Masked (The Divided Kingdom Book 1)

by Shari Cross

  Well, Gregory may not be able to join me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have some wine. I move once again through the crowd, making my way toward the long banquet tables that are assembled around the dance floor. Silver cloths are draped across them, and ivory candles and bouquets of white lilies stand among the fruit, deserts, and wine filled goblets.

  I see a goblet that’s filled more than the rest and head straight for it, but just before I’m able to reach it a cold hand grabs mine. Startled by the contact, I spin around.

  Charles is standing in front of me, his brown eyes stirring behind an ivory mask as he offers me an admittedly handsome smile. He’s leaning down in a half bow, making his sandy-blond hair fall forward. An ivory cape and vest are situated over his white shirt, along with ivory breaches, leading down to blindingly white stockings. The King of the Clouds, I think to myself and almost laugh, but then I see his hands and the urge to laugh fades into unease. Both of his hands are extended out in front of him, one is suspended in the air, waiting for me to take hold of it. The other is holding a single white jonquil. This moment could change everything. I should feel excitement, but I can’t rid myself of the gnawing pain in my chest.

  Seconds tick by, and his eyes begin to question me. But before he lowers his hand in withdrawal, I extend mine and place it in his. The smile returns to his face and he secures his jonquil in my hair and leads me to the dance floor.

  What did I just do? By accepting his jonquil, I’m accepting a promise of courtship and potentially marriage. Am I ready for that? The queasiness returns, but I swallow it back. I need to push these thoughts and unsure feelings away, at least for now. I can think about them later. Right now I want to try to enjoy myself.

  “What do you think of the Ball?” Charles interrupts my fretting and begins to lead us through the current dance.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “But . . .” he prompts. Does he see through me that easily?

  “But it’s a bit overwhelming.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” He twirls me around and then stops my movement by pulling me against his chest. His mouth curls up into a lopsided smile. Feel something, Addalynne. This handsome man is looking at you with desire and holding you against his chest. This is your chance to move on.

  But no matter how hard I try, I feel nothing apart from the familiar ache in my chest.

  “It’s not bad, just . . . different. I’m not accustomed to such ostentation.”

  “A lady of your status and beauty should be surrounded with such ostentation on a daily basis.”

  “I’m sure even you aren’t surrounded with such ostentation on a daily basis.”

  He laughs and sends my body into another twirl. “Well, that’s probably true.”

  We dance to several more songs, and to my surprise, I actually find myself laughing with him a little. As the current song comes to an end, Charles bends down and kisses my hand. When he looks up at me, the look on his face is joyful and carefree.

  “I’m going to get us some wine. I’ll be back soon,” he says, before kissing my hand once more.

  Another song begins, and the couples on the dance floor start to move around me, pressing against me. I make my way to the edge of the dance floor, somewhere Charles will still be able to find me, but where I’m not in danger of being trampled by the dancers.

  Just a little way off, I see a silver fountain. If it’s meant to resemble something, I don’t know what it is, but the erratic swerves, turns and drops are mesmerizing. I stop in front of it, my fingers catching droplets of the cascading water. I watch the way it pours off the curves and arches, as though it’s involved in its own dance.

  A few minutes later, I feel Charles moving behind me. He’s close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck and shoulder, stirring my curls against my skin.

  “That was fa—” I begin as I turn around, but the rest of my words dissolve in my throat. It’s not Charles who’s standing in front of me.

  Chapter 14

  HER

  My heart falters as I stare into piercing green eyes, framed by a black mask. These are the eyes that have haunted my dreams for the past eight months. These are the eyes that are as familiar to me as my own soul. And they’re staring at me now, filled with a tangle of hope and fear. I let my eyes move away from his and glance down to see what he’s holding in his hand. It’s a single white jonquil.

  I bring my gaze back to his face while my trembling fingers reach forward and take the jonquil from his hand. The numbing shock makes my movement slow, but not hesitant.

  All the fear vanishes from his face, replaced instead with hope and determination. Without delay, he slips his hand into my hair and gently pulls Charles’s jonquil from it. He turns it over in his fingers, looking at it with a mixture of curiosity and disdain before tossing it to the floor. Saying nothing, he grabs hold of my hand and pulls me with him into the sea of bodies dancing and forming promises.

  The feel of his hand in mine sends a burning shiver along my skin and waves of confusion through my body. This is impossible. He can’t be here. He’s hundreds of miles away.

  A growing sense of fear builds within me, starting in my chest and working its way through my body, weakening and numbing me. What if I’m imagining this? What if my mind was damaged in the accident and now I’m hallucinating when I’m awake? I close my eyes and breathe steadily, trying to sort through what I know is real. My body following his, bumping and stumbling around people, the fabric of their clothes scratching against me definitely feels real. His hand, tightly wrapped around mine, guiding me and warming me from the inside feels too perfect, too familiar to not be real. I let my eyes re-open. He’s still here, his back facing me. I study the casual wave of his tousled dark brown hair, the ends touching his neck, where the bottom half of his familiar crescent-shaped birth mark is visible. My heart contracts. The hallucinations were never as sharp and tangible as this. Could he really be here?

  Reaching under the sleeve of my dress, I pinch my arm as hard as I can. A sharp pulse of pain radiates where I pinched my skin, which confirms that I’m neither dreaming nor hallucinating. I wait for the excitement to come, but instead I’m overwhelmed by a suffocating sense of disquiet. Having him here is all I wanted, but now that he’s here, I’m scared and confused.

  He comes to a stop in an area of the dance floor that the chandeliers don’t quite illuminate. He turns to face me, and his mouth draws up into a half smile with only one of his dimples showing.

  He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me, placing one hand on the small of my back. The contact vanishes the hollow feeling and leaves me wanting more, needing more. His eyelids partially drop down and his fixed gaze burns through me as he pulls me even closer.

  The feel of his body against mine leaves me flustered, and I pull my bottom lip into my mouth. He looks down at my mouth and slowly lifts his other hand to my face. He gently strokes his thumb along my bottom lip, extracting it from between my teeth. He looks into my eyes and reaches back down, grabbing hold of my hand once more. We move together now, in a slow dance, a contradiction to the fast, upbeat song that’s being played.

  I don’t know how much more of this I can take. His closeness is overwhelming, making me increasingly lightheaded with every touch, every glance. I can’t think straight with him so close to me, and I need to be able to think.

  The dance continues in the most torturous sort of pleasure. We begin a sensual tug of war, Drake always trying to pull me closer, me constantly pushing farther away. His gaze never leaves my face, but I try to look everywhere but at him. Being near him again is more than I could have ever hoped for, but it’s also incredibly painful. I want so badly to reach out and pull him closer to me, but I can’t.

  I look toward the crowded dance floor and see a girl with dark brown hair moving toward us. Her purple velvet dress is stretched tight and low across her chest, exposing her voluptuous curves, and her hooded grey eyes are fixed on Drake. The sight o
f Jacqueline leaves me debilitated, bringing back a flood of unpleasant memories—their passionate kiss, his telling her he hoped to see her again, and lastly, his walking away from me. Although this last one is not a real memory, it’s an image I’ve conjured up in my mind enough times to become palpable and bitter.

  I pull away from him and the feeling of emptiness instantly pours through me as his hand drops from mine. I push my way through the crowd of people, desperate to put distance between us and clear my head.

  “Addy!” The sound of his voice, real and here, almost stops me, but I force myself to keep moving. Suddenly, his fingers are on my back. My steps falter and my breath solidifies in my throat, turning to a painful lump. I can’t do it. My need for him is too deep.

  I start to turn back to him, giving in, but Jacqueline reaches him before I do. Her presence brings back my resolve and I cut around her, knowing this will likely be my only chance to get away. After several seconds, I let myself glance back. Jacqueline has successfully blocked his progress and has her hands gripped firmly around his black vest. He’s looking over her head, directly at me, his masked eyes filled with questions and pain. I turn away and quicken my pace. Someone else calls my name as I brush by, but I don’t stop to see who it is. I have to get out of here and I have to do it now.

  I reach the end of the dance floor and see a set of wooden double doors. I push through them and find myself on a candlelit veranda. There’s a marble staircase to my right, which leads down to the garden. I head down the stairs, taking two at a time, and run toward the safety of the green grass and tall trees.

  Once I’m far enough into the garden, I stop running. I inhale the fresh air in an attempt to fill my lungs and clear the dizziness from my head. Just ahead there’s a pond with a grey, stone bridge running across it. I walk toward it, my head clearing with each step I take.

  When I get to the bridge, I stop and lean over the stone railing. The reflection of the full moon is dancing on the water, creating a second luminous sky. My rippled reflection is there in the water as well. Strands of my hair have made their way out of my pin and are falling around my face. My cheeks feel warm and flushed, and my eyes seem crazed behind my gold mask.

  I pull off my mask and hold it in one hand while I spin Drake’s jonquil with the other. Closing my eyes, I try to slow my breathing. I picture the ocean, the one I let my mind wander to when I need to get away from reality. I imagine the blue waves splashing on the grey rocks, the sun setting over the horizon, a siren singing the most beautifully bitter song.

  As she finishes her song, I hear the faint sound of footsteps slowing next to me, and I know exactly what I’m going to see when I open my eyes. I don’t understand how he always knows where to find me, and tonight this little ability of his is driving me mad with equal measures of elation and annoyance.

  I delay for a while, letting myself count to one hundred. I do this partly to give myself more time to prepare, but mostly to irritate him. As I get closer to one hundred, my mind races with thoughts.

  Ninety-five . . . what am I going to say to him? Ninety-six . . . I won’t say anything. I’ll let him be the one to speak. Ninety-seven . . . I can’t believe he’s here. Ninety-eight . . . I missed him so much. Ninety-nine . . . He probably won’t stay. One hundred . . . I really hope he stays. I slowly open my eyes and gaze into the pond.

  Another reflection is there now, staring back at me through the surface of the water. He’s no longer wearing the black mask, and the moonlight is shimmering across his face, bathing it in a silver glow. He looks older: a young man now, instead of the boy from my memories. And somehow, he’s even more beautiful. His dark hair is disheveled and his emerald eyes are intently set on my reflection. I look away from the reflection of his eyes. It will do me no good to look there. Instead, I study his dark clothes, and notice the wrinkles in his black long sleeve shirt and his black breeches.

  Having him here shows me how completely lost I’ve been without him. When Gregory came home, I felt as though a part of me had returned, but I was still incomplete. Now that Drake is back, it’s as though the rest of myself has returned to me as well—like the missing piece has finally been found. But even though I’ve found it, I feel as though it no longer belongs to me. I can see it lingering in front of me, but I don’t know how to reach it.

  I set my mask and jonquil on the railing of the bridge, then I turn and lean my hip against it, crossing my arms in front of me, making myself face him. He’s leaning on his forearms, along the same railing about five feet away from me. His face is unreadable. Our eyes lock on each other and my heart races so quickly that I feel my pulse jumping in my throat. He pushes himself off the railing and turns to face me, his body stiff and apprehensive.

  “Um . . . It’s really good to see you,” he says hesitantly, as he warily studies my face.

  After almost a year apart, that is the first thing he’s going to say to me? A scoff escapes my throat, and I turn away from him, again facing the water.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice stronger and more determined. “Then again, you always do,” he continues, returning to the quiet, unsure voice. “Will you please say something?”

  No, I won’t, because I don’t know what to say, and even if I did, it would probably come out wrong. Besides, I refuse to shatter what’s left of my heart. That’s what I want to say.

  “What would you have me say?” I ask instead.

  “Something. Anything. Scream at me. Tell me how much you hate me. Only don’t walk away from me again.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I whisper. And it’s true, I could never hate him. He could spit in my face and tell me he never wanted to see me again and I would still love him with everything in me. I’m pathetic.

  I walk to the end of the bridge and head toward the trees. The sound of his footsteps tells me he’s crossing the bridge as well, following my lead. When I reach the tree line, I turn and face him. His eyes are dark and he’s staring down at me with an intensity that stops my breath. Without warning, he takes one determined stride, successfully closing the distance between us.

  His hands grab my face, and then his lips press against mine. The taste of his mouth and the way his breath mixes with mine clouds my head and sends my heart into a frenzy. I should resist, but there’s not a single part of me that can.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me, twisting my fingers in his hair. A grunt escapes his throat as he feels me respond. One of his hands moves to the back of my head, tangling in my hair, while the other hand travels down my back and pulls me forward, pressing me firmly against him. Both of us are fighting for control, pushing and pulling, trying to take as much of each other in as we possibly can, trying to make up for all the time that was lost to us. His arm curls around my waist and he walks us backward, until he has me flush against the trunk of a tree.

  He lets go of my waist and places his hands on either side of my head, his lips moving away from my mouth. He brushes them along the surface of my cheek before trailing them to my jaw and then down to the base of my neck. I struggle to catch my breath and gain control of my thoughts, of my body. I shouldn’t be doing this. I have too many doubts. Too many questions. His teeth graze lightly against my neck. I’m angry with him, aren’t I? But I can’t remember why. All I can think about is his lips and how they’re doing things to me that no one has ever done before.

  My first kiss—this is my first kiss. But it’s not his. He has done this before. His lips have done this before, and not to me. I untangle my fingers from his hair and move my hands to the center of his chest. His heart pounds beneath my palms as his lips caress my shoulder blade. My knees shake, but I manage to find my resolve and shove him as hard as I can. He stumbles backward, but quickly manages to steady himself.

  “What was that for?” he asks, his voice shaky and breathless.

  “You shouldn’t have kissed me like that!”

  “Well you didn’t seem opposed to it.” He straig
htens himself out and runs an unsteady hand through his hair.

  “Was Jacqueline opposed to it when you kissed her like that too?” I attack, feigning mock interest. His hand drops to his side. He looks completely stunned. I wait for him to respond, hoping with everything in me that he’ll deny it. That he’ll tell me I’m mistaken.

  “How . . . who . . . who told you that?” he stammers. My stomach drops.

  “I overheard her talking with her friends and she told them all about it. How you saw her in Synereal and went on a walk with her. Then you passionately kissed her and told her how much you hoped you would see her again someday.”

  His face is a carefully composed mask. Clearly, I’m not mistaken. If I were, he would have refuted it by now. The fact that he doesn’t deny my accusation sickens me.

  “You know what the worst part of it is . . . ?” I say while fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over, hoping my words will hurt him as much as his actions hurt me. “. . . that while you were over in the capital, going on walks and kissing Jacqueline, I was at home, sick and injured, and the only thing I wanted was you.”

  His eyes flash to mine, as sharp as cut emeralds. “That’s a lie! You didn’t want me!”

  “How could you say that? Of course I wanted you!” I still do, despite everything. That has never been a lie.

  “You didn’t want me!” He repeats, his chest rising and falling with his angered breaths. “I am the one who wanted you! You are all I ever wanted! Everything I did was for you and I chose you! I was going to come back to you! You are the one who didn’t want me.” As he says this, all the anger leaves his face, replaced instead with pain.

  “That’s not true! I . . .” I try to argue, but stop myself because even though I want to tell him he’s wrong, I know that I’m the one who’s wrong. I was the one that pulled away from him before I was attacked, but that was only because I was trying to do what was best for him. He doesn’t know that though. I have to be honest with him. Lying and trying to protect my feelings is getting me nowhere. “That day in the woods, I only pulled away from you and told you I wanted you to leave because I didn’t want you to feel pressured into staying in Faygrene for me. It would have been completely unfair of me to ask you to stay, especially when I knew how much you wanted to go. I wanted you to stay more than anything, but I couldn’t do that to you.”