Page 142 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

“The dance,” he replied. “To be honest, I’m not sure what you would have to gain at this point by making Raihn believe that you want him.”

That got my attention. My gaze flicked back to him, and he chuckled.

“My, youarean actress,” he purred. “Look at that little startle on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Don’t play stupid with me.” The smile didn’t move. But his eyes narrowed, glinting like sharpened steel. “I know you’re a very smart young woman. Though…” He set down his glass and leaned closer, his breath warming my cheek. “No, I don’t think you are much of an actress, after all.”

His hand grabbed my forearm, hard enough that his sharp thumbnail pierced my skin, and I jerked away.

GONG.

The clock struck.

In a lifetime here, I’d never heard it this loud—as if the entire room inflated to take it into its lungs, the marble and stone and glass vibrating with it. The music only grew louder, as if emboldened by it.

Across the room, Simon and his wife rose, abandoning the half-limp blood vendor. They went to the door leading from the ballroom.

Why the hell were they doing that alone? Why would they be allowed to go anywhere in this castle?

Suddenly I didn’t even care about the blood running down my arm. “Excuse me,” I muttered, and set off across the room before Septimus had time to say anything.

Everyone was drunk. The dance floor was little more than a mostly dressed orgy. Some of the Rishan attendees were slumped on the ground, laughing hysterically to themselves with blood running down their chins.

Simon and his wife had disappeared down the hall.

GONG.

I followed. The ballroom was so hot that the moment I stepped from the room, I met a rush of cold air. The hall was quiet. Distant footsteps faded ahead. I glimpsed Leona’s purple silk skirt disappearing around the corner.

“How noble of you,” a silken voice said. “Charging after your lover’s captor, blades drawn. How sweet.”

I didn’t even notice I had drawn my blades.

I turned. Septimus stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, that eternal smirk on his lips. Behind him, the arched door framed a tableau of decadence in the party beyond.

I wasn’t about to wait for whatever snarky bullshit he was going to say next. I started to move—

But just as quickly, his hand was out of his pocket, fingers lifted.

Pain shot through me. My body seized. I glanced down—down at the cut he’d made on my arm, just minutes before.

I couldn’t move. Red mist slowly thickened around me—my own blood, turning against me. I wasn’t anticipating it. Mother, Septimus was a strong magic wielder. Stronger than most others I’d encountered in the Kejari. Then, I could at least fight through some of it.

Now, I was frozen, choking on air, as he stepped closer.

“You could have had everything, dove,” he murmured—and for a moment he looked so deeply disappointed, so confused. It was perhaps the only genuine emotion I’d ever seen on his face.

I tried to choke out,What are you doing?

But only managed a garbled, “Wh—”

GONG.

The world dimmed at the edges of my vision, just in time for me to see blood-soaked chaos break out in the party beyond—as Bloodborn soldiers turned on Ketura’s men. A wave of animalistic shouts rose to overtake the music, swords through flesh, teeth through throats.

But none of it was louder than Septimus’s voice as he cradled my face.

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