the library.

At midnight, the rebels would strike—and Carver, Ford, and Argent’s bodyguards would catch them.

“What if they use an arrow or something to shoot you from afar?” Amryn had asked.

“They won’t,” Carver said, utterly confident. “A bow is too large to smuggle in, and there are no good vantages in the ballroom. They’d be shooting through a crowd, and that is doomed to fail. It will be close, with a small blade—probably one they’ll hide up their sleeve.”

She didn’t quite see how getting stabbed was any better than being shot, but at least Ford and Carver would be watching each other’s backs.

“If possible, they’ll try to attack as a group,” Carver had continued. “Samuel will probably attack me, and his rebel friends will attack the guards. They’ll be relying on the element of surprise—which they no longer have—to make a clean strike, and then to flee. Their plan won’t work.”

Carver made it all sound so easy, but Amryn knew countless things could go wrong. She needed to stop thinking of everything that could fail, or she’d drive herself mad.

“Dance with me.”

Amryn turned to Carver, who stood at her side. His mask had also been designed by Ahmi, and it was similar to Amryn’s—no doubt on purpose, so they could match. It covered the upper part of his face in black with silver accents. His strong jaw was visible, as was his mouth. His blue eyes glittered like gemstones.

Still reeling with the realization that she was in love with this man, Amryn tried to adopt a casual smile. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. “You know, I think it’s customary toask.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “And risk the chance of you saying no?” He took her hand and tugged her onto the floor. Amryn caught sight of Jayveh and Argent, who looked magnificent dressed in matching crimson and gold. She spotted Samuel and Sadia on the other side of the dance floor, wearing blue and white.

Carver gathered Amryn into his arms, turning her gently to face him. His palm pressed against her lower back, his other hand enfolding hers. Her same hand also held up part of her skirt, and she was grateful that it was so long and wide that it easily kept her hidden blade covered.

She rested her free hand on his shoulder, her heart beating a little faster now. “I’m not a very good dancer,” she warned him.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t worry. I am.”

He led her fluidly into the sweeping steps of the waltz, his steps capable and sure. His fingers tightened as he spun her around, and the lights, colors, and sounds blurred. He guided her through every movement, helped her sweep across the floor with an ease and grace she’d never experienced before.

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