Page 52 of Shadows of the Crown

We certainly will not.

The high-pitched notes across the ballroom deepen, slowing to a calm, sensual song. My lip curls at the dozens of couples smiling fondly at each other.

I could leave…I’m sure it has been long enough that my head will not be blown from my body if I walk out those doors. The guests have all feasted their eyes on the Silver Wraith and her fellow competitors, which is all this absurd ball was for. I chew on my bottom lip, assessing the risks.

“Might I have this dance?” If I ever meet the Angel…I whirl to Bastian, pinning him with a dense glare. He bristles, though manages to keep his hand out. “Just one? You did say yes, if you need reminding.”

I take one step. “Did I?” He nods irresolutely. Pathetic, really. “And why is it you presume that because I said yes to some ridiculous fucking question days ago, that you’re owed the privilege of my company?” Another step. “As if my decisions cannot change? As if your desire for my attention is greater than my contempt for you?” His mouth gapes before he clears his throat and straightens his offensive gilded jacket. He studies me for a moment before scoffing, sneering to himself as his head shakes.

“Who knew you were such a fucking tease?” This—his anger, his retaliation…this is where I thrive. I smile, the darkened haze in my mind easing.

I unsheathe my blade and spin it lightly through my fingers, counting the number of veins bulging from his neck. “Truthfully, Bastian, you’d have to be the realm’s most daft person to not know that. I’ve hidden nothing…you just constructed a different version of me in your head. Likely because you wished to fuck me and needed to delude yourself into thinking I am not the killer everyone believes me to be. That was your mistake—not mine.”

He laughs, his gaze darkening into something depraved. “You’re right. I am undeniably owed something.” Faster than even I can comprehend, his hand reaches up to squeeze my cheeks as he leans forward to slam his lips against mine. His grip is so tight, I’m certain I’ll need to heal bruises in the morning.

I bend my wrist to shove my blade through his palm, pulling the limb back quickly enough to spare my skin of blood. He screeches and jerks his hand off the blade as he pins me with wide, glassy eyes.

“What the fuck? You crazy bitch!” He stumbles back into the wall as I move forward to wipe my blade on his jacket. The irony of his blood soaking into the golden fabric is not lost on me.

I press the blade to his chest until his eyes focus on mine. “You took what you thought you were owed.” I soak the last of the blood over his heart before spinning to stalk from the ballroom. “So did I.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Caspian

My skin flushes with heat as my body drifts to Bastian where he heaves against the wall, the urge to rip that smug smile off his face is overwhelming. He notices me stalking toward him, a glimmer of amusement entering his eyes; he knew what he was doing when he asked Ariella to accompany him to the ball. He had been here for days, watching me interact with her—he has only ever wanted what I have. And the moment he saw how I reacted to her blade at my throat…

What I hadn’t expected was her reaction.

I am not foolish—I know my assassin was attempting to push me away. As if anything less than her gutting me would stop me from following. I chuckle, ignoring the guests that wish to speak with me as I pass.

I break from the thick of the crowd, my cousin’s eyes widening—he could certainly feel my rage from Meridian if he were lucky enough to be home. His smile remains, though dulling thecloser I become. A blade through his hand was not nearly enough punishment for touching her.

“Something the matter, cous—” His likely imperious retort ends abruptly as my fist connects with his jaw. He grunts, catching himself in time to avoid meeting the floor. Gasps ring behind me. I’m causing a scene. One that will surely get me a lecture from father later and cause gossip within the court…

He touched her.

I grab his collar and shove him roughly against the wall, smirking when he winces at the force. With my arm against his throat, pressure enough to cut off his air and keep him in place, I lean forward until my mouth is at his ear. He will hear every word.

“If youevertouch her again,” I throw a punch to his abdomen, not relenting in my hold or allowing him to double over. “I will kill you.” I force him to see the promise in my eyes before releasing my arm. My blood hums at the pathetic, sputtering breaths he heaves as I jog out of the ballroom in search of my angel.

My shoulders drop at the thankfully empty hallways. I do not have the will to plaster a princely smile on my face right now…there is something much more important to do.

I finally reach the guest wing, my speed increasing the closer I am. My feet swiftly turn the corner that will lead me to Ariella’s door as I desperately hope that she didn’t choose to go anywhere else. The hairs along my skin rise when I see her walking toward her room, not quite there yet.

“Ariella,” I call, my abdomen clenching when she pauses, her body tensing. She doesn’t turn at my voice, and I grin.

This woman is impossibly stubborn; she would make the Angel wait for her, if she so wished.

I step around to stand in front of her, and my breath ceases to exist. Her softened features break through every one of the practiced conversations I had with myself on the way here. Those piercing green eyes are missing the hardness they often hold to keep everyone at a distance.

She studies me, a question in her gaze. Her brows furrow when I say nothing, but those soft lips are so enticing that I need to forcibly keep myself still to avoid my imminent foolishness. If I stay near her much longer…

“What?” she whispers into the silence I created, her voice not holding its typical sharp, accusatory lilt. I breathe deeply, heat spreading through my face.

I don’t know…why did I chase after her?

I just had the strongest urge to find her—an abysmal need to be near her after Bastian put his slimy mouth on her lips. My eyes widen—I’d intended to replace his taste with my own. To remove the memory of his touch from her skin and brand mine into it instead.

---