Page 163 of Flirting with Darkness

“At court, a few times, yes.” His flat tone spelled out his distaste.

I cocked my head and smirked at him. “When you can’t avoid it?”

“Mm.” He nodded, eyebrows drawn low as a pair of fae sauntered past, both their gazes lingering on me. I more felt than heard the rumble in his torso. When they’d disappeared into the crowd, his frown shifted to something more thoughtful than irritated. “Have you?”

I lifted one shoulder and looked away, face warming to admit my inexperience. “Never.”

“Ah.” He nodded and scanned the room. “Then we’d better make sure you get the full experience. First, drinks.” With a jerk of his head, he led me to the nearest footman with a teetering tray bedecked with a dozen different types of glass.

I chose something raspberry-flavoured and so sweet I couldn’t taste the alcohol, he took a tumbler of honeyed whisky, and we wandered around the huge ballroom as we drank. The vine pattern I’d seen elsewhere in the house continued here through the inlaid floor, weaving and twisting, thorns piercing.

It was only when we reached the edge of the crowd that I realised the walls were covered in huge, floor to ceiling mirrors. No wonder it seemed there were so many people—they were reflected on and on, and I couldn’t even hazard a guess at the true number.

We paused to watch a game of cards where the stakes had grown high—stacks of gold and gems, as well as little black boxes with gold locks. When I opened my mouth to ask what was inside, a cheer erupted as a small, blond fae showed their hand, revealing a royal flush.

“Cheat!” Their opponent slammed his hands into the table, rising. “You damn cheat.”

“Time to move on.” Faolán steered us away, placing himself between me and the disintegrating card game.

Couples glided across the dance floor, bodies close together, mouths moving in soft, private conversations. A woman laughed, head thrown back, revealing the pale column of her neck. Teeth revealed in a wolfish grin, her partner bent closer and kissed her throat.

Thatwasn’t like the stories or my imaginings. Balls were meant to be stuffy—at least the ones the Hawthornes and their like threw were. Maybe, in faerie, things were different.

And, as real as the velvet of my dress felt, this was a dream. It was hard to remember that when Faolán’s arm seemed so solid under my hand and the raspberry of my drink still left its flavour on the tongue, sweet and tart.

“Do you want to dance?”

We’d reached the edge of the dance floor and I realised it was my feet that had steered us here as I’d watched. I raised my eyebrows at him. “Doyouwant to?” Real life Faolán surely wouldn’t—he didn’t seem the type, especially if he avoided balls.

“I asked ifyouwanted to. This is your first ball, not mine.”

I shifted my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable, though I couldn’t say why. He seemed to want to show me everything a ball was, and that involved dancing. “I don’t know the steps, and I wouldn’t want to force you—”

He huffed. “You couldn’t force me to do anything, little flower. Come.” He tugged me onto the dance floor.

My heart leapt as I hurried to keep up. What were the moves? I turned left and right trying to watch what the others were doing.

“Don’t worry.” He pulled one of my hands to his shoulder, held the other in his, and cupped my waist. “The steps aren’t hard.”

And, strangely, they weren’t—it was as though my feet already knew them. So this wasn’t one of those dreams where I arrived in the kitchens, ready to help Ma and Pa with the day’s baking, to find not only had I completely forgotten how to mix bread dough but also I was on a stage failing so spectacularly in front of all of Briarbridge and, suddenly, naked, too.

The ballroom blurred, leaving only us and the dancers, the freedom of gliding movement, and the tickle on the back of my neck and shoulders where my hair swung behind me.

Faolán wasn’t even scowling as though he hated every minute.

This was a strange dream, but not a bad one. I smiled and let the colours and sounds of the place swirl together, enjoying the feel of my limbs knowing what to do like this was as familiar as kneading dough.

The vines on the floor seemed to pulse with the music, like they were arteries and music their blood. At the centre of the dance floor, the thickest vines wrapped around a grey heart, weaving through it, piercing it. The blood seeping from the wounds reminded me of the healed injuries I’d seen amongst Faolán’s tattoos.

“Faolán?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to ask you about something, but… I don’t want to upset you.”

Tucking in his chin to look at me, he raised an eyebrow. “I don’t upset easily.”

“I’ll bet, but… but if you don’t want to answer, please just tell me. I don’t mean to pry, it’s just… It’s been playing on my mind.”

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