Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
The focus of their little display was the heads of the Laurent and Blanchard families, who looked murderous. Viviana’s expression was more petulant and irritated. She was the lesser of two threats. Barron looked like he was going to extend his canines, tear through Kerrigan’s throat, and enjoy watching her blood flood the ballroom.
She smiled at him—a taunt that she couldn’t help but throw in his direction. He’d made his move with this party. She’d made hers. Now it was time to see where the game led.
Barron arched an eyebrow and then took Viviana by the arm and stalked forward. “Welcome,” he boomed with syrupy sweetness that was beyond fake considering the deadly expression still painted on his face. “What a surprise that you chose to attend and with such spectacle.”
“And in such attire,” Viviana added with a wrinkled nose. “Quite a fashion statement.”
“Thanks. It’s all the rage in the capital,” Kerrigan said. “Perhaps I could set you up with my fashion designer back home. He’d really spruce up your wardrobe.”
Viviana looked aghast. “This is the height of fashion.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s very traditional. It’s just not what’s up-and-coming. It makes sense, what with the Society keeping you from leaving the mountain, that you wouldn’t know what’s in vogue in the city.”
“I don’t need city fashion.”
“I see,” Kerrigan said as she twirled a shadow around her finger. “That explains the treaty you signed, I guess.”
Viviana gaped at her. “The treaty to keep our people from being slaughtered? By the Society that you were a part of.”
“Oh, Viviana, I don’t want to talk politics tonight,” Kerrigan said as she fluttered her eyelashes. “We all know that I’m fighting the Society for their terrible treatment of both my people and your people. We’re on the same side, right?”
Barron’s grip on Viviana’s arm tightened until she winced. She smoothed over her features as if she had just realized that everyone was watching them. “Yes, of course.”
Prescott sidled up then, appearing almost as if out of nowhere. For a second, it was as if he were the only person in the room who didn’t sense the tension growing between the heads of the royal houses.
“Are we going to dance?” His voice was pitched too high, and he teetered sideways, nearly knocking into Kerrigan. He laughed drunkenly. “We’ve been waiting for you to begin.”
“Gods, Prescott,” Fordham snarled. “Can’t you keep yourself together?”
Prescott took another long sip of his wine in answer. “I guess not then?”
Fordham’s eyes were deadly as he said, “You’re a mess. Go somewhere and sober up. It’s a disgrace.” Then he physically pushed Prescott aside to offer his hand to Viviana. “Shall we?”
Barron did the same to Kerrigan. “My lady?”
Kerrigan shot a glance at Fordham, who looked like he wanted to eat glass before he gave Kerrigan over to their enemy. But what else could he do in the situation? They had come to show their strength in the crowd of their enemies. She had to do this too.
“Absolutely. It’d be an honor,” she crooned, stepping away from Fordham and into the arms of his rival.
Fordham was still watching her as Viviana dragged him into position on the dance floor. When bloodshed didn’t follow their entrance, the rest of the room went back to gossiping, and a line of dancers got into position around them.
Barron drew Kerrigan in close, positioning their arms and then sliding his hand to the small of her back. She held back her distaste as her hand went to his shoulder. The only good thing about all this was that she was an excellent dancer. She’d loved it so much as a child growing up in the House of Cruse in Bryonica. The dances came to her with ease. It was one of the reasons she was so good with her footwork—it had felt like an extension of her dancing skills.
Unfortunately, Barron Laurent was also an excellent dancer. She should have foreseen it, considering Fordham had confirmed that Barron was an exceptional soldier. She hadn’t seen him in action, but she didn’t doubt Fordham’s praise on the matter.
Barron whisked her around the space as if she were a doll and he was in complete control. Normally she would have adored that in a partner, but right now, she didn’t want to be out of control.
“So do you expect me to believe that those shadows belong to you?” he asked after a few tense moments.
Kerrigan glanced up into his dark eyes with an arched eyebrow. “You think they’re not mine?”
“You’re not an Ollivier.”
“Not yet,” she purred.
He smirked. “Not yet, and even then, none of King Samael’s wives have gained this incredible talent by marrying into the line.”
“That’s unfortunate for them.”
“Even though it was a trick, it did look formidable,” he said. “Well done.”
“Thank you,” she said without pretext. Then she gathered shadows toward her and let them wrap around both her and Barron’s attached hands. “I’m a fan of them.”