Page 17 of Court of Secrets and Flames

Well, more screwed that I already am.

Shimmering slippers, delicate and utterly impractical, are thrust before me, one pair after another. The maids hover like anxious doves until I wave them away. The over-the-top pampering is weird enough, but I draw the line at anyone fussing over my feet.

“Any of these are fine.” But my words fall on deaf ears.

Rhiann’s stern gaze silences me. “Proper slippers, my lady. This is a banquet, not a walk in the gardens. You must glide silently through the great hall.”

I couldn’t give an alicorn’s ass about footwear, but I bite my tongue. Apart from her misfortune in belonging to a family full of heartless kings and underhanded princes, Rhiann has done nothing to deserve my ire.

Yelling at her only makes me a jackass too.

I force a smile that feels as fragile as glass. Tonight, I will wear their colors, speak their words, and dance their dances. All the better to learn their ways and gain their trust. And hopefully not do anything to displease the king. At least, not before I have the chance to learn more about where I come from, or if I have any biological family in this kingdom.

Then the hairdressers enter, their tools gleaming in the afternoon light. Rhiann stands by, arms folded, her eyes tracking every movement with military precision. “Time is fleeting. Your locks must be curled into perfection before the banquet.”

My scalp tightens at the thought. Closing my eyes, I remind myself the torture is worthwhile if it scores me points with the king and helps Leesa and I survive in this foreign land.

One of the maids opens the door just as the hairdresser finishes, announcing the arrival of my escort. I pivot, expecting one of the guards.

Instead, Prince Knox glides into the room, his dominating presence a jolt to my senses. My knees betray me, weakening at the sight of him dressed in all his regal finery.

For just a minute, I forget to breathe.

He’s the picture of perfection.

Dark pants hug his hips and are paired with a pale gray waistcoat that boasts the sigil of House Barda, a black dragon upon a field of green. In the Tirene style, the flat front of his shirt shows off the broad expanse of muscles hidden under the silk. His dark, glossy hair hangs loose, framing his face in soft waves that my fingers itch to touch.

I resist the urge to wet my lips. Just barely.

Pull yourself together. He’s dangerous and deceitful and doesn’t give a shit about you. It’s all an act. He let his brother throw you to the dragons.

He returns the examination. With his furrowed brow and frantic gaze jumping to every body part, I get the sense that he’s assessing me for injuries. Once he finishes, he performs a more leisurely inspection, his eyes blazing as they travel the length of my body in the red dress.

By the time he focuses on my face, though, he’s banked the fire. “The king has asked me to escort you to the banquet hall.”

His voice is flat, his gaze as sharp as the ceremonial sword at his hip.

Annoyance flares within me, not only due to this forced proximity but also because he wears his uniform with infuriating elegance, which does nothing to hide his masculine strengths. In this moment, I see him not as Sterling, my instructor, but Prince Knox of House Barda, a man shaped by duty and draped in power.

This is who he really is. The man behind the disguise. How did I ever fall for him? And why does my body still react to him? It’s as much a traitor as he is.

Tamping down my irritation with both him and myself, I inhale a deep breath, summoning poise I scarcely feel, and step toward him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react at all. He simply stares down his nose at me with an expectant air.

Lifting my chin, I refuse to back down. I won’t flinch, no matter how fierce his gaze.

Finally, he bows. The back of his uniform top has the same slits along the back as my dress. They must be there to accommodate wings.

Knox gestures to the door. “Shall we?”

Once in the corridor, he offers his arm.

Every nerve ending hums with desire even though I know touching him is a bad idea. And the more I’m with him, the more clouded my judgment becomes. But I have to be strong. Treat this like any other task. If I set my mind to it, I can resist him.

Just outside the banquet hall, Knox stops and leans down to whisper in my ear. “As much as I enjoy the attention, it would be in both of our best interests for you to stop fucking me with your eyes. My brother won’t be amused.”

My face heats with outrage. I’m almost certain the color matches my dress. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

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