Page 41 of An Honored Vow

Mistress Augustine presents: The Dance of Elves.

House of Harvest. Invite only.

“How many lords did you invite?” I looked up at them both.

Dynara’s answering grin was feline and deadly. “I invited them all.”

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

THE HOUSE OFHARVESThad transformed into a theater. Rich velvet drapes covered every sandstone wall and window. Flickering candles lined the hallways, creating an intimate atmosphere that shouldn’t have been possible in such an enormous manor.

I wore a long jade gown that glistened like a tide pool as I walked. It was a custom piece made by Wilden, the local tailor who had designed every dress and suit of leathers I had ever worn as Blade. Dynara must have told him the dress was for me because the fit was perfect and underneath the layered gossamer skirt were matching trousers and boots that went up to the knee. I just had to pull a single ribbon at my hip to detach the skirt and I would be free to run or strike at will.

Wilden had more than outdone himself.

Lords nodded to Dynara as they passed through the entrance hall. Their eyes lingered over her ample bust and the waterfall of curls that perfectly framed her face.

She had always been striking, but in the soft light of the torches surrounded by dozens of dazed men, it was undeniable just how enchanting Dynara truly was. Every movement she made was the perfect blend of grace and seduction. She held her fan with her middle and ring fingers while the index grazed along her collarbone and the pinkie pointed to the high slit in her burgundy skirt. The men’s eyes trailed down the length of her, never realizing that they were following a map of Dynara’s own making. That they were too focused on her to notice the drapes shifting as people moved behind them.

In another life, Dynara would have done well at the Order.

I hid my mouth behind my own fan. My glamoured bracelet shifted down the sleeve of my gown. Dynara tilted her head to hear me whisper, “Where are the wives?”

We had been stationed at the entrance for almost an hour, and I hadn’t seen any of the kingdom’s ladies on the arms of the lords. Every person wearing a skirt had a brand along her wrist or arm, many of whom were Halflings pretending to be Mortal. Most of the servants were Halflings too.

Bile coated my tongue. Even though the Crown had outlawed Mortals fraternizing with us, most of the men were delighted at the idea of pleasure houses filled with secret Halflings. I didn’t know if it was the servitude or forbidden nature that made Mortal men feral with lust. I supposed it didn’t matter. They would lay with Halflings like Dynara without regret, boasting to their friends in a haze of ale and sweat, while making Halflings like me enforce the king’s law for the other halfbreeds who dared get caught speakingto a Mortal out of turn. No matter what role the kingdom gave us, the hypocrisy was stifling. My skin itched along my back as if I were a marionette being restrung to obey the kingdom’s rule, even just for a night.

For this to work, everyone had to be a puppet one last time.

Dynara ran her bejeweled hand along the length of her hair, twisting the ends of it at her hip. She gave the lords passing by us a demure smile before turning her head toward my neck to hide her answer. “The lords are well aware of who is hosting this event. Most of them would consider their wives an intrusion.”

She nodded in the direction of the ballroom doors. Crison, as Mistress Augustine, was speaking to Lord Curringham’s replacement—Lord Kilmor. Despite the glamour disguising herself as the Mistress to everyone else, Crison still styled herself as Augustine. Her raven hair was slicked back into Augustine’s signature bun, tugging at her skin so much that her thick brows were pulled up toward her hairline.

She turned just enough for me to see the necklace around her throat. I recognized it as the glamour Dynara had taken to Cereliath that first night. I had always assumed she would be the one to play her old Mistress, but Crison played the part well. If I didn’t know about the glamour, I would have never believed that the woman heartily laughing at Kilmor’s joke was not the actual Augustine. Her mannerisms were perfect, even down to the slight curve of her neck and the hip that jutted to the left.

Dynara pointed at a couple stepping out of their carriage. The lord was handsome with only a streak of gray over his eyebrow. He glanced around at the courtesans milling about the front hall. On his arm was a beautiful blonde with pale, freckled skin. If her husband’s eyes were hungry, hers were ravenous.

I recoiled back against the curtain.

Dynara hid the curl of her lip behind her hand. “The only wives who come are the ones who like to partake in their husbands’ … purchases.” Dynara lifted her chin. “And for that, they will burn too.”

It was unnerving to see such a sweet smile say such violent words. Dynara nodded at the black carriage pulling up behind them. The coachman wore an Elvish chain around his neck though he looked Mortal enough not to need a glamour. He opened the door, and everyone saw a brown-haired man with hazel eyes and a thick, curling beard. I saw Riven, the glamour shattering for me as soon as I noticed the blue flower pinned to his jacket.

Dynara smirked as Riven’s hand grazed my skirt without looking at me. He took his place at the end of the hallway, waiting and ready.

“The green eyes suit him.” Dynara pursed her lips, the glamour breaking for her too. My stomach tightened. I had told Riven the truth was his to share, but Dynara had known something was wrong from the moment I wrote to her saying Riven had left. She had started prying before Crison even left the room.

She cocked her jaw to the side, looking away from Riven’s sideways glances. As a true friend, she had accepted my choice in forgiving him, but I knew it would be sometime before Dynara forgave Riven—and Killian—for lying to her.

Her chest heaved as the new Lord of Harvest nodded his head and made his way toward us.

To her.

His eyes never left Dynara. “Lord Kilmor,” she said with a curtsy. She looked up at the lord through her lashes and gave him a feline smile that would make any man weak in the knees.

“Paxton.” He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Dynara, don’t make me remind you again.”

She bit her rouged lip. “You will need to remind me at least one more time before I disgrace a lord in his own house.” She waved her hand at the lavish decoration before tracing her middle finger across the top of her breast.

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