Page 139 of Of Flames and Fallacies

Last night’s events all swim back to me slowly, though, most of it comes in blurry pieces. The dancing, Archie and mussels, Celeste and Cole—the last thing I remember is Darian carrying me out of the office I stumbled into.

Wait…is thishisbed?

Ripping the sheets off my legs, I find myself still in the gown from the night before. My attention then darts over to my hand holding the blankets open, and the sleeve covering my forearm.

Wait…my dress didn’t have sleeves. And the midnight blue, gold trimmed material was dazzlingly familiar. I survey the coat I’m wearing and confirm it’s Darian’s.

My mind races trying to recall everything that happened. The way he watched and taunted me. The way he spun me in circles on the dancefloor, chandelier lights flashing around us.

I glance over to the right side of the bed to find it untouched—still folded neatly up to the layers of cushioned pillows. Peeking over the edge of the bed, I find a throw blanket pooled on the ground with a spare pillow. My gaze travels across the marbled floor and up to the fireplace, stirring the distant memory of my nightmares and the fire crackling in the ornate stone hearth.

Across the room from me is a span of large skinny windows framing rolling hills and Dragon’s Back Ridge. Another set of windows arch above them in a dome of skylights. A velvety blue settee lined in gold faces the windows. As if someone would sit there and stare out at the breathtaking expanse beyond.

Leaned up against the farthest left window is an easel with a painting and a cup with tattered paintbrushes underneath it. Swaths of black clash into bursts of blues and purples on the canvas, white freckled across the dark in varying sizes and depths.

A night sky.

I slip out of the bed for a closer look, the marbled floors cold under my bare feet. As I draw near, the brilliant details come into focus. A mountain’s silhouette is hinted at the bottom of the painting. It’s the view of Dragon’s Back Ridge from these same windows. The sky is mottled in brilliant dark hues, stars glittering against the shadows. The only imperfection is a spot at the top. A shooting star is smudged across the top of the canvas,but a furious swipe of black muddies the brilliance of it. As if someone tried to instantly blot it out.

On the ground and resting against the wall is a large cloth draped over some sort of frame. I pluck the cloth and pull it away a few inches to see what it covers. A gold curled frame shimmers in the light. Peeling the cloth off the rest of the way, I let it fall to the ground in ripples. The painting is massive, and I have to take a few steps back to fully study it.

A woman with long, brown waves sits in a luxurious, burgundy silk dress, with matching gloves reaching up her arms. Sitting on her lap is a little girl with golden brown ringlets, her sparkling blue eyes round with innocence. Bows are tied into her hair, matching her light pink frilly dress. A teddy bear is tucked into her arm with similar bows tied onto its ears.

Standing behind them both is a young boy dressed in dark formal attire. My heart skips a beat at the swipe of long, brown hair and those forest green eyes. Except, they are void of the malice and hardness I’ve come to know. A soft hint of a grin pulls at his boyish lips.

But what makes me shiver is the woman—his mother. Where there should be pupils and irises, is an expanse of ghostly white. It’s oddly chilling compared to the intricate details of the rest of the subjects. It makes her look…haunting. Inhuman.

I stare for a little while, before an uneasiness creeps up on me, as if I’m looking at something I shouldn’t be. Quickly, I pull the cloth back over the painting.

My stomach growls in a gnawing hunger. I find my shoes near the bed, slide them on, and drape Darian’s jacket on the settee. Much to my relief, and despite not knowing the layout of the palace and my current location, I make it back to my room without garnering any attention.

I change out of my dress from the night before and into the modest dress I wore to Windmere with Celeste. Dragging abrush through my hair, I splash water on my face and head back out of my room. Winding through the hallways, I find the hall table I drunkenly crashed into last night. I adjust a picture I left upside down, and continue toward the great dining hall.

Archie bounds toward me once I join the rest of the group gathered in the dining hall, his eyes bright.

He hugs me from the side, his arm looped around my neck. “Good morning, sunshine! You’ll never guess what happened after you left.”

“After I left?”

“Yeah! I went and talked to Melaina. I told her how I felt.” Archie bites his bottom lip. “We uh…we kissed.”

“Archie!” I swat his arm playfully and hiss, “You shouldn’t kiss and tell, you scoundrel, you!”

He blushes and ducks his head. A smile spreads on my lips as I squeeze his shoulder. I scan the rest of the room and catch sight of Darian off at the breakfast buffet table, piling fruit and pastries onto a tray. He turns to walk toward me. When he sees me, he grins and slows, motioning toward the tray in his hand.

I excuse myself from Archie, grab a glass of water and a pastry, before taking a seat at the table across from Darian.

“Wow…” I start, taking a bite of the pastry I grabbed. I survey the heaping amounts of fruit, cheese, bread, and pastries piled on his tray. “Quite the appetite you have there, huh?”

He blinks up at me and smiles that devilishly handsome smile of his. “Guess you could say enough for two people. I intended on eating it in my room, but there was a change of plans.”

A shiver snakes down my back at the thought of it all, had I stayed put. Darian, bringing me breakfast in bed. Inhisbed. Where there were paintings and sweeping views of Dragon’s Back Ridge. It was all so…personal?

A shuffle of feet approaches us from the corner of the room. A guard holds out an envelope for Darian, bowing his head. “Mr. Raventhorn.”

Darian rips open the red wax seal and scans through it. I’m so tempted to snag it from him, wondering what on earth he could be getting correspondence for. Especially if all of his previous letters were addressed from Celeste.

His jaw tenses, the color draining from his face. He quickly folds the letter and stands with a suddenness that makes me flinch. Without a word, he turns and strides out of the room, his tray of food untouched. I watch him go as Celeste sits next to me.

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