Page 60 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
Then the music changed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My stomach twisted as the music turned more romantic and yet ghostly. No stringed instruments sang out. Only the soft simple calls of a flute and the rustling strokes against a water drum. I could feel his eyes on me. Even without seeing him, I knew it was him.
Slowly, I turned, my heart in my throat.
Vetle stood at the edge of the dance floor, still as stone as he watched me.
My breath caught.
He was surrounded by people who were milling about and talking, but it was as if it was just the two of us now.
All I could do was stare.
He’d been a king since the day I met him, but there was something so intensely beautiful and radiant about him. Deep blacks and midnight blues melded into an elegantly embroidered robe with silver trim, tailored to him and open. His high-collared tunic molded to his form, the cut of his garments emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean strength, a sharp hunger that was for more than food. His spiked crown glinted atop his sleek dark hair, gleaming like starlight. And behindhim, his skeletal wings extended to their full span, giving him a silhouette as arresting as it was otherworldly.
But it was his eyes that held me captive.
Those amber depths burned with an intensity that made my knees weak. They tracked over me slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail of the lavender gown, the jewelry, the way my hair fell loose around my shoulders.
He moved through the crowd without glancing to the right or to the left, and the other partygoers parted like water before him. His gaze never left mine as he watched me, unblinking.
My pulse pounded in time with the drums. I was aware of everything—how the silk of the gown shifted against my thighs, the cool night air kissing the heat blooming along my cheeks, the way his approach made the rest of the world vanish. I couldn’t look away even though every instinct screamed that I should lower my eyes, curtsy, do something other than stand there gaping at him like a fish out of water.
But that was all I managed to do.
He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could smell his rich cologne. With a faint smile, he offered me his hand, palm up. My own hand went to his at once, my fingers sliding over his palm until I remembered the stitches and drew back.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he said softly. “And even if it did, it would be worth it. Just to hold you.”
A shiver chased down my spine.
He brought my hand to rest over his, cradling it as though the touch meant everything. His voice dipped lower, velvet and sensual. “What hurts is not having you in my arms.”
“Oh?” I found myself laughing despite the tension coiling through me and tightening by the second. “You aresucha smooth talker.”
“This surprises you?” His eyebrow flicked up in an over-dramatic fashion.
“If you had sweettalked me when you showed up in the fountain, I might have come with you.” I twitched my shoulder at him.
“Oh?” He cocked his head, parroting the way I had said it. “Are you easily wooed with words, little thorn?”
I mimicked his pose. “I didn’t say I would be wooed. Just that I might have come with you.”
A hint of laughter escaped his mouth, and he stepped closer, his gaze flicking from my lips to my eyes. “I wish I’d known that. You’re breathtaking regardless. With this dress orwithout.”
My mouth went dry. Had he really just said that? I tried to form words, tried to think of something witty in response, but my tongue tangled. All I managed was a breathless, "Thank you."
His lips curved into a slow smile that showed the points of his fangs. "Will you dance with me, Sabine?"
The way he said my name sent shivers racing down my spine. I nodded, not trusting my voice. I had to get control of myself. This man was going to be my husband, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him just…make a fool out of me. Even if it felt unbelievably good.
He took my hand in his, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat flooding through me. His other hand settled at my waist, fingers splaying across the small of my back as he drew me against his lean but powerful form. The music swelled around us, the bone flute's haunting melody weaving through the steady rhythm of the water drum.
We began to move as one.
I'd never been a particularly graceful dancer. At the few celebrations I'd attended, I'd always felt awkward and self-conscious, too aware of my feet and where to put them. It was part of the reason it had been so easy to just agree to stay behind in the garden while Enola went to enjoy the festivities and I hung back in the shadows.
