The Shadows Between Us

by Tricia Levenseller

  It’s fascinating to watch.

  They say the Shadow King has some sort of power, but no one knows what it is. Some say he can command the shadows to do his bidding, that he can use them to kill—choke the life out of his enemies. Others say they’re a shield. That no blade can pierce his skin. And even others say that the shadows speak to him, whispering the thoughts of those all around.

  I certainly hope that last one isn’t true.

  Knowing what I have in store for him after our wedding night simply won’t do.

  Once I adjust to the outline of shadow, I’m able to take in other features. His hair is as black as the shadows around him. The sides are cropped short, but the hair up top has some volume to it, parted to the side. A strong brow shades his eyes. The lines of his jaw are so sharp they could cut glass, and a healthy dose of stubble covers them. With a straight nose and full lips—

  He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, even when his features are set somewhere between boredom and irritation.

  Seducing the king will prove to be a most enjoyable task, indeed.

  We match, I note, as I take in his clothing. While all the dresses around us vary from mint to teal to olive, we are both decked in head-to-toe black. The king wears sleek dress pants. A black undershirt, tie, waistcoat, and overcoat. Brilliant silver buttons don his jacket. A chain dangles from the shoulder to a pocket above his left breast, holding a watch, no doubt. Black leather gloves cover his hands, which rest on the arms of his chair. A sheathed rapier leans against his throne, one for style, not use, I’m sure.

  Though he doesn’t bother with a crown, there is no doubt as to the man’s status.

  “He’s so striking,” I say at last. And young. I know he was only crowned about a year ago, but he can’t be much older than I am.

  “Remember, if you approach him, you’re not permitted within five feet of him.”

  Yes, I know the law. No one is allowed to touch the king. To do so is punishable by death.

  Oh, he is a delightful mystery that I can’t wait to solve.

  “Dance with me, Father.”

  Having learned his lesson, Father places a hand at my waist and leads me into a slow-moving Naxosian dance without question. We turn along the outskirts of the dance floor, but I order Father to lead us closer to the center.

  To our left, two gentlemen dance together. The taller one twirls the shorter one in perfect form. To our right, a man and woman scoot indecently close to each other, and I silently cheer them on. The rebel in me loves to throw dirt in the face of decorum.

  After a minute passes, I spot a few men looking over the heads of their dance partners to catch a glimpse of me. My black attire is doing its job splendidly.

  But mostly, I think it’s the fact that my pant-clad legs are a rarity in the room. Most men aren’t used to the style. And I’ve opted for tight-fitted ones that show my curves to their best effect.

  “People are staring,” Father says.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  I imagine what the scene must look like from up on the dais—the black center of a daisy amid sage petals.

  More and more girls exit the ballroom after obtaining their introductions. I hope the line ends soon. There can’t be that many girls of noble blood.

  A sudden spark of heat lands on my neck and spreads down to my toes. I’m being watched. “Tell me, Father, have we attracted the notice of the king yet?”

  Father glimpses the throne out of the corner of his eye. They widen. “I believe we have.”

  “Excellent. Keep dancing.”

  “But—”

  “Father,” I warn.

  I let myself get lost in the steps. I do so love dancing. I love the way my body becomes light and fluid when I go through the motions, the way the spins send my hair over my shoulders, the way my skirt twirls around my legs.

  When the song is nearly over, I ask, “How many women are left in line?”

  “Ten.”

  The song ends, and the orchestra strikes up another.

  “Should we—?” Father starts.

  “I’m parched. Let’s go to the tables for some refreshment.”

  “But—”

  At my glare, he takes my arm once more and leads me up to a table laden with red-filled glasses and tiny samples of food on trays.

  I select a glass, holding it in my fingers by the long stem, and bring it to my lips.

  “Lord Masis,” a bright voice says from the other side of the thin table.

  I look up. Before us is a golden-haired noble older than I. Perhaps thirty. He still appears young in the face, but he’s much broader in the shoulders than the men I’m used to entertaining.

  “Lord Eliades!” Father greets, forgetting me for a moment. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you in weeks at the club.”

  I haven’t the faintest idea what club he’s referencing, but I suppose I should have known Father wasn’t spending his evenings at a mistress’s. He never has gotten over Mother.

  Father stretches out a hand to shake Eliades’s, and I note that the younger gentleman has quite the calluses on his right hand. How unusual for a lord. But as I take note of the distinct muscles visible through his dress pants, I’d deem him an accomplished horseman.

  “Alas, my estates have needed my full attention this long while. I’ve needed to…”

  Already bored with the conversation, I don’t bother listening in. Instead, I turn around to survey those dancing. One gentleman steps on his partner’s foot during a turn because he has his eyes on my legs.

  “Ow,” she protests.

  I smile down into my glass, taking another sip, careful not to look anywhere near the throne. I swear I can still feel a ray of heat bearing down on me from that direction.

  “Forgive my rudeness!” Father suddenly exclaims more loudly. “Orrin, this is my daughter Alessandra. Now that Chrysantha is betrothed, I’m permitting her an outing at the palace.”

  I stifle a groan before turning. I suppose it only helps my cause to be seen interacting with other guests and not showing any interest in the king. But I’m also certain I will find any friend of my father’s to be intolerable.

  I grasp my overskirt in my free hand and curtsy. “A pleasure.”

  Eliades’s eyes sparkle before he dips into a bow. “She’s as beautiful as the elder. Is her temperament just as sweet?”

  Before Father has to scramble for an answer to that question, Eliades adds, “I’m still put out that you did not give Chrysantha to me. My money is just as good as a duke’s!”

  “As an earl, I’m sure you understand that I had to give her the best title offered. As much as I appreciate our friendship, my dearest Chrysantha…”

  I close my eyes tightly. Chrysantha is the last thing I want everyone to be discussing. This night is about me.

  “Father, another dance is starting.” I set my empty glass on the table and tug at his arm.

  Remembering the purpose for this excursion, Father excuses us and pulls me in line with the other dancers. I try to hide my ire. Even at a party where Chrysantha is absent and Father is bent on helping me catch the eye of the king, he can’t help but speak of his favorite. The daughter who looks like Mother and shares her gentle demeanor.

  “The line is gone,” Father says as we perform the first steps, his focus now returning to the king.

  “Just keep dancing. Do not look at the king any longer.”

  “But he’s watching us.”

  “Ignore him.”

  In my periphery, I see the king shift in his seat, as though he caught himself in one position for too long because he was occupied.

  Occupied with me.

  My anger drifts away at the thought. This song is faster, requiring more dexterity and concentration. As Father’s face blurs in front of me, I’m able to forget all about the king. There is nothing but the tempo pounding in time to my heartbeat and the feel of my feet sweeping across the floor.

 
; Before the song can come to a close, the music cuts off abruptly. The couples around us scatter, and Father brings our dance to a halt.

  The king is approaching, his shadows sweeping behind him as he moves. I try to quiet my breathing from the exerting dance as Father takes my arm in his and turns to greet our sovereign.

  “Your Majesty,” Father says, bowing.

  I curtsy along with him.

  “Lord Masis,” the king says with a nod. “I don’t believe I’m acquainted with your dance partner.”

  I keep my eyes just to the right of the king. Though I don’t see it, I can feel the king’s eyes taking me in from head to toe. He’s been watching me for the last fifteen minutes at least, but now he takes his time with his close-up view.

  “Forgive me, sire,” Father says. “May I introduce my second-born, Lady Alessandra Stathos.”

  The king tilts his head at an angle. “You did not get in line with the other ladies, Lady Stathos. Is the dance floor more interesting than I am?” His voice is a deep baritone; not quite soothing, but powerful.

  I fight a smile as I allow our eyes to meet for the first time. A delicious jolt shoots through my entire body at the connection.

  His eyes are the green of the sea, of crashing waves and violent winds. There’s something dangerous in the depths of them, something exciting, and I realize right then that feigning disinterest will be difficult.

  When I finally manage to pull my gaze away, I let it travel downward, taking in the king slowly while he watches. Assessing him properly from the tips of his black hair to the base of his shined boots.

  “Yes,” I conclude.

  The air leaves my father in a painful-sounding squeak.

  But the Shadow King lets out one low laugh.

  “I saw ladies leaving the ball in tears,” I continue. “It seemed speaking with Your Majesty was a sure way to get kicked out. I wasn’t about to let that happen before I joined in the dancing.”

  “Is it the dancing you like? Or are you merely looking to show off your”—he darts a quick look down to my legs—“dress?”

  “Are you mocking my outfit? I designed it myself.”

  “Quite the opposite. I rather like it.” A pinch of humor lurks at the edges of his lips. I think it might be at my expense, and I don’t like that one bit.

  I say, “Give me your measurements, and I can have one made for you.”

  Another grin stretches across the king’s lips, and I can’t help but admire how much more handsome he becomes with the movement.

  “Dance with me,” he says.

  Father goes so still, one would think he’d been turned to stone.

  “Is that an order or a request? I’m told you hang girls who get too close to you.”

  “Not hang. Those girls are asked to leave the party. So long as you mind your distance, I will not have you dismissed as well.”

  Still, I’m not ready to concede just yet. “Is there any fun in a dance when you can’t touch your partner?”

  “Accept my invitation and you will find out.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  The dance floor clears until it is only the king and me. The orchestra strikes up a new song, one that only we can share.

  Keeping his eyes on mine, the king advances a step, and I move backward with the motion, following his lead. This style of dance is more improvised, rather than having a set choreography to adhere to, and I can’t help but wonder if the king is somehow testing me with it, seeing if I can keep up. When he steps to the side, I mirror him. He keeps his arms crossed behind his back, but dancing is not meant to be so stiff, so I let mine move with me.

  At first, it’s difficult not to become distracted by the tendrils of black dancing around him. The shadows are so unusual, so fascinating. I wonder what would happen if I reached out to one. Would it curl around my finger? Dissipate at the touch of my skin? Feel as though I’d plunged into a fog?

  I remember myself when the Shadow King holds an arm out to me. I know I’m not meant to take it, so instead I twirl for him, letting my overskirt lift off the floor to show more of the tight-fitted pants beneath. I close my eyes and feel the motion more deeply.

  The tempo picks up and so do the king’s movements. I seem to sense his actions rather than watch for them. The dance turns exhilarating and frantic, almost as if there’s something desperate in the music itself. As the song grows faster and faster and the king’s eyes burrow into mine, I can’t help but feel as though he’s trying to communicate something to me through dancing alone.

  I see nothing but those green eyes, feel nothing but the floor against my feet. I lose all sense of time and purpose.

  When the music comes to a crushing halt, I dip my head backward as the Shadow King lets one gloved hand tilt toward me in the imitation of a caress.

  I’m breathing heavily while staring up into two swirls of emerald green. We right ourselves seconds later.

  When the king finally looks away from me, he raises his voice for all to hear. “That’s enough revelry for one night.”

  And without another word, the king turns on one heel and stalks from the room, grabbing his sword on the way out.

  I’m staring at the spot where he disappeared in stunned silence.

  In the next instant, servants dressed in silly wigs usher everyone from the room. Father takes my arm, and I silently follow his lead.

  What just happened?

  I thought the dance was perfect. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t get too close.

  The king, who has never publicly danced with anyone since his coronation, asked me to dance.

  And then he left without another word.

  Men do not dismiss me. No one has since Hektor. I feel my nostrils flare and my face heat up.

  “It was a valiant attempt,” Father says as he hands me up into the carriage. “Devils know you achieved more than any other woman has. Not only did His Majesty bother to look at you, he asked for a dance. He will remember you. This isn’t necessarily over.”

  The carriage moves slowly, halting and rolling in small increments as the traffic backs up from all the other people leaving the palace.

  “Just a moment!” a voice calls out. The carriage comes to another jerking stop.

  The head of a man appears in the open window of the carriage. A palace servant, by the way he’s dressed.

  “Lady Stathos?” he asks.

  “I am she.”

  He sticks an arm into the carriage and presents me with a black envelope. When I take it, he doesn’t leave. He waits patiently for me to open it.

  Forgive me, Lady Stathos, but I’ve changed my mind. I do not wish for you to leave just yet. You’re far too interesting for that. Will you come join my court? Consider this an invitation, not a demand. My man will await your reading of this note in the event of your acquiescence.

  —KM

  I wonder at the signature. Could those be the king’s real initials? I suppose I shouldn’t have expected him to sign SK. Shadow King isn’t his name, after all.

  Elation rushes through me as I realize what this means.

  “What is it?” Father asks.

  “The king asks for me to stay at court.”

  “Then why are we still sitting in this carriage?”

  I turn toward the servant. “I will accept His Majesty’s invitation.”

  “Very good, my lady.” He opens the carriage door for me but shuts it before Father can descend the steps. “I’m afraid the invitation extends only to the lady, my lord. You’re free to return home.”

  And before my father can utter a word of protest, the servant leads me back toward the palace.

  * * *

  WE DON’T GO THROUGH the main doors. Instead, I’m taken through a side entrance, something that appears to be used only by the servants.

  Indeed, curious laundresses and kitchen workers stare at me as I’m taken down long corridors with black carpeting. Past sconces in the shape of thorny vines. Through doorways li
ned with vases painted with stallions and eagles.

  Is the king trying to hide me? Or perhaps simply not make a spectacle of my more permanent arrival?

  Eventually, the servant deposits me in front of a door. He reaches for a key within his coat and lets us in.

  The room is grander than anything I’ve ever stayed in, with thick light-blocking drapes, wooden furniture detailed with exquisite roses, and cushions of the softest down, but it is nothing compared to what a queen’s rooms would look like, I’m sure.

  A maid is waiting in the room, likely having just finished turning down the bed.

  “The king has already sent for your things, my lady. They should be here first thing tomorrow,” the man who led me here says.

  “But I’ve only just agreed, and you haven’t yet told him I accepted.”

  The servant holds himself a little higher. “The king was hopeful you would accept.”

  Hopeful? More like presumptuous. Arrogant.

  “I see.”

  I have a lot of work ahead of me.

  CHAPTER

  4

  The next morning, breakfast is delivered to my room, along with my possessions. I spend the morning ordering servants about. The wardrobes are filled with all the dresses I’ve designed. A vanity has my powders, perfumes, and jewelry placed upon it.

  I’m not especially fond of reading, but I did bring several books with me to the palace. Most are works on philosophy, mathematics, agriculture, and other topics of importance. They exist to hide the only three books of interest. To the outward eye, they appear harmless: three tomes full of plants and herbs used for medicinal purposes. But in each one, there are several chapters on poisons and antidotes, highly useful for me because I will have to kill the Shadow King once I’ve secured his hand in marriage.

  Hektor’s death was messy, disgusting, so very difficult to hide and clean up. I’m reluctant to stab anyone ever again. Poison is a much cleaner way to kill, and it will prove much easier. Not to mention, it’s nigh impossible to root out the poisoner.

  I order the maids to place the books on an empty shelf in the room. Then I step back to admire the entire ensemble.