Captive and Crowned

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Captive and Crowned Page 16

by Elizabeth Newsom


  “Then let’s make this moment count, shall we?” He winked. “You remember the steps, don’t you? We don’t want you forgetting anything during the ball.”

  Evelyn nudged him with her elbow. “You know I do; we’ve practiced this dance like a dozen times.” She squinted at him. “And is helping me prepare for the Blue Moon Ball really the only reason you asked me if we could dance today?”

  He flashed her a dazzling smile, leaving her knees weak, and spun her. Though there was no music, Draven counted aloud to keep track of timing.

  Draven turned her, and she had to draw near to keep up with his strides. When they finished, they stood close, closer than they’d dared to be during any of her other lessons. Though it had only been a leisurely ballroom dance, she found her breath tripping over itself.

  Their gazes locked, and emotion flickered across his face, far too quickly to identify. She hung suspended between the desire to tuck herself into his arms and the desire to draw away. She’d contemplated trying to stay in Torva with Draven, but of course it wouldn’t work. And she wouldn’t give up on her lifelong dream of finding her mother.

  She was the first to step back, and Draven released her hands soon after.

  Evelyn dipped into a curtsey. “Thank you for the dance.”

  He bowed. “It was absolutely my pleasure.” His fingers grazed the back of her hand, and warmth flooded her arm. “Perhaps you could save another for me tonight?”

  She gnawed on her lip. “It might be too risky, especially the night before our escape.”

  “One dance won’t hurt, will it?” He pursed his lips in a pout. “Please?”

  She laughed. “Draven, whatever will I do with you?”

  “For starters, give me a dance.”

  “All right, consider it yours.” She spun on her heel, her dress fluttering against her ankles, and strode back to the ballroom door. Before she left, she glanced over her shoulder at Draven, just in time to see his look of longing vanish. She knew what that felt like all too well.

  Then she closed the door, leaving behind the man she was beginning to fall in love with.

  The Blue Moon Ball passed by in a whirl of glittery satins and bejeweled doublets. She and Alaric danced with each other once out of obligation before splitting ways, just as she’d predicted. What she hadn’t predicted was that Draven wouldn’t attend the ball at all. She spent the rest of the evening subtly combing the crowds for him and turning down other dance offers with a gracious smile.

  Evelyn thanked her mercenaries before slipping into her room and kicking off her shoes. Altogether, the night had been one huge disappointment. The nobles were either ignoring her or trying to use her.

  She sipped at the fizzy gemen before setting the goblet on her vanity. The clink echoed around the empty room. She’d given the fairies the night off to prepare for Mariposa. Now she was alone.

  Or was she? Goosebumps slithered up her arms as her gaze darted to the shadows. What if someone had set out another razor net? Or what if there was an assassin waiting in this very room? She was tempted to run to the King’s room but smothered the impulse.

  This was her last night here. Going to the King would only make it more difficult for them both when she departed. It was best she left their relationship as it was: warm and cordial on the surface and icy underneath—like a Hot Pocket that hadn’t been properly microwaved.

  Draven’s absence at the ball had hurt more deeply than she’d anticipated. It was the last time she’d get to see him as a friend. In a few hours, they’d escape from the palace and part ways. Perhaps it was best she didn’t see him again either. It would make leaving harder.

  The wind whispered softly against the windows, and she swore it sounded like someone breathing. She rubbed her chilled arms, reminding herself there was no one here but—

  A shadow moved. “Evelyn,” it murmured.

  Her breath froze in her lungs. “Draven?”

  Draven stepped into a river of moonlight streaming from her window. Silver painted his handsome face.

  Her heart surged within her chest. She didn’t move her gaze from his, lest he disappear like a phantom. “What are you doing here? This is dangerous. What if the King comes in?”

  “Let me guess: he’s still at the ball, chatting away with the nobles.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And let me make another guess: he danced with you once, as required, before leaving you for these said nobles?”

  She folded her arms tightly over her chest, as if she could trap the ache inside. The King, in many ways, was an honorable man, but she wouldn’t miss him—neither his cold demeanor nor constant rejections.

  Draven stepped toward her, leaving a good two feet of space between them. “It sounds like you haven’t been danced with nearly enough, my dear.”

  “If you would have been there, then maybe I would have danced more.”

  “I know.” His head dipped as he took another step forward. “I’m sorry. I knew you didn’t much like balls, so I decided that for our last night together, perhaps we could do something else.”

  “Like?”

  “How would you like to see a festival? A Blue Moon Festival? The commoners will be celebrating late into the night, and I promise it’s more exciting than a ball.”

  She tamped down her curiosity and shook her head. “That’s too dangerous. What if I’m recognized? What if you’re recognized?”

  He grinned down at her. “I have a plan.” His fingers curled loosely around hers. “Would you like to see?”

  Draven reached down into the tunnel and offered her a hand up. With his assistance, she climbed out of the tunnel before dusting her dress off. Draven had ordered it to be laundered, and its faded pastel blue shone beneath the full moon. She’d removed the apron, so it appeared more a commoner’s dress than a maid’s dress.

  Draven shoved the flagstone back into place, took hold of her hand, and led her out of the alley. He’d donned commoner’s clothes too, but somehow even those looked noble on him. He’d tucked his white shirt into his trousers. The V at his collar offered a glimpse of his muscular chest beneath. If only he hadn’t plastered his hair in that nasty black goop.

  Evelyn fingered her own blackened hair. It was stiff, the strands glued together. Draven had said it was Mushroom Fish ink, and it would wash off easily later. Until then, it was how they’d primarily conceal their identities.

  By the time they’d reached the town square, she was gulping the dry, cold air. The festival took what little breath she had away.

  Round, butter-yellow lanterns hung from poles throughout the square. Vendors rimmed the area with their stands, advertising their wares. Dancing dominated most of the space. Couples twirled and clapped before linking arms and spinning. Hair escaped neatly combed buns, cheeks pinked with exertion, and eyes glowed with happiness. The laughter was more musical than the lively tune the instruments sang.

  She couldn’t stop smiling. This was beautiful.

  Draven pointed to a stall off to the side. “There are moon cakes over there. Or we could—” He sucked in a breath of surprise as she dragged him to the middle of the square.

  She glanced at the commoners surrounding them. She didn’t know this dance. She twirled and clapped with the crowd before they began a fast series of moves she couldn’t keep up with. Draven guided her with whispered instructions and gentle nudges.

  A few times, she lost her balance or forgot the next move, but she was determined to get this. By the time the last music notes dissipated, she’d caught on. Then another dance began. And another. Finally, when she was gasping for air and pressing a hand to her side to dull the pain of a stitch, Draven tugged her to the sidelines.

  He grinned. “Enough dancing for one night?”

  She shook her head. For some reason, the Torvans’ skin shimmered with moisture, while she was drenched. Her dress clung fiercely to her body, and moisture plastered strands of hair to her forehead.

  But Draven wasn�
�t looking at her as he would a drowned rat. His brightened gaze skimmed her figure before flicking back to her face. It’d been brief enough to be decent. Long enough to be intentional.

  “You really do look lovely.” A smile edged Draven’s lips, too soft to be a smirk.

  Heat soared across her cheeks, even searing her ears. She tucked a strand of hair back, suddenly feeling shy. Her fingers came away smudged in black. Oh, tuteno. The ink.

  “Hmmm. While you’re perspiring, try to avoid touching your hair.”

  “I didn’t know it’d come off this easily.” She glanced down at her pale blue dress. Though it was worn, she didn’t want to stain it. “Now what?”

  Draven considered her hand for a moment before grabbing her wrist and wiping her fingers against his trousers.

  “But now your clothes are stained.”

  “Better mine than yours, hmm?” His lips spread in a lopsided smile. It carried all the confidence of his characteristic smirk but without a controlled edge.

  Yet another thing she could add to her list of things she loved about him. She swallowed tightly. Not that she loved him. Wouldn’t that be a mess? Realizing she loved him the night before her escape? Ha. Nope. Not happening.

  Draven slid his fingers beneath the curve of her chin. “Let’s say we take a break and snag some moon cakes, hmm?” He led her to a vendor and bought a cake.

  The golden dough was warm and puffy. When she bit it, the dough gave way to unimaginably fluffy cream, like she’d gulped a mouthful of clouds.

  Draven’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “It’s to your satisfaction?”

  The taste filling her mouth was too overwhelming for her to think up a sassy response. She nodded. At least the Torvans didn’t make everything sour.

  “How about some games? We haven’t seen those yet.” Before waiting for her answer, he grasped her wrist and raced to the other side of the square.

  They reached the other side in time to see a man cross the finish line while lugging along a bulky hay bale. The crowd whooped and cheered as the huffing man let the bale plunk to the ground.

  A woman approached him, her brown hair whipped up in a bun. She held out a basket filled with tiny flecks of gems. How could the commoners afford that? The man took a handful and held it up triumphantly. Each glistening gem hung from a frail green stalk.

  “Dewdrop flowers.” Draven’s warm breath brushed her ear. “They’re extremely rare and awarded to the winners of the games.”

  The man strolled to one section of the crowd. They parted for him, everyone but one girl, her crystal-blue eyes sparkling like the stars in the sky and her golden hair glowing like the lanterns.

  “The winner hands it to a woman he adores,” Draven continued.

  The thought was sweet, but… “Only men can play these games?”

  “Some are for men, some are for women.”

  The man handed the bunch of dewdrop flowers to the woman. Each glistened like crystal teardrops. With the flowers bunched in her fist, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  The crowd laughed and applauded.

  Evelyn’s chest tightened. She couldn’t think of a single person in existence who’d be willing to do that for her.

  “Would you like a flower?”

  She turned toward Draven. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  He nodded toward the basket. “You looked like you wanted a dewdrop flower.”

  “But you said you could only get them by winning a game.”

  “I did.” His gaze held hers steadily.

  Heat flared within her cheeks. Did he mean he would win one for her? Was he suggesting she win one for herself? Before she could reply, he joined several other men, who were walking toward a log laid on its side.

  Vertical planks lifted the log off of the ground, but they were flat while the log was round. A slight push would send the log rolling onto the cobblestone. Beneath the log, flies swarmed around a mushy mound of mud. Ew.

  Two men mounted the log, one on each side. Their weight rolled with the log, and somehow, they kept their balance.

  “Begin!”

  Within seconds, one man had tackled the other man before shoving him into the muck below. The people either grimaced in sympathy or applauded and shouted. It didn’t take her long to spot Draven. He stood in a line behind one end of the log, his shirt whipped off like the other men.

  Her gaze veered away from his bare chest. Not that he looked bad without a shirt. His pectorals and abs couldn’t have looked better even if Michelangelo had chiseled them. He was pretty ripped for a duke.

  He wasn’t really going to do this, was he? Another pair of men mounted the log. They balanced themselves before charging. Draven shifted forward with the line. His gaze snagged on hers. He flashed her a wink and a smile.

  She ducked to hide her blush. Above the roar of the crowd, she heard her heart thumping. Was he doing this for her? There was a grunt, a splat, and the crowd roared louder still. She glanced up. Draven was next.

  He stepped onto the log, not even pausing to gain his balance. A stout man clambered onto the other end. He wobbled before straightening. He was built like a boulder. Draven’s form seemed lithe and graceful in comparison.

  “Begin!”

  Draven glided a few strides forward, while the other man growled and sprinted toward him. Despite his stout build, he balanced on the log with ease. Draven slid one foot back before the man crashed into him. They were both perfectly still before Draven waved his arms, trying to regain his balance.

  Evelyn twirled her finger around the chain of her locket. Despite Draven’s grace, his height would be a disadvantage. He teetered to one side. Then he centered himself and gave his opponent a shove.

  The man stumbled back a few steps, a snarl twisting his lips. Before he stepped forward, Draven twisted the log with his feet. Surprise engulfed the man’s snarl before he fell to the mound below with a wet splat.

  Evelyn released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. The man sat up and waded out of the muck. The crowd gave him a wide berth as he left a trail of brown behind him. Draven walked to the end of the log with the ease and grace of a gymnast before leaping off. He plucked a dewdrop flower from the basket. And then his gaze found hers.

  It was hard to see anything beyond the lantern light shimmering in Draven’s green eyes. He strode toward her and then stopped. He lifted the dewdrop flower. Each petal shimmered like a little star.

  “For you.”

  A potent mixture of longing and affection gripped her chest and squeezed. She took the flower from his hand, unable to form a coherent sentence. When his fingers grazed her cheek, her efforts went out the window.

  She glanced up from the flower. His gaze melded with hers, igniting a spark within her chest. The spark burned hotter and brighter, until it felt like she breathed fire instead of crisp autumn air. Goosebumps shimmered across her arms.

  His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Her eyes slid shut, and she didn’t breathe, lest she make a wrong move and shatter the delicate moment. He was being kind, brotherly. She was misjudging the situation. Fairytales and daydreams didn’t come true. Not to her. She chanted those words in her head, over and over, until a pair of warm, smooth lips slid over hers.

  The spark roared into a flaming fire, its tendrils gliding over her skin as his mouth glided over hers. It was only a mere brush, a slight tease, but it was enough to stoke the fire within her. She rose on her tiptoes, pressing closer. If she were going to melt amidst these flames, she’d rather melt into him.

  And then he was gone, cold air and emptiness sucking away the heat. Her eyes fluttered open. He stood before her, eyes fixed on her lips, chest heaving. Applause crackled and popped like the fire that had nearly consumed her. She blinked and turned to stare at their audience.

  Draven’s hand wrapped around her wrist, and he dragged her away. They swam against the crowd, toward the other side of the square. When he led
her into the shadow of a nearby shop, her heart drummed so hard she feared it burst. Had he brought her here to kiss her more thoroughly in private? Her lips tingled in anticipation.

  “Forgive me,” he said.

  His words snapped her out of her thoughts. “For what?”

  His gaze darted to the ground, then back at her. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Oh.” Did he regret their kiss? She pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

  He placed his hand along her jawline and lifted her gaze to meet his. “What is it, Evelyn?”

  “I thought it was… a pleasant kiss.”

  He smirked, eyes twinkling. “Merely pleasant? Perhaps I didn’t kiss you thoroughly enough.”

  The flames sparked to life, fighting off the chill air. “No, you didn’t.”

  His laughter thickened the air like warm honey, and he shook his head. “Evelyn… you are something else.” He tilted her head up, his mouth dangerously near hers. “So you found the kiss lacking?”

  “Well, not lacking. But I wouldn’t have minded if you were a bit more generous.”

  His hot breath brushed her lips as he bent closer.

  Even as her heart raced, a thought nagged at the back of her mind. She lifted a hand to stop him. “Wait.”

  His lips rested against her fingertips, brushing them as he spoke. “Yes?”

  A frenzy of heat burst across her face at his touch, and she stepped back. “Should we be doing this?”

  Draven released a long breath and leaned against the building, arms folded. “According to who? The King?”

  “No, but I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “I see. And if I kiss you, you don’t want it to be merely for the sake of the kiss. Is that right?”

  She nodded.

  “I understand. I wish I’d been as thoughtful when I was a youth…” His expression briefly tightened in regret. “Which was why I apologized for our kiss. I want you to know that I wouldn’t ever physically express my affection for you without having honorable intentions behind it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If there could be something more between us, something more enduring than a kiss, would you allow that?”

 

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