Page 81 of Prince of Masks
On her path to me, Oliver cuts in with a grin that I’m sure has made many swoon over the years. But Serena is polished silver, a sword, and she looks at him from beneath her long lashes.
He swoops down to ghost a kiss over her cheek—then he glides by her.
Serena’s upper lip twitches, slightly. A crack in a mask she’s crafted, sculpted, perfected over the years in our world. Then, in a blink, the crack is gone.
I squeeze by the loitering Mrs Barlow to meet Serena at the top of the stairs—and the moment we come together, her hands are quick to grab me by the shoulders.
Her slender fingers are ridiculously strong.
I fleetingly suspect her bones are made of metal.
She performs the faux kisses on both my cheeks, but her mouth moves slightly with murmured, grinned words—and addresses a question I had in my mind.
“The Ströms aren’t coming,” her breath is so close to me that I can feel the warmth tickling my chilled cheek. “Wait until you hear what Dray did.”
She draws back, and the gleam in her grey eyes, like lightning striking moody clouds, isn’t lost on me.
I almost ask,what did he do?
Whatcouldhe have done?
Dray can do—and has done—plenty to me. But to Asta? His betrothed, his equal, his friend?
Before the words can form on my tongue, Landon comes swaggering up the stairs, sheathed in his muddy rugby gear, striped blue and white, and there’s a particularly grim scrape that is torn along his cheek.
Still, his grin is effortless.
It isn’t aimed at me.
Oliver slips out from behind my mother, who’s hogging space with Amelia, and I have this itching urge rising up in me, the urge to shove everyone off the terrace and away from me.
I don’t.
Landon’s shoulder brushes mine as he slaps his hand down on my brother’s. Their handshake is the oddest kind, the one of casual, informal friendship and a sort of almost arm-wrestle between them.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at them.
Instead, I turn my cheek to them, and not a heartbeat later, blue diamonds flicker out the corner of my eyes.
Dray comes up the stone stairs from the gardens, his steps calm and paced, unrushed.
Like Landon, he’s wrapped firmly in blue and white striped gear. Mud is speckled over his sandy hair, painted down the side of his neck, coating his hands and boots.
A mist of drizzle glistens his sunkissed face, glossed over a particularly harsh scrape on his jaw.
Our gazes latch for a moment.
Then—
I frown.
Because Dray inclines his head, a slight greeting he doesn’t have to perform since no parents are watching us.
I blink once, twice, then make a face at him.
Metal-like fingers cut into my shoulders, tight enough that I wince.
I swerve to glare at Serena’s lively face. “What?”
