Page 161 of A Sin So Pure

I pivot and hold my hands out, mimicking a magician who has performed a trick.

“There,” I say, my own cunning grin plastered across my face. “Not very climactic, is it?”

That knocks people from their entranced stupor. The queen claps, her people following suit enthusiastically.

“That is unreal,” she laughs. “Quite a talent indeed.”

I take my seat, and Silas hands me my gloves. I pull them on carefully and quietly as the table assumes a state close to normalcy—however normal our two Courts can act with each other.

It’s not until dinner is cleared and the sprites are playing a slow, somber tune that the energy shifts.

It’s time.

Silas stands, offering me his hand.

“Dance?”

I hesitate; I know Patience won’t approach me if I’m dancing with Silas. No, my uncle will wait until I’m dancing with the person who I care about most in the room. The one he knows I want to protect.

I push past the twinge of fear in my heart—he won’t hurt her right now; I’ll hand her off to Josie when he comes, and then it’ll be okay.

And selfishly, I want this dance with her.

I grab her hand.

“Ask me again after I’m done with this one,” I say to Silas, pulling Imogen from her seat.

“Dance with me?” I ask, mocking the question she would ask me every night I frequented the Den just to see her.

“Don’t I always?” she chides, quoting my usual response.

She giggles as I draw her close to me on the dance floor; her arms circle around my neck, and my hands sit low on her back. We sway among the Seelie, no others from our Court having taken the opportunity to dance.

Too many eyes burn holes in my back, but I ignore them, my focus set wholly on Imogen. Resting my forehead against hers, I bask in her warmth.

“You’re acting strange today,” she whispers.

“Shhh, I want to enjoy a dance with you.”

Imogen hums suspiciously. “Okay.”

I twirl her; she laughs.

We sway, wrapped around each other.

We don’t talk, at least not with our mouths. I hope my eyes communicate all that I want to say.

Something heavy passes between us.

Her blond brows scrunch over those molten amber eyes. I graze my thumb over her freckled cheek.

It feels like a goodbye.

I hope that it isn’t—that it’s all in my head—but it’s hard to ignore the all too familiar sinking of my gut.

“Nor—"

There’s a tap on Imogen’s shoulder. She pulls back, startled, breaking the intimate moment.

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