by Sadie Moss
The floor is marble, so highly polished that I can see my reflection in it when I glance down. Some sections of it are covered in what appear to be moss and flower petals, forming a design that seems to be both a decoration and an actual walkway for people to follow that takes them on a tour of the art that’s on display around us. People are walking on it, and yet none of the petals are kicked away or disturbed, remaining artfully arranged over the moss just as they were laid out.
I jerk in surprise as a few small fireworks—set off by magic, I’m sure—burst into a shower of sparks just below the ceiling, some of them spelling out a very large number.
“Someone just made a donation,” Theo murmurs.
Ah, so the fireworks must go off every time someone donates to the cause, announcing the new amount of money raised.
On the other side of the room, across from the enchanted chocolate forest, a small orchestra is playing, and iridescent bubbles float up into the air from the instruments with every note they play.
Holy wowza.
Whoever organized this thing seriously went all-out. I kind of want to forget the mission and just wander around, see everything that’s there, then take a look at the other rooms and see what they have to offer.
But I have to focus. Cool magic or no, we’re here for a reason, and we can’t fail.
“Okay,” I whisper. “We’re in. Now what do I do?”
“You find the poor sod and you flirt with him,” Theo whispers back.
“I told you earlier, I can’t flirt.”
“You are literally talking to three men who all want to date you, cupcake, I don’t think you get to decide that.”
“But that’s different!” I hiss back, glaring at Cross. “I was actually interested in you guys. And the whole time, I was trying not to flirt with you! It just backfired on me! Because I’m hopeless! If I actually try to flirt with someone—I haven’t done that in years, I have no clue what I’m doing!”
Kasian gives me a reassuring glance. “Pretend it’s one of us, then?”
“Yeah, that’ll work.” Cross grins. “Hell, you know any one of us would be a sure thing. I think we’ve all made that pretty clear. So pretend you’re just talking to one of us, and you’ve decided you want a quickie in a side room. There you go.”
A slight blush warms my cheeks as the other two men nod. I’m sure they’re all imagining exactly how that scenario would go, and now I am too, dammit. Of course, in their minds, each man is imagining that he’s the one I decided to drag into a side room for some quick and dirty fun.
In my head? It’s all three of them. And maybe it’s not all that quick.
My blush deepens as other parts of my body start to heat up. Damn, it’s hard to focus around these three sometimes.
Kasian’s suggestion might actually work though. If I were to flirt with a random stranger, I’m sure I’d be an awkward disaster. But if I imagine I’m flirting with one of the guys… I won’t fear rejection. I won’t have to worry about being perfect. I already know these men want me, and so the flirting becomes fun. It becomes about teasing them until they give in.
I think I can manage that.
“Okay. Do you see him?” I whisper.
“Two o’clock,” Cross replies.
I look toward where the number two would be if the ballroom was a clock face, and sure enough, there he is.
St. Claire.
Swallowing, I steel myself and walk toward him, still pretending I’m back in ballet class. In ballet, even just crossing from one end of the room to the other can have a bunch of different meanings. Every movement is a part of the dance—nothing can be relaxed or sloppy. So my teacher, as one of our first exercises when I was little, had us practice crossing the floor like proper ballerinas.
“Anton St. Claire,” I say, curtsying as he turns to see me. I put on the thick Russian accent again, smiling coquettishly at him. “I thought I recognized you. Tell me, what do you think of this year’s theme? I much preferred last year’s, I think.”
“Ah, your highness.” He bows. He has a light French accent, and maybe it’s the ring giving him an extra boost, but he practically oozes charisma. “I’m afraid we didn’t get to speak as much as I would’ve liked last year.”
He casts his gaze over me, and I realize with a jolt of pleased surprise that he’s into me. Or into the princess anyway. And I can’t blame him, honestly, Anya is beautiful. I think she looks a little haughty for my tastes, but St. Claire might like that about her.
He’s probably a little haughty himself. I mean, you’ve got to have a sense of superiority if you’re proudly wearing a ring your grandfather stole from the fae. That takes balls, and not exactly the right kind.
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little to a purr. I try to recall all the research we did on St. Claire in preparation for this—and I remember that he’s had a couple rumored affairs with married women, although nothing was ever proven.
“I’ve heard so many things about your… activities, I knew I had to talk to you about them in person,” I murmur.
“Activities?” He arches an eyebrow at me.
“Oh, you know, your political work, your support of more environmentally friendly projects for Europe, your comfort to unappreciated women… your appreciation for art…”
As I’d hoped, St. Claire’s eyes gleam when I slip in that bit about the women.
“I’m glad to hear that you admire my work.”
I can see someone behind us angling to cut in and talk to St. Claire—an older man who looks like he wants to discuss business of some kind. No way I can let that happen.
“Perhaps we could compare interests while we dance,” I suggest, looking up at him through my lashes. “See if we enjoy the same kinds of activities.”
I’m not exactly saying hey, let’s see if we’re into the same kinks, but I might as well be. It’s a good thing this illusion spell is on, because my real cheeks are flaming red by now. I feel completely awkward, and I’m sure I’m doing this clumsily, but it seems to be working for St. Claire, because he offers me his arm.
“That sounds most delightful. Shall we?”
For all of two seconds, I’m elated, feeling triumphant—and then he leads me out onto the dance floor, and I realize what music is playing.
Oh, great, it’s a fucking waltz.
I know a lot of styles of dance—ballet, hip hop, jazz, modern, a bit of tap—but I don’t know ballroom at all. I can make do if my partner knows how to lead properly, because I can follow their cues that way, but if you actually ask me to do the steps, I’m… ah, yeah, nope.
A waltz has those simple one-two-three steps though, that go in a box, and I think I know that well enough. I mean, it’s basic enough that I can fake it, right?
Well, here’s hoping anyway, because St. Claire sweeps me onto the dance floor and takes his position, and now that I’ve suggested a dance, I can’t very well say hey, let’s wait for a rap song to come on instead.
Okay, Gabbi, breathe. One two three, one two three, one two three.
St. Claire is a decent lead, so that helps. He gives good cues, and I can respond to his movements. But half of my brain is occupied with remembering the steps and making sure I don’t trip over my long gown, so my replies to his attempts at conversation aren’t exactly inspired.
Crap. He can tell that something’s up, that I’m acting a little weird, but I do my best to remain… seductive throughout. I laugh at his jokes, I press myself up against him, I mention how good he is at being in control of the dance.
Basically, I flatter the shit out of him, and it seems to work despite my overall weirdness.
“Perhaps we could continue this conversation a little more… privately?” I ask as the music winds down and the musicians take a slight pause between songs, giving everyone a chance to change partners or move off the dance floor.
God, this place is fucking fancy. I feel like I’m the main character
in that story about the sparrow who tried to wear peacock feathers.
“You read my mind,” St. Claire says with a slow smile.
He offers me his arm, and when I take it, he leads me through the main room, down another side room, and out onto a balcony.
Okay, perfect. I’ve got him somewhere private. Now it’s up to the guys to do their part in all of this while I distract him.
St. Claire notices the three of them trailing behind us as we walk out onto the balcony. “Your bodyguards?”
“Yes. They’ll stay far enough back though, and perhaps… later on… I won’t need them at all.”
I make a gesture toward the three to tell them to hang back, and they step back into the shadows near the balcony’s entrance.
The man beside me leans back against the white marble railing. “You are a bold one, Princess.”
“I’ve found that’s the only way to get anywhere in life.” I lean against the balcony with him, leaving just an inch of space between us. “You’re quite bold yourself, you know. I’ve heard… rumors.”
“Ah, those are just the fears of jealous men who can’t handle their wives having friends. They see an affair around every corner.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Or it could be that you’re… well.” I cut myself off and look away, casting my gaze down like I’m embarrassed.
While all this is happening, the guys are busy using magic. It’s subtle, slow work, delicate, and hopefully unobtrusive. They need to pull the ring from his finger without him noticing, then get it over to them. Then we can split.
And I just have to keep St. Claire from realizing he’s being magically pickpocketed.
“No, go on, tell me.” The Frenchman leans in with a sly smile on his face.
Ugh. He’s good looking enough, I suppose, but too old for me—or for the princess—and there’s this whole smug air about him that I really don’t like. But I have to keep pretending.
I turn away a little, lifting one hand to my cheek.
“Oh, no. It’s far too forward of me, it’s rude.”
“Never fear, Princess Anya. There is no such thing as too forward here,” he says, and as if to prove it, he slowly drags his finger up my arm to my shoulder.
I shiver slightly, wishing I could pull away, but St. Claire luckily mistakes my shiver for arousal.
“Well,” I say, making my voice breathy. How long am I going to have to keep this damn accent up? “It could be that the women themselves started the rumors because… they want it to be known that they slept with you. Perhaps they did it because you’re such a good lover that people brag about being with you.”
It’s the ultimate ego stroking. And lucky for me, this guy’s so full of himself that he totally believes it.
“I can hardly be blamed if I know how to give my lovers proper pleasure. Pleasure they have too long been denied,” he murmurs. His hand slides down from my shoulder to my waist.
Just imagine it’s Theo, or Kasian, or Cross, I tell myself. I pick Theo, since his flirting style is the most similar to St. Claire’s. Although Theo would never help someone cheat on someone else, and even when he was at his most over-the-top, he was never fucking creepy about it.
I force a smile to my face, turning to face the man beside me. “Oh… St. Claire…”
“Please, call me Anton.”
“Anton,” I breathe, trying to make it sound like it’s the sexiest thing I’ve heard in forever. I try to imagine that Theo just told me he wants to bend me over and fuck me until I can’t even scream—and even in my head, hearing that in his British drawl really does turn me on.
St. Claire gives me another once-over, same as when I first said hello, only this time it’s even more deliberate, more obvious. He wants to make sure I see it and know what he’s doing.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I shift, leaning forward so that more of my cleavage is on display. I hope the guys are getting a kick out of this, because I just want to take a damn shower. I also hope the guys don’t forget this is all part of the plan. The last thing we need is Cross bursting out of the shadows to kick his ass.
“You look so lovely in the moonlight, Anya.”
St. Claire reaches up, his fingertips skimming my face—and he stops. Freezes. His eyes go a bit wide.
Oh, no.
He reached up with the hand that has the fae ring on it—and now he can see that it’s not there any longer.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, my heart pounding. “Anton?”
He pulls away from me, blinking down at his hand, like he’s not sure quite what he’s seeing. I start to slip away—but he grabs my wrist.
“We’re not alone,” he growls, looking around, and then he does a movement with his hand that I recognize from when the guys were testing for a fae passage, and my stomach heaves in fear.
It’s the “dispel magic” gesture.
My illusion falls off me, leaving me as I truly am, and I almost scream in frustration and fear, but the sound gets trapped in the back of my throat. St. Claire wasn’t trying to get rid of my illusion, he was probably trying to get anyone hiding on the balcony using magic to be revealed, but now…
The aristocratic man blinks at me, his mouth falling agape.
I stare back.
We are so screwed.
Chapter 33
There’s a moment of pure shock and horror on both of our parts, and then St. Claire hisses, “Who the fuck are you?”
Shit, shit, shit—
Before I can say or do anything, a blast of magic hits him in the face, not too big but enough to get the dignitary to let go of me and knock him backward a bit.
I take the chance and run for it.
The guys are at my side almost immediately, surrounding me in a tight knot as we dash through the balcony door and down the corridor. “He saw my real face! He knows who I am!” I hiss, my voice skirting the edge of panic.
“We noticed,” Kasian says. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.”
“This way,” Theo calls, leading us through a side door and down a small corridor.
We pass through another door, and I realize that we’re now in the employee hallways, not the guest ones. Shit. We’re going to be lucky if we don’t run into any security. How will we explain what we’re doing here?
We’re not quite running, since that would be even more likely to draw attention, but we’re moving along at a fast walk. The tulle of my dress brushes the floor with a soft swishing noise, and I lift the skirt with one hand so I can move a little faster.
“Do you have the ring?” I ask, breathing hard from exertion and nerves. Did we at least get that?
Cross grins and holds it up, then tucks it back into his pocket. “Safe and sound, cupcake. You’re a damn good flirt. If St. Claire hadn’t lifted his hand when he did, he never would’ve noticed it missing.”
Well, thank God for that, at least one thing went right.
Theo leads us down another corridor, and we all follow without question since he’s the one who spent the most time studying the layout of the place. My ears strain to pick up the sound of shouts or footsteps behind us. I don’t know exactly what the guys hit St. Claire with, but I doubt it’ll take him long to recover. He’s probably gathering his security detail to chase after us right now.
But I don’t hear anything yet, and although we pass a few startled-looking staff members, they don’t try to stop us. Another minute later, we burst out through a side door into the dark night.
We’re near the lot where the valet drivers parked all the cars, so Theo mutters under his breath and moves his fingers in a finding spell as we hustle through the rows of vehicles.
“Are we going to get into a car chase?” I whisper.
“I highly doubt that,” Kasian says.
“I hope so,” Cross says at the exact same moment.
“Well, neither of you are driving,” Theo replies, then makes a small noise of triumph as he spots his car.
We all
pile in, and Theo peels out of the lot as the other two men do an illusion spell on the car to keep the bored valets from noticing us. He turns onto the street, and I nearly burst into tears from fear and relief.
“What are we going to do?” I repeat. “He’s seen my real face!”
“The ring will be back with the fae in just under an hour,” Kasian says as Theo races through the late-night traffic to get us to the Spire. “If St. Claire does any kind of digging, he’s going to know that’s where it ended up. I’m pretty damn sure the fae will want him to know that it’s back in their custody. They like lording their triumphs over people that way.”
“What if he goes to the authorities?”
Cross snorted. “He can’t. The authorities will want to know the details of the ring so that they can make sure they find the real one, and why it could possibly have been taken, and if he tells them all of that, they’ll realize it was fae and stolen. St. Claire will be the one in trouble, not us. Stealing from the fae is a violation of their treaty with humans.”
I relax a little at that, letting go of the handfuls of tulle I was twisting up nervously and smoothing out my skirt. He’s got a good point. Reporting a stolen item as, well, stolen is asking for trouble. St. Claire may be a bit of a lecherous creep, but he seemed intelligent. Hopefully he’ll be smart enough to weigh his options and realize it’s not worth coming after us.
We make it to the Spire in twenty minutes, and Theo parks the car across the street. “Okay,” he murmurs, glancing around like there might be random men in black suits waiting for us. “Let’s go.”
We all pile out and walk across the deserted road. When we find the same spot we entered from last time, the men gather into a tight group and start to do their spells to open up the portal. You’d think the fae would roll out the welcome wagon a little since they’re expecting us this time, and we come bearing a gift, but I guess that’s too much to ask from them.
The guys manage to open the portal, and we step inside. As soon as I pass through the doorway, the familiar sensation hits me. I get that fun feeling of being nowhere and nothing, my stomach not even existing for a second before I’m thrust horribly back into the fae realm, and I nearly throw up again.