Page 14 of The Shadow Heir

“It will work,” Nina said, walking up to us with a fixed, poised expression. This conundrum was of little consequence to her. “Now, we have guests waiting.”

“They came earlier,” I whispered as Nina walked toward the door. “I met them. They are fae.Shadowfae.”

Papá’s face dropped to be level with mine. “You met Oscuro?”

I shook my head. “He said his name was Casimiro, the son of the Shadow King.”

Papá straightened. The breath leaving his lungs smelled of his prized wine. “Oh, Zara. This marriage will be our salvation. You were right to tell me that marriage breaks these kinds of things.” He never used the word curse…ormaldita.

Love breaks curses, I’d told him. Not weddings. But maybe to a fae bargain, they were one and the same? We could only hope.

Nina scoffed. “Be glad that you are marrying at all, under the circumstances. At least your beauty will please Montrose.”

I glanced down at my cleavage. “By beauty, you mean this, right?”

She pursed her lips.

Whenever she spoke of my body like a painting that was for sale, I winced. I grabbed the fringed shawl she held out toward me and wrapped it around my shoulders, crossing it over my chest.

Flamenco dresses were not worn by the high nobility in Avencia, save for once a year. During theFestival de los Cuentos, when any costume was allowable, many women opted to wear flamenco-style dresses, embracing for one week the form-fitting dresses stacked with ruffles. That festival had ended weeks ago, and I’d be the only one wearing this style tonight.

All the more reason, according to my stepmother, for my soon-to-be husband to be fawning over me.

An unwanted chill raked down my spine as I recalled the disheveled princeling who’d stolen my dagger. I didn’t want to think of him. By the time he returned to collect me, the bargain would be broken. It had to be.

Grinding my teeth, I focused instead on the dance I was about to perform, moving through the opening steps in my head as I exited the room on my father’s arm, Nina walking behind us.

“You are a dancer,” Nina hissed over our shoulders. “Great men think nothing more of women on a stage than they do of a fancy chair or a nice wine goblet. Entertainers are like ornaments at a party. Something to be admired but nothing more. I’m shocked Montrose agreed to let his bride dance tonight.”

A weight sank in my stomach as all the blood rushed from my head. Usually, the moments before a dance amplified my spirit and gave life to my bones. But in one statement, my stepmother had stripped everything joyful about this moment. Nina was pale and generally unassuming and she even had freckles, something rare among the Avencian people. Some of the storytellers considered freckles a curse by the sun on those who were tasteless. I knew better than that, as most of the stories told at Festival were solely for entertainment, but at times like this, I was tempted to believe that one held a little truth.

Without another word to her, we descended the stairs, pausing only as we approached the ballroom.

My father turned and kissed both of my cheeks. “We will see the end of this tonight,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t you worry. Now, go and have fun.” He smiled, but the expression was strained. He took Nina’s arm, and the two disappeared into the ballroom as the announcer called their arrival.

Raquel reappeared from the side hall and handed me my castanets. Within the ballroom, I heard my father announcing the upcoming wedding, a fact greeted by loud applause. Then the room quieted, and my father announced my performance. It was time.

I cleared my throat, made sure my castanets were secured in my fingers, then slipped quietly through the doorway onto thedance floor. A hush fell over the crowd as the tinkling glasses and laughter died down. A few snickers trickled through the seated guests, and immediately the sweat of doubt prickled through my skin.

I lifted my hands into the air, twisting my fingers around artfully. My heart pounded in my ears. Before the music began, I curled my arms in a snakelike fashion over my head, face lifted to the light above.

The music began. My foot stomped to the beat and my hips moved, the ruffles in my dress flipping as I cocked my heeled shoe sideways and spun.

The crowd watched in perfect silence.

The chandelier above was so bright it was hard to see faces in the room, which made it easier for me to concentrate on the dance. Soon I lost myself in the movements. The tension from a moment ago melted into my hot blood. The thrill of the sound, the rhythm, and the reverberations running through my legs every time I clicked my heels into the floor, erased all the anxiety and brought about a welcome oblivion.

The music was drawing to a crescendo. It was so quiet I wondered if every person in the room was holding their breath. This part of the dance required that I edge closer to the people sitting in the chairs. This was the part that had brought the crowd to their feet three weeks ago, winning me first place.

Clacking my castanets and heels in faster and faster succession, I stomped up to the nearest table to finish this performance, selecting, as usual, one man to approach for my final pose. I noticed a dark suit, though I was spinning too fast to take note of his face. He angled his body toward me, leaning one elbow against the table, the other splayed against the back of his chair, as if he was pleased with my choice, like he was some peacock worthy of being singled out in a roomful of nobility.

He eased back in a comfortable position, knees splayed out, lounging backward as I danced faster and faster, nearer and nearer. I was right in front of him, clacking and stomping as the music reached its final crescendo.

When I stomped the last step of the dance, I threw my arms up and turned my chin dramatically to the side. I had to hold the pose for five seconds, at least, for full effect. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the man had scooted his feet out so that they were on either side of mine, just under the ruffles of my dress. Heat blazed up my shins at his boldness, but I didn’t break my pose to see who the man was.

As the first applause began, I straightened and finally looked at the man sitting right in front of me. It was Casimiro, and his was the only face not smiling.

7

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