Page 111 of A Dance of Shadows

He doesn’t have any concerns about giving me access—he mustn’t have jotted down anything particularly sensitive. Checking for other gifts that could have been used for sabotage will be helpful all on its own, though.

I spear another tidbit of egg. “Thank you, I’d be interested in looking through your notes.”

At the sight of the next dish being carved up and laid out—a roast pig rubbed red with its mix of spices, set on a bed of potatoes and forest apples—my mouth starts to water. “Did you pick tonight’s menu on your own?”

Marc grins. “You’re pleased already? I made sure the kitchen staff knew to prepare your favorites. I look forward to sampling more Accasian delicacies.”

That’s certainly a much different tune than Linus was singing last night.

I can’t help beaming back at him. “Thank you. It’s all wonderful.” A strange twinge passes through my chest. “You didn’t get to celebrate your own birthday at all. Not like this.”

Marc shrugs without any hint of regret. “I don’t usually take on the festivities. That way I can be around to see that what’s more important gets done.” He pauses, something shifting in his eyes. “This is important.”

An unexpected flush creeps up my neck at the intensity in his gaze. “Thank you,” I say again, not knowing how else to answer it.

My husband hasn’t restricted the wonders of the celebration to the feast. When we proceed to the ballroom afterward, I find it’s been enchanted with illusions as well—more Eloxian symbols as well as abstract lights that ripple across the ceilinglike the streaks of a sunset, matching the rhythm of the melody the musicians have struck up.

Marc grasps my hand again. “I must claim the first dance.”

I squeeze his fingers. “You can have it.” I’d prefer to stay within the range of his personal guards as much as I can justify, after all.

As my husband guides me across the dance floor, I discover that’s been enchanted too. Glimmers spark under our feet and swirl out across the polished surface.

He might not be my preferred partner, but the illusionary effects make the dancing feel magical all the same. I stay with Marc for two songs before alternating between my husband and various other nobles, local and Darium, who seek out their empress. Most of them want to impress him as much as me, so it isn’t all that hard to remain nearby.

And it’s not at all suspicious that at one point I find myself taking Bastien’s hand and letting the prince of Cotea twirl me beneath his arm in time with the latest song.

“Are you enjoying your birthday?” he asks, his lowered voice warmer than his carefully impassive expression would suggest.

“I can think of a few ways I’d enjoy it more,” I murmur with a cautious glance around us. “But it’s certainly an improvement over yesterday.”

A short laugh escapes him. “Not a difficult feat to accomplish. But perhaps it can be even better.”

As he spins me again, he takes the opportunity to form a few furtive gestures with his other hand.Night. Outside, forest. Come?

What do my lovers have in mind?

I restrain the eager smile that tugs at my lips and drop my voice to a whisper when we’re facing each other again. “I can meet you there. I have ways to leave my rooms without being seen. Wait far back in the trees beyond the imperial palace.”

Bastien looks as if he’s controlling a grin of his own. His hand lingers on my side, rigid in a way that will look like reluctance to our observers but I know is him holding in check the caresses he’d like to offer. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

I do smile then, slight and secretive. “My parents prepared well for my first visit as empress.”

We follow the melody in companionable silence for several more beats before Bastien opens his mouth again. “What do you think of?—”

A belligerent voice breaks through his question and the music. “Balls are such a bore. Who’m I supposed to dance with when m’ boyfriend’s playing the songs?”

Both our heads jerk toward the spot where Neven is pacing at the edge of the ballroom. He’s clutching a wine goblet, and it appears he’s spilled a certain portion of it—or some previous glass—on his shirt. The sway to his steps doesn’t look particularly sober.

Bastien sucks a breath through his teeth. “Shit. I thought he was drinking too much at dinner. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. I’d better talk to him.”

He shoots me an apologetic glance and hustles over to his younger foster brother. As I watch, Raul catches up with them too.

As far as I can tell, Neven tells both of them off. He stalks away with his goblet, his face set in a hazy scowl.

The song winds down, and Marc rests his hand on my waist from behind. “I hope you aren’t too tired yet, wife.”

With the promise of more celebration to come beyond what he’s arranged, I’m looking forward to ending this part of the night, but I do still need to keep him happy. I step into his arms. “I have the energy for one more dance if it’s with you.”

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