Page 111 of Of Sword & Silver

KYRIE

The strangest thing about covertly trying to pull all the attention in the room is when I actually receive it.

I walk through the carved double doors into Alaric’s palace, the vestibule packed with partygoers in a rainbow of colors and masks to match, handing the velvet cloak to the servant in the entryway with a smile, and let them look.

The dress leaves little to the imagination, the tell-tale scars standing out purposefully thanks to the low back.

If the King of Diamonds has any doubts about who I am, regardless of my signature hair—the scars will speak for themselves.

Anyone who remembers me from my time here will remember those scars just as well as the unsubtle message they send.

Here I am.

Come and get me.

I trail my fingertips along the round marble-topped table in the middle of the foyer, taking my time, sniffing the vase full of enchanted lilacs.

My skin grows hot from the attention of many eyes, my ears burning from the whispers behind hands.

I pretend like I hear nothing, like I see nothing, and continue through the second entryway, a domed two-story masterpiece that offers a view of the night sky unlike any other palace in Heska.

Not that I’ve been to many palaces.

But still. It’s nice.

I crane my neck up. There, in the night sky, hangs the constellation Filarion. Despite the dread curdling my stomach, the anxiety I feel every time I’m about to do something like this, the memory of that night with the direcat and the Sword settles over me like a warm blanket.

Filarion, both direcat and his Fae namesake, wouldn’t waste time and energy feeling sick over the danger.

They would charge into battle.

This is a battle for my life and death, and I’ll be damned if I let Alaric get the best of me.

A sharp smile curves my lips, and I keep my head high as I glide through the gilded archway towards the sound of music floating from the ballroom.

Conversation stutters, then stops, as I make my way to the dance floor, guests parting before me with stunned expressions.

It’s so nice to be remembered.

“Care to dance?” a low voice asks, sending a shiver down my spine.

I don’t bother answering, but simply extend my hand, which the Sword takes in his.

For all the time we spent planning this moment, down to our coordinating outfits, we didn’t practice dancing. The Sword just grunted at me in annoyance when I pestered him about it, and my heart beats ever faster as he leads me onto the black-veined marble floor.

One warm hand drops to my waist, his callouses rough and catching on the sheer fabric. I inhale.

He exhales, and we move.

My eyebrows rise in surprise.

“You are surprisingly graceful.”

“You’re shocked,” he huffs, his dimple showing as he smiles down at me.

That’s all it takes for heat and lust to replace the simmering anxiety. I tilt my head back and laugh as he twirls me, marking both the exits and where the King of Diamonds’ guards are as we move.

Everything is as I expected; as I remembered, too.

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