Page 124 of Dance of Deception

I take my time as I step off the dais and walk forward. My shoes scuff against the stone as I close in on the disgraced captain.

He doesn’t hold back. With a roar, he hurls himself at me, throwing the first punch.

I let it connect.

Pain explodes along my jawbone, snapping my head to the side. Copper floods my mouth.

Good.

This is fuckingfuel.

I roll my shoulders, spitting blood onto the floor. Then I lunge at him faster than I’m guessing he ever imagined I could. Our bodies slam to the floor, a brutal tangle of fists and bone. I don’t fight clean. I don’t fight fair.

I fight to fuckingdestroy.

My knuckles pound into his cheekbone, my other fist driving into his ribs over and over. Something cracks—rib, nose, doesn’t matter.

He chokes, trying to shove me off. But it’s too late.

I slam his head against the stone. His hands claw frantically at my wrists and arms, fighting the inevitable. But I’m stronger.

His breath comes fast, desperate. Mine is even. Steady.

I wrap my hands around his throat almost calmly.

I feel his pulse underneath my fingers. The panicked flutter. I squeeze. His body bucks beneath mine, nails scraping my wrists, feet kicking uselessly on the floor.

I don’t stop. Don’t let go. I want to feel the moment his body surrenders and the fight leaves it. The moment I take his life in my hands and crush it into oblivion.

When it happens, I feel nothing.

The cathedral is pin drop silent as I push to my feet, my hands slick with blood.

I step back, looking down at the man I just ended. I should feel the same satisfaction I’ve felt every time before.

I don’t.

I turn away, my boots echoing against the stone floor as I approach the ancient basin at the side of the cathedral. The water inside ripples faintly in the dim candlelight.

I plunge my hands in, the water turning red as I scrub the blood from my skin, then stare at my reflection in the water after I pull my hands out again.

It’s not her words that bother me.

It’s the fact that for the first time in my life, I care what someonethinksof me.

Behind me, the Court has moved back to the hedonistic party it was before. Guards enter and drag Florian’s body away, wine is poured, and the rest of the Kings descend the dais to rejoin the party, each in his own way.

Darkness is still throbbing in my veins as I pull my phone back out and bring up the feed.

I scowl when I don’t see her in the rehearsal hall anymore.

I check the stage, then the lobby. I haven’t put a camera in her dressing room—for reasons I don’t quite understand—but the camera I haveoutsideit shows that the light is off under the door.

I flick to the feed that shows the alley out back, and my jaw grinds.

Lyra is talking with two men, standingfartoo close to her.

Talkingfartoo familiarly with her.

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