Page 23 of All the Chaos of Constellations
He wore all black, from the leather armor protecting his muscular build to his boots with studs along the toe. Silver stitching was emblazoned across his chest, taking the shape of a fearsome dragon. A blood-red sash lined his trim waist, and tiny onyx daggers pierced both of his ears. Linked chains draped from his shoulders, clinking softly in the silence that followed him. His brows were drawn into a scowl and a scar cut through the one on the left. He had a stern yet smooth jawline and prominent cheekbones that were slightly flushed from the wind. Hair the color of the darkest night slanted across his forehead, messy and unkempt, as he shoved a hand through it, walking toward Ariesian.
Then he paused, but only for a moment. It was barely anything at all, nothing more than a brief passing of time, but his gaze flicked to her. A cursory once over. But long enough for Novalise to commit the color of his eyes to her memory—evergreen and ringed with pale gold, like a mysterious forest shrouded in a layer of fine mist. Cold and bleak. Mysterious. Haunted, even.
A delicious shiver of excitement and something akin to fright slid down her spine.
Everyone moved out of his way as he passed. Not out of respect, out of fear.
Solarius stepped up to her side, angling himself so he was directly in front of her. Blocking her from the newcomer’s view. The dragon rider approached Ariesian and Novalise gripped Solarius’s arm, expecting the worst.
“Kalstrand,” Ariesian murmured, bowing. She’d only witnessed her brother bow to the queen. Not once had he bowed before anyone else. Ever.
“Starstorm.” The striking male inclined his head.
She watched as they gripped each other’s forearms in greeting. Ariesian didn’t look angry, nor did he look pleased. Instead, his reaction was effortlessly calm. He kept his face schooled into one of complete neutrality, never wavering beneath the heavy weight of all those who stared at him.
Conversation and music slowly returned to life, drowning out the murmurs and whispers that hummed below the surface like an annoying insect. Novalise rose up on her toes and whispered to Solarius, “Who is that?”
“That, dear sister, is Drake Kalstrand, Prince of Brackroth.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice, all the while never taking his eyes off Ariesian. “The Shadowblade Assassin.”
She smothered her gasp behind the back of her hand. “Are you serious?”
She’d heard rumors of their existence, that Shadowblade Assassins wielded blades so powerful, one strike was the same as a killing blow. There was no cure. No recovery. Poison filled the victim’s bloodstream, turning their veins black, ruining them from the inside out until they died a most slow and painful death. The assassins moved like wraiths in the night, blending with the shadows, skilled in stealth and combat. No one ever saw them coming and no one ever saw them leave. It would appear, however, that the Prince of Brackroth was the only one left.
Another tremor jolted through her.
“Quite serious,” Solarius muttered, snatching a frothy beer from the tray of one of the queen’s servants.
Novalise peered around her brother to catch another glimpse of the assassin prince. He was in a deep, rather serious conversation with Ariesian, judging by the grave look on his face. Ariesian nodded once, considering whatever Prince Drake said, but Novalise didn’t miss the way her brother’s gaze cut across the rising hill to the palace.
“What do you suppose he’s doing here?” Novalise shifted, a knot of dread forming in her stomach. The crowd of people around them was swelling and needles of anxiety pierced her, heightening her awareness. She clasped her hands before her, giving the appearance of mild interest. But in truth, she laced her fingers together tightly, and squeezed until her knuckles turned white.
“Well, if I had to guess, I assume he’s here to do what’s expected of him.” Solarius took a healthy swig of beer, surveying the enchanted forest. His mouth pressed into a hard line. “Find a wife.”
“You think so?”
“I do. The Prince of Brackroth isn’t known for wasting his time on social frivolities.” He stared down into the glass, gently swirling the amber liquid. “If he’s not here to take a bride, then it’s possible he came to negotiate trade or an alliance of some kind.”
“Hm.” How curious. A flicker of an idea glimmered to life in her mind.
“If you’d excuse me, Nova.” Solarius bowed and she released his arm. “I have a few matters to attend.”
“Of course.” Novalise barely had time to respond. She nodded, slightly jarred by her brother’s abrupt departure. It wasn’t in his nature to abandon her mid-conversation.
But the moment Solarius left her, his loss was immediately occupied by four males. Two she recognized from House Galefell, another from House Terensel, and not surprisingly, Lord Reif Marintide.
He maneuvered his way to the front of the group, elbowing those in his path to reach her.
“My lady.” He snatched her hand, pressing a firm kiss upon her knuckles.
Her spine stiffened at his nearness. She would not be so foolish as to fall for his charms again.
“My lord.” Novalise forced herself to smile, setting her teeth on edge.
“Lady Novalise.” One of the males moved closer, nudging Reif out of the way, and she used the opportunity to yank her hand from his hold. “Would you care to dance?”
“Oh, I?—”
“No, she does not. She’s already promised me the first dance.” Reif stood in front of her, glowering at the opposing male. His green eyes hardened. “Perhaps you should go find another female with a shorter skirt to chase. This one is out of your league.”
