Page 195 of The Dawn of the Cursed Queen

“My feet hurt,” I said, knowing it sounded ridiculous, but my head was still reeling.

He glanced down before flashing me another devilishly handsome smile. “They look fine to me.”

“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving,” I said.

His smile faltered. “That they can, witch queen.”

“What?” I asked.

His eyes flicked to something behind me at the same moment his date tapped his forearm. His pupils grew a fraction wider, and he stepped away from me before excusing himself. I glanced over my shoulder to see Vincent storming up the stairs. Fuck. I turned back, but my mysterious conversationalist had already left. I gathered my dress again, heading toward the corridor that led to the private rooms. Silence fell behind me, and I could feel the weight of Vincent’s gaze on me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped from behind me.

I cursed celestial speed, Kaden, and his big mouth.

I kept walking, not bothering to slow down. “To bed. You can keep the cheap party. I’ll pass, and you can go fu—”

My words died on a yelp as he grabbed my arm, turning me away from my exit and down a hallway lined with paintings and statues.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

CAMILLA

I hit at his hand as he dragged me further down the hall. “Let go of me.”

Vincent ignored my struggles, his grip tightening to the point of pain. I thought about whipping out a string of magic and cutting his arm off at the elbow.

“Would you stop?” he scolded, leading me into a room and shutting the door behind us.

“Let me go.”

“So you can run away? Do you really think you’d escape this place? That people have not tried?” he snapped at me.

“Fucking Kaden,” I sneered. “Sorry he ruined your little date, but I just wanted to leave that stupid party.”

He laughed and spun me to face him. “Please, do not lie to me. I recognized that defiance and determination on your face from across the room.”

“Oh, did you? I’m surprised you can see anything besides her.”

“You’re one to talk,” he snapped back.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He scowled and released me.

I stalked away from him. This room was too damn small with him in it. Fragrant candles burned on the desk, and a large globe bristling with pins sat nearby.

Turning toward him, I lifted the hem of my dress and snapped, “Are you still sleeping with her?”

“Why would you ask me that?” he snarled, his head whipping toward me.

My chest heaved. My already unstable emotions had gone haywire the second that door closed. I hadn’t talked to him in days, yet it felt longer. I’d been trapped in my damn routine again, and I was losing it.

“You are, aren’t you?” I huffed. “What? You get worked up with me, then run to her to finish the job?”

His lips thinned, his brow darkening in anger. He took a step toward me. “Is that what you think?”

We danced around each other. Vincent stalked me like a predator, but I was done giving him what he wanted. Every step he took, I countered, staying out of his reach. I was just so . . . frustrated with him. The stolen glances and midnight kisses had heightened my need and made me . . . hope. He made me believe that maybe there could be something, that maybe I wasn’t alone. Then I had to watch him put his hand on her waist and laugh with her as they danced. The way she couldn’t keep her hands off of him made my blood boil.

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