Page 61 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
Yet here I was now. In a king’s arms. On the verge of the Witheringlands’ collapsing. Possibly living my final days. Taking my last breaths. And I was dancing.
Vetle made it easy. His lead was firm and confident, guiding me through steps and whispering guidance without seeming judgmental. My body followed his. If I missed the dance steps, he didn’t let on. Instead, he drew me out onto the dance floor and guided me, adapting and leading and holding me out as if he were proud to have me there.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I studied the sharp planes of his face in the flickering light. The stitches that crossed his features were stark reminders of the violence he'd endured, yet they didn't diminish his beauty. If anything, they made him more compelling—proof that he'd survived, that he'd fought, that he was still here. They were markers of endurance as much as suffering.
"You're staring," he said, amusement coloring his tone.
Heat flooded my cheeks. "So are you."
"I am." His eyebrow arched. "I can't seem to help myself, and I have no desire to improve on that front."
He spun me gently, and my skirts flared out in a cascade of lavender that shimmered against the pale stone. It almost looked as if the creatures embroidered into my skirt danced along with me. When he pulled me back, his grip tightened at my waist and brought me up against him.
The music shifted, the tempo increasing slightly. Around us, other couples had begun to join the dance. I caught glimpses of Candice twirling with one of the guards, her faded red skirt flashing. Doctor Rasoul had coaxed his companion onto the floor while another watched over the plant, and even stern Gehn was dancing with a woman whose grey hair was twisted up with a pale-pink ribbon. Osric darted up to a girl about his age with afaded-blue shawl, and he put his palms on her shoulders. The blue flared darker and deeper at once. He giggled and ran off.
"Everyone seems so happy," I observed, watching the smiles on faces that had been so drawn with fear and exhaustion just hours ago.
"They're choosing joy while they still can." Vetle's thumb traced small circles against my back through the fabric of the gown. The sensation sent warmth pooling in my belly. "That's what this dance has always been about. Not pretending the danger doesn't exist, but refusing to let it steal every moment from us. But with that said…" He tilted his head as he studied me. “May I steal you away for a moment?”
My heart skipped as my mouth went dry. “Of course.”
His hand slid along the small of my back as he drew me closer and led me from the dance floor. The music continued behind us, the laughter and conversation of his people fading as we moved toward the edge of the courtyard. Several guards tracked our movement with their eyes, but they maintained their distance, giving us space.
He guided me through a narrow archway on the left side of the landing, partially concealed by one of the massive support columns. The passage beyond was dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from an iron hook. The walls here were smooth, devoid of markings. I wondered if there had once been carvings or embellishments rather than the plain marble.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Somewhere I can speak with you without an audience." His wings rustled as he adjusted his arm around my waist, his palm clasped against my hip as he curled me just a bit closer. "There are things I need to say, and I find myself wanting privacy for such words."
My pulse quickened. The intimacy of being alone with him, away from the celebration, made my skin prickle withawareness. Every place he touched me felt like a brand, cool and possessive.
We emerged onto a small balcony I'd never seen before. It overlooked the eastern section of the palace relatively far from the dance, stretching out toward the distant dark leafless forest. The blood moon hung lower in the sky, its dull red glow casting everything in shades of rust and shadow.
He released my hand and moved to the railing, his wings settling against his back as he stared out at the wasteland beyond as if to collect his thoughts. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I studied the line of his shoulders, the way the moonlight caught on the silver embroidery of his robe, and the strength of his posture. “I have celebrated many last nights of the blood moon cycle over the years,” he said. “They are a time for contemplation and a time to choose joy, but the truth is that I have generally been cloaked with despair and terror that I did not dare show my people. The weight of this place has crushed me since the first night I arrived. But tonight—tonight is different.” He shook his head, laughing. But there was something brittle in the laugh as it cracked.
I stepped closer, drawn by the raw emotion in his tone. "What?"
He shook his head, still staring out over the wasteland. "When I first brought you here, you were a means to an end. A solution to save my people. I convinced myself that almost any cost was acceptable if it meant freedom for those trapped in this cursed place."
My throat tightened. "I know."
“I’ve always been someone who made up my mind swiftly. I don’t require weeks or months, sometimes not even days to decide what I want or what I should do. Once I make a plan, I stick with it until it is completed. It is both a strength and a weakness, and I do not easily change my mind. Unless I knowunequivocally I was wrong. I judged you swiftly. I thought you were an outspoken, spoiled brat who thought only of her own comfort and cared nothing for the plight of others. And I was wrong on every front except that you are outspoken. Though even that seems to be tempered by your mood, little thorn.”
“Even thorns don’t always want to draw blood,” I said softly.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “My little thorn doesn’t always draw blood?”
The possessive edge in his voice sent a flutter through me, heat blooming beneath my skin. But then the urge to tease him overwhelmed that sweetness. “You’re very bold. Most men wouldn’t admit their…thorn is little.”
His eyebrows shot up, and his lips parted in mock outrage before curling into something darker. “Ah. There you are.” He stepped forward, lazy and predatory, the night gleaming in his eyes. “For a moment, you were too sweet. Too shy. I was beginning to worry.”
His voice dipped lower as his gaze raked over me again. “But I wouldneverrefer to my manhood in such a fashion if for no other reason than it would imply I simply want to prick you. When that is as far from what I want as a kitten is from a lion.”
“Well…” I tried to shrug, but my body had gone taut beneath his gaze. “What…do you want to do with me then?”
Moonlight spilled across his profile, sharpening the line of his jaw, the gleam of his eyes, and the sharpness of his cheekbones. His gaze locked with mine. Then he moved.
I scarcely drew in a breath before he had me up against the wall, my back against the marble archway. Palms flat against the stone, his hands bracketed my head. In just that breath, his body caged mine without quite touching, close enough that I felt the displacement of air, the whisper of his presence along every nerve as his wings flared slightly, creating a cocoon of shadow that blocked out everything but him.
