Page 1 of Deadwood
CHAPTER 1
“We are under strict instruction to only allow you water tonight, Lady Auria,” the servant said in mock apology. He wore a garnet suit, every inch of skin covered by some sort of material, save for his mouth and nose. Even his eyes were covered by a mask for tonight’s party. The only sign he was a servant and not a guest was the metal tray of wine glasses he balanced on a gloved hand.
“Just another way to be controlled,” I muttered as I gave up, moving on from him. I’d already tried to sway three other servers for a glass, and all of them had denied me. If tonight’s masquerade ball was to get everyone together from the other three kingdoms, surely I should be allowed a drink. Their refusal only gave me the sinking suspicion my father was up to something.
My hands hung lazily at my sides, disappearing into the fluffed skirts of my garnet ball gown as I scanned the massive room. More people than I’d ever seen in the castle before danced and milled about, talking, laughing, and sending judgmental—and appreciative—looks at one another.
I ignored it all, focused on one task only: to get a godsdamned drink in me.
My eyes scanned the warm-lit room from behind my mask, the lace scratching at my cheeks as I turned. Giant garnet drapes hung from the walls, held back by a gold rope to reveal the deep night where the second, and only, moon shone bright on display. Two silver rings spanned the entirety of the sky, courtesy of the first moon exploding a little over a century ago. At night, they cast pearl-like lines across the land, and in the day, the sun reflected off them, vibrant and nearly blinding.
Around the grand room, Amosite’s red colors were accented everywhere, between the tablecloths and napkins to the trays of food and bouquets of flowers. The dozen or so chandeliers lit up the room in a yellow glow, causing the beige walls with their intricate swirls of garnet and reflective polished floors to capture the same warm tone. My father had gone all out tonight, between decorations and sprucing up the hardly-used space, but I didn’t pay any mind as to why as my gaze landed on an abandoned glass of wine where it sat lonely on one of the round tables meant for guests.
I weaved through people in grandiose suits and gowns, thankful none of them stopped me as I made haste across the room. As I approached the table, I felt eyes on my back, ones that burned, and a shiver crept up my spine, knowing who it was without having to look. I’d deal with that later. Nothing, not even my stepmother’s scrutiny, could stop me from indulging in a glass.
Stepping between two dark oak chairs, I plucked the gold goblet up and held it to my stomach as I searched for a spot along the wall that wouldn’t have too many prying eyes. With my stepmother likely very aware of what I was doing, I needed to get away from her judgmental gaze. The punishments were inevitable at this rate, so I might as well enjoy my drink in peace.
Aside from tables and groups of people, the walls were bare, not a hiding spot in sight. But as my eyes drifted, I paused on the drapes. It was a tad ridiculous, but with no other options, I aimed that way. The velvet curtains were large enough to offer me cover, at least until I finished the wine. My tongue was already salivating with the thought of the sweet berry flavor exploding over my taste buds as I shoved through the crowd. People parted while continuing their conversations, skirts and elbows brushing past me as I went.
As soon as I made it to the wall and out of the throng, I slipped partially behind the tied-back fabric, its material thick and offering more warmth than the room did on its own, almost like the heat was trapped behind the curtain, seeking its own private space away from the bustling of bodies.
Not wasting a moment longer, I brought the goblet to my lips. The sweet taste of berries coated my tongue as I took not one, but four sips. The aftertaste was tart, but instantly, my chest was warming. I didn’t normally rely on alcohol—not that I could, even if I wanted to—but tonight, I needed it. With all the people and the unknown of why my father really threw this masquerade ball, my mind needed something to stop whirling. I wasn’t much for parties, but even I could admit the bluster of colorful clothing attendees wore lit the place up in a way nothing else could. It was a welcome reprieve from the constant sea of red in Amosite, so I was making do. And if that contained alcohol, then so be it.
“Thirsty?” a deep, smooth voice asked, cutting through the sounds of chatter and elegant music around me. I jumped, thankful for the gulps of wine I’d taken so the liquid didn’t slosh over the rim.
I gripped the edge of the curtain, holding it as if I was keeping myself modest behind the fabric. I held the wine just out of sight, only my head peeking out as my heart nearly burst from my chest at being caught.
I tilted my chin up to look the man in the eye. His proximity and height was slightly daunting. Even behind the mask he donned, he was striking. From his dark pants to the leather jacket over his black shirt, he should have stuck out like a sore thumb, but rather, he somehow blended in, as if that was his goal, even with his more casual attire. It was almost refreshing to see amongst the sea of extravagant beauty in this room. While they wore gorgeous clothing, the man before me held it all in his physical appearance alone. His nearly-black hair was mussed and wavy, the curve of his tan jaw looking as if it was chiseled from granite itself, and his eyes… They struck through the mask like the North Star, the smokey blue devastating all they set their sights on.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped.
He arched a brow, his gaze falling to the curtain as if he could see right through it. “I believe I just witnessed an unforgettable woman snatching my wine and hiding away to drink it behind a”—his chin tilted as he looked up at the curtain, andgods,his neck was just as beautiful as the rest of him—“curtain.” He focused on me again, the attention nearly taking me out at the knees. “There’s no hiding that you’re guilty.”
“Guilty?” I shrieked, dropping the curtain. It slipped past me, settling back against the wall behind me and revealing exactly what he was accusing me of.
This time, he raised both brows, and crossed his arms along with it.
To hell with hiding. I lifted the golden cup and took a long sip. I could practically feel his eyes sending zaps along my skin everywhere they roamed. My throat, my hair, my mask, my pale hand around the cup. He could take the wine from me at any moment, but he didn’t, almost like he enjoyed this. Like it wasentertainingto him.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, a slight tilt to the corner of his mouth as I pulled the goblet from my lips. “Is that doing the job?”
I nearly choked. “What job?”
“Of hiding whatever you’re feeling,” he replied easily.
I gripped the cup in both hands to give them something to hold on to. “I’m not hiding anything.”
His eyes darted to the curtain before settling back on me. Right. I was quite literally hiding to begin with.
“As much as wine can,” I admitted. I sounded flustered, and it was almost embarrassing. If he was trying to flirt with me, I had no idea how to flirt back. I didn’t talk to boys, let alone men that looked like…that. In my twenty-six years of life, I’d never been allowed.
He uncrossed his arms and plucked the goblet from my fingers, but he didn’t bring it to his lips. Rather, he leaned closer. “Stolen wine, at that.”
My nose scrunched as I grabbed for it. “This is not stolen.”
He held it just out of reach. “No? Was it not at my seat?”
My eyes nearly bulged from my head, but I reeled in my reaction. “Yourseat?”
