Page 97 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
“You’re not a very good dancer, are you?” he cracks.
“This is my first ball.”
I practiced with Marjorie, but I was always the man.
It’s awkward to be standing so close to Zeke, but it’s nothing compared to the King of Light’s scrutiny. Or Aidan’s fiery stare following along with every step. I’m practically smoldering by the time the song ends, and my fiancé leads me back to our table, oblivious.
I catch a stranger smiling at us. “You two make a fine couple.”
She walks away before I can find enough air to respond, and a sudden bout of dizziness turns my head. “I need to sit,” I announce gravely.
Zeke holds out the chair for me in a perfectly rehearsed picture of gallantry. “There’s someone I want to have a quick chat with. I’ll be back in a minute.” He heads off toward the gardens.
Bile rises to my mouth.
Devi said everyone here was playing a part, and I’m no exception. I thought I could escape this marriage, but now I’m not so sure. I take a few swigs of wine to wash away the bitter taste of my own shame.
The Spring Queen sits not far from me, dancing with one gorgeous man after another, a line of high-born suitors gathered by the dance floor to admire her—and if Devi is right, to scheme for the chance to become the next Spring King. The flask Devi gave me is still tucked into my corset, and I pour it into my own drink, planning to swap the matching cups later as I wait for the right moment.
I take advantage of the start of a slow waltz, with Freya’s suitors all vying to be her partner, and slip behind the wall of men to switch the cups. Keeping a measured pace, I walk to the restroom and back after I’m done, careful not to linger near the scene of the crime.
On my return to the table, a teenage girl with limbs too long for her body and big hazelnut eyes accosts me. “You switched drinks with the Spring Queen.” She tilts her head to the side. “Why?”
Busted.
“I’m Rye. Who are you?” she demands. I scan the surroundings for her chaperone, but no one else seems to be within earshot.
“Beth.”
“Beth who?”
“Beth Snow.”
Her sharp, clever eyes sparkle. “You’re the moth who got into the academy. I’m only half-Fae, but I’d do anything to get in if they’d give me the chance to apply.” She sways from her heels to the balls of her feet a few times. “That’s against the rules for now, but they’ve bent the rules for you, so they might do it again, right?”
She adds the last part as though goading me to disagree, but she’s mostly right.
“Oh, absolutely. I’m sure the pure-blood nonsense is just another way to keep undesirables out, and the rules will bend the second a powerful king sires a half-Fae prince.”
Her eyes bulge at my language. “You’re fun, so I’ll keep your secret. For now.”
I swallow a sip of wine to dispel the nerves as Elio joins us.
“Hello, Rye. I see you’ve met my friend, Beth.”
“Yes, she’s nice.”
Elio raises his brows at the praise. “That’s a big compliment coming from her. What did you do?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Damian squeezes between Elio and me, looking even darker than usual. “I can’t believe you talked me into coming,” he grunts to Elio. “Only to abandon me to my fate for the longest dinner in the history of time.”
Elio takes a careful sip of cider. “Well, you can thank me later. Everyone needs to see you here, or they won’t believe you’re a true contender for the throne.”
“Ahem.” Rye clears her throat. “It’s rude to ignore a lady. Who are you?” She hands Damian her knuckles for him to kiss.
“Damian Sombra, and you are?” Damian answers with humor.
