Page 72 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
It was a shame, really.
Everinne could imagine herself getting lost in a world of fancy gowns and dazzling balls, where all she was required to do was sip on sparkling drinks and look pretty for the duration of the night. Surely the vibe would be far different from the pounding beats and dizzying atmosphere of Starysa. She could absolutely get swept away in the ethereal wonder of another realm, fall in love and get married beneath a sky full of stars, and for once, perhaps, be at peace.
And she knew without question that Lord Tovian Starstorm would be the perfect husband.
For anyone else but her.
He spun her gently, his thumb coasting along her knuckles as they danced. “Who was that female you were speaking with before? The one with startling pink hair?”
“A friend of mine.” She angled her head to look at him, seizing the opportunity to deflect. “Are you interested? I could introduce you.”
Lord Tovian laughed, rich and decadent.
Everinne’s knees wobbled.
“I was merely curious. High Prince Aran was asking after her, he swore she looked vaguely familiar. As though he’d seen her somewhere before.” His starlit gaze dipped to her mouth. “There is only one female who has captured my interest tonight. And she is currently in my arms.”
Oh, damn.
Awareness prickled along the back of her neck, causing the tiny hairs to stand on end. She tossed a fleeting look over her shoulder only to find Kralv Oldrich through the haze of bodies, his dark eyes fixated on her. His large, bulky frame stood out against the crowd, and he was flanked by guards dressed in black armor with gilded leather shoulder pieces. Heavy lines furrowed across his brow, and his mouth twisted into a sneer.
It was a silent threat.
A warning.
She was running out of time.
Everinne’s stomach coiled into unforgiving knots. Tiny beads of sweat slid down her spine, clinging to her satin dress. She tried to swallow the rise of trepidation in the back of her throat, but her mouth was dry, like she’d been force fed spoonfuls of gritty sand. How was she going to tell Lord Tovian she could no longer enjoy his company? But worse, how was she going to convince Atlas to marry her?
“Are you quite well, my lady?” Lord Tovian’s smile faded, concern clouding his silver gaze. “You are looking rather pale.”
“It’s nothing.” She blew out a soft breath, her cheeks feeling flush. “I have a lot on my mind at the moment.”
Like the fact that she’d been drugged and had her memory wiped, which was why she couldn’t recall exactly what happened after she left the Mystic Obscura the other night. Or how she was being coerced into marrying her brother’s best friend for reasons that were still unknown to her, but she imagined the kralv’s plan was wicked at best, because somehow he’d discovered she possessed the power of inflicting pain, and nothing good could come from it.
Her breathing grew shallow.
Lord Tovian cupped her cheek, lifting her face to his own. His thumb grazed her cheek lightly, and icy dread pierced her lungs, causing her chest to tighten.
“Perhaps some fresh air may help?” he asked.
“No.” She stumbled back, planting one hand on his chest when he attempted to steady her. “That is, no thank you, my lord. Besides, it’s too cold outside and my dress will hardly keep me warm.”
Everinne glanced down between them, hating that she’d been so careless in her choice of clothing.
She wore a black strapless dress that barely fell to the middle of her thighs. The bodice was snug and embroidered with glittering diamonds. The satin skirt flared like a tutu, twirling around her whenever she spun, and her spiked heels were studded with silver gems, which gave her the slimmest boost of confidence. But now, however, that false sense of fortitude was waning.
“I find your dress rather fetching.” Lord Tovian’s gaze skimmed the length of her, his eyes hovering on the swell of her breasts before darting to her face. “Though the style of gowns for ladies in Aeramere is vastly different. A bit more formal, if you will. I think you would enjoy House Celestine immensely.”
“House Celestine,” she repeated weakly. House Celestine. His home, in Aeramere. Hopefully, he couldn’t hear the regret in her voice over the blasting music.
“Indeed.” He clasped her hand in his own as the other slid to the small of her back, swaying her in time to the melodic rhythm. “I could take you to Moonfall Peaks where the stars fall from the sky like diamonds.”
Were males from Aeramere always so painfully romantic?
Lord Tovian moved closer, a lock of dark blue hair falling in front of his face. He was devastatingly handsome with a strong jaw, cheekbones that could quite possibly cut glass, and if her hand on his chest earlier was any indication, the male was crafted from granite. She had to find a way to get away from him before it was too late, before she recklessly tumbled headfirst into his alluring charm and let him whisk her away to a land of stars.
His dimples winked and his smile softened. “I could show you the constellations, create one solely for you.”
