Page 60 of The Musician and the Monster

Bronwyn looked him up and down slowly, her frown deepening all the while. “No, thank you.” She turned in a flash of skirts and pushed through nearby spectators, moving away from them.

Drystan didn’t fight the grin managing to break free. Malik rejected. What a rare thing.

Malik stood dumbstruck, his hand still outstretched toward Bronwyn’s retreating back. He recovered in a flash, reeling in his hand as he threw his head back and laughed, but Drystan knew it was likely an act to cover his embarrassment. Malik always had easy luck with the ladies. It wasn’t like one to reject him so bluntly.

Other women jumped into the space to offer their hand in the dance, but Malik ignored them all as he turned and walked away, his smile blinding. Perhaps he was amused by the rejection rather than offended. Who could really tell where he was concerned?

But that wasn’t the important thing now. Drystan slid an arm around Ceridwen’s waist, earning a small gasp. The intimate gesture wouldn’t go unnoticed, but the risk was worth it to hold her close and savor the feel of her in his arms.

The band struck up a new tune, slower and less festive than the ones they’d played before. It was perfect—a tune that wouldn’t require him to pass off his companion to others or bounce around like some fool.

“Why did you come here?”Ceridwen whispered, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t that obvious?” He let the pleasure of her presence drift to his face, his eyes, hoping she could see it despite the mask.

She glanced away. “Among so many people…” How sweet that she worried for him.

“You look lovely tonight.” His comment drew her attention back to him. “Besides, would you have met me otherwise?”

She stumbled in the dance, but Drystan covered her error and kept them moving. It pained him that she might have kept him waiting, possibly forever—all the more reason he was glad he came.

“People will talk. They’ll know,” she said.

“Worth the risk.” He rubbed her side through the fabric of her dress. “Besides, I don’t have long left. Not here.”

Ceridwen’s hand flinched on his arm and she winced, almost like she took a painful step.

“Your leg?” he asked, suddenly concerned he’d done far more damage as his beast than he knew. Any was too much, but to cause her daily pain would be an unbearable torment.

“It’s fine. You came here just to see me?” she asked before he could press her on it.

“Yes. And to ask you something.”

Her breath hitched, and she nearly stumbled again.

“You read my letter?” he asked before twirling her around in a grand swirl of skirts.

Upon her return to his arms, she nodded.

“Then give me the chance to explain in person. Come back to me, Ceridwen.”

The agony of his monstrous form was easier to suffer than the wait for her answer. He spun her again, as the song required, before drawing her back to him.

Ceridwen’s expression broke as she rested her palm on his upper arm. “Drystan…” Her chest heaved. Her brows pinched as she halted mid-dance. The oncoming rejection tried to break him, and he couldn’t let it, not here.

Drystan gently tugged her toward the side of the dance floor. People closed in around them, likely hoping to take one or the other’s place, but he didn’t give them time to offer.

“Let’s talk outside,” he said as he laced his fingers through hers and headed for the main door. If she were going to carve his heart out, it wouldn’t be in this room of strangers.

“The back.” Ceridwen led him the other way.

A wise suggestion. It would be quieter there with fewer people to witness his failure. The crowd parted for them as they went, conversations halting and then restarting with fervor in their wake.

A flurry of snowflakes swirled around them as they exited the back door. The crisp, wet smell of the falling snow rushed into his lungs, calming him. A gentle breeze tugged at a few tendrils of hair that had escaped Ceridwen’s hairdo and sent them caressing her exposed neck.

She’d be cold out here. He wouldn’t have long.

Only a few others gathered around the back entrance, mostly men smoking pipes and rolled cigars while muttering to each other without paying them any mind. Two oil lamp sconces near the door provided the only light other than what slipped out the window panes or filtered through the clouds from the moon above.

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