Page 47 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
She was quiet as she stared back at him, expression unreadable.
“Miri,” he said.Please,he wanted to beg.Say something.
She swallowed, giving a small, single shake of her head, as if dislodging a thought. “Of course.”Of course.She waved a hand as if the whole thing were nothing then picked up the masks. “Final touches,” she told the room. “And we’re off to the ball.”
* * *
Cass had never felt moreunsettled by Miri’s silence. As they walked toward the palace, she said nothing at all. Kingsmen watched at every turn. The myriad of masked figures trailing the corridors and walkways was an evident nightmare to anyone whose duty was to guard. Cass adjusted the fine sword at his hip as he did his best to keep their pace and maintain a good distance from the flock of bodies, but soon they were corralled into lines with the other guests, and stringed instruments conducted their way past candelabras, lush flowers, and gratuitous decorations. The crowd became thicker, and Miri offered Cass her hand. He took it, sliding his other across her back to guide her through the celebration and into the great hall.
Long tables filled one half of the room, and the other was an open space for dancing, while milling patricians lined the walls. Voices rose to a vaulted ceiling that was grand and meant to impress. The food was lavish, revoltingly so, given the tax the king demanded of the citizens of the kingdom, and dark drapes hung above low windows that looked out over the mountain. It was breathtaking, even for him, because it had been so long since the harbormaster’s spy had been anything else—more so because it was a sharp reminder of times before.
Miri’s hand tightened in his, and he let his gaze travel to hers. His mask—a wolf that covered his face from brow to nose—had been the least vision restrictive, but he wanted to tear it free regardless and have back an unhindered view. She stared up at him, the dark around her eyes seeming to draw them farther into the shadows of her mask.
“Dancing first?” he offered.
She managed a partial nod beneath the bulk of her costume. The pouch at her waist held a delicate carton, inside of which waited a deadly spider. To place it in the king’s chair, she would have to approach his table while he danced, land it perfectly into his seat, and appear to only be greeting his guests and sampling his food. “Easy,” she’d said before. He wondered if she was still so convinced.
Cass led her to the floor, through couples that were a dazzling display of fabric and excess, and found a spot that was less stifling than the rest. He bowed low before her, his hand beneath hers, and Miri followed with a curtsy. Gods, he’d no idea how they’d gotten there, why a princess of Stormskeep was bending a knee to him. He straightened then inclined his head as they began their dance.
It was much later when the king finally graced the festivities, his dark hair loose and his mask only a sliver of jeweled material, and longer still when Miri finally took her chance. She’d pointedly avoided looking at the king since he’d been present, but as soon as he made his way from the high table, she sauntered toward it, where the king’s chair waited, empty as he paraded for his guests. Myrina of Stormskeep had years of practice engaging with nobility, and it seemed the time as Bean had done nothing to diminish her skill. She was in her element, and her practiced ease distracted each of the men and ladies from the skilled maneuver she performed beneath their very noses. Beyond the king’s table stood a row of kingsmen, their gazes on the crowd. Cass watched closely, but none so much as flinched.
She tipped her head, raising her glass in toast, and turned from the table to trail slowly from their notice as if she’d never been there at all.
Cass shifted toward the window, his chest finally easing to draw a full breath. Her arm brushed his as she joined him, her hand steady as she set the goblet onto the window’s ledge, its rim dripping honey. She’d done it. She’d returned.
“Shall we go?” she asked.
He slid an arm across the small of her back, his gaze over her shoulder at the kingsmen blocking the door.
“What are they doing?” Miri asked once she’d followed his indication. Her brow was pinched, but the floor was still filled with dancing royals, and fine music still floated through the air.
“There will be a display soon,” Cass said. “Whispers of a surprise.”
“They don’t want to ruin it,” she said, though she did not sound entirely convinced. “Well enough. Let us dance again.”
Cass smiled, certain his feet would be raw from his boots, and spun Miri to face him before the window. “Then let us dance.”
They relaxed into the music and the steps, sated with the knowledge that Miri’s task was done, and buoyed by sweet ciders and wine. Cass could sense the tension drain from her as her moves returned to the easy grace he’d come to know so well. She’d done it. She’d killed two kings already, a third would be overtaken by illness in a month’s time, and the fourth would soon meet his end.
Her smile came easily, her relief palpable, as if she finally believed she might be able to pull the entire thing off. The mountain breeze was cool on Cass’s skin as it whispered through the tall windows and was scented of pine and moss and something sweet. Miri leaned her head back, mask to the ceiling, as if the breeze could somehow reach the skin of her neck beneath all that silk. She seemed to float around him, a whirl of rich fabrics, her fingers light in his.
Then the candelabras were unexpectedly snuffed, and the ballroom fell dim with a suddenness that elicited sharp gasps. Cass’s hand slid to the sword at his hip, his other stilled in Miri’s grip. In the darkness outside, a strange orange glow rose past the window, and the echoing gasps shifted into delighted intakes of breath.
Miri stepped closer to Cass, her movement causing him to turn and forcing his gaze from the line of kingsmen against the far wall. “Lanterns,” she whispered. “In honor of the maiden.”
Half a dozen more rose into view, followed by too many to count. Tinted paper, lifted by a small flame within that cast a glow into the night sky, dotting the view outside with color. Cass had known they’d been imported from Stormskeep, but it had been impossible to imagine how ethereal the scene would be.
Miri laughed, her breath brushing his skin. He found her watching him and was captured by the change in her mood.
“You’ve got honey on your lip,” she said. Her hand rose as if automatically to his face, which was bare below the mask. His mouth was sweet with drink. Hers would be, too, and it was all he could think of when her finger brushed his lip. She froze, staring up at him, her lips parting in a whisper of breath. He wanted nothing more than to taste them, and gods help him, he’d somehow leaned nearer. Her gaze danced between his eyes, and Cass had the strangest sensation that she was convincing herself it wasn’t real and she could break the rules behind that mask and her lips could touch him just like her hand.
Cass didn’t want to pretend. His fingers itched to tug free the ribbon that held her mask. He wanted to see Miri when she kissed him. He wanted it to be real.
They both startled when a voice slithered between them. Cass’s gaze snapped to the reveler. His thin jeweled mask was nothing of a disguise. A spear of ice pierced Cass’s chest.
The king smiled indulgently. “A dance, my lady?” he repeated, proffering his hand.
Miri had gone still. Cass’s fingers tightened in hers, and her throat bobbed. “I couldn’t—I’m not fit for the honor, Your Majesty.” She had known Peter when she was a child and he was only a lord. She’d forgotten to curtsy.
