by Amy Alward
The bright lights of the ballroom get bigger and bigger as the moment looms closer.
‘Shall we dance?’ the Prince whispers in my ear.
We step through the double doors and into the ballroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Samantha
‘PRINCE STEFAN OF GERGON AND Miss Samantha Kemi.’
There’s a tittering of the crowd as our names are announced, but it could just be my imagination. Prince Stefan holds my arm steady as we descend the staircase.
When we reach the bottom, he takes a step back and gives me a small bow. There are already couples waltzing round and round on the ballroom floor, and I lose my nerve. A couple of high school dance lessons are not going to cut it. Suddenly everything feels wrong: my dress is too short, my feet too big, my hair too loose.
He stretches out his hand and I tentatively grab it. But there is nothing tentative about his movements. He pulls me into a hold, gripping me firmly around the waist. My nerves calm somewhat – I’m clearly in the arms of an expert. He sweeps me into the rhythm.
Luckily, there’s not much time for chat. Because we’re one of the last ones to be announced, the dance comes to an end quickly. I curtsey to his bow.
‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kemi. You are every bit as remarkable as I hoped you would be.’
I nod, smiling weakly, then I separate from him and move as quickly as I can to the edge of the room. I don’t look to see if those tiger eyes follow me. The crowd is soon distracted by the announcement of Princess Evelyn, who is being escorted by her father. The King looks puffed with pride at having the beautiful Evelyn on his arm. That makes me worried. If her father is happy, that means Evelyn must have said something to reassure him about her lack of an engagement ring. I don’t want her to do anything rash.
I scan the faces in the crowd for Zain. I spy him at the far side of the room and make a beeline, dodging party guests in their finery and waiters with teetering platters of sparkling wine and hors d’oeuvres.
‘Zain!’
He smiles, pulling me into a big hug and kissing me on the cheek. ‘Sam, finally! Holy crap, you look gorgeous. I didn’t recognise you at first.’
I throw a punch at his arm and he winces gamely. ‘What the dragon’s happened? I showed up to collect my escort card and it had some other girl’s name on it! Turns out Prince Stefan had requested you as soon as your name appeared on the guest list!’
‘Trust me, you weren’t as shocked as I was when he turned up at my door!’
‘Hmm, I suppose so. What do you think of this fancy shindig then?’ he says, gesturing over the crowd. Now that everyone’s been introduced, there’s a lot of mingling going on. It’s the first thing I notice about this kind of party. Even though people are talking to each other, they’re always looking over each other’s shoulders, waiting to see if someone more important and powerful passes by so they can try to talk to them. No one is just pleased to see each other.
I wrinkle my nose. ‘To be honest, I kind of hate it.’
He leans in close. ‘I agree. Even though I’m used to it. Let’s just show our faces for a bit and then we can sneak away.’
‘Sounds good. The sooner the better. But we have to talk to Evelyn first.’
‘We won’t get close to her for ages – have you seen the size of the circle around her?’
‘It’s important.’
‘Okay, I’ll make it happen. What’s the urgency?’ he says, raising one eyebrow at me.
I take a deep breath. ‘I need to talk to her about Prince Stefan.’
His eyebrows knit together, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. ‘What happened?’
I look around. For some reason, people seem to have moved closer to us, and I can’t help but think that there are ears everywhere. ‘Not here,’ I say. ‘I’ll tell you and Evelyn together.’
He nods. ‘One circle of the room, one dance, then I can get us close to her.’ He places his hand on the small of my back, and a shiver runs up and down my spine. I let him lead me around one of the large columns, and he introduces me to one of his parents’ friends, from another high-ranking synth corporation.
Now that we are finally together, I’m able to relax and take in my surroundings. The ballroom is enormous, with three diamond chandeliers hanging down the centre line of the room, casting a delicate sparkling light over the equally glittering crowd. At the far end of the room, a tiered stage showcases a small orchestra playing traditional Pays music, and a touch of magic enables the music to be heard at the perfect volume no matter where you are standing. I wonder if magic also maintains and adapts the temperature in the room, because there are warm bodies everywhere, but I am as perfectly comfortable in my thin-strapped dress as the woman across from me is in her fur-lined bolero. I see plenty of men and women wearing one of Kirsty’s glittered jewel bugs. I swear one woman has an entire skirt made out of the creatures, and as they move across the fabric their jewelled backs catch the light. It’s both beautiful and incredibly creepy.
A waiter steps in front of me with a tray of drinks, and I gladly take one of the crystal glasses, filled with a beautiful pale gold liquid. I hold it to my nose and give it a sniff, delighting at the delicious green apple scent, then I smile up at Zain – though my happiness is quickly replaced with alarm.
He’s offering me his arm. ‘A dance, my lady?’
I groan. ‘I thought I’d already got the dancing out of the way?’
‘With the Prince? Nah. Put it this way, if you dance with me, we can avoid talking to my dad – who is making a beeline for us as we speak.’
I sneak a glance over my shoulder and I see that he’s right – Zol is about three ‘hello’s away from us. If there’s anyone I want to avoid at this party, it’s him. I don’t want to have to keep turning down his offer of a cure for my grandad.
There’s nothing else for it. I put down my glass, reach out and grab Zain’s hand. ‘Take me for a twirl, then, fine sir,’ I say.
Zain grins widely and leads me out onto the dancefloor. He rests one hand on my waist, and holds my other hand out to the side. I place my fingers lightly on his shoulder. We wait for a few moments, and then we step in amongst the others.
Like Prince Stefan, it’s obvious that Zain has done this before – not that he would have ever admitted that to anyone in high school. I don’t seem to remember him twirling any girls around our high school gymnasium. I wonder what other secret skills Zain might have, that he’s kept from me? Unlike with the Prince, I feel comfortable in Zain’s arms. My eyes roam the room.
‘When did you learn to dance like this?’ I ask him.
‘I was Evie’s practice dance partner when we were growing up. I think I was the only person who wouldn’t laugh at her too much.’ My stomach clenches at this reminder of just how close they were growing up. But then I tell myself not to be so stupid. Like I didn’t have male friends growing up too? Just look at Arjun – he might not have helped teach me to dance, but he did teach me to be good at algebra. In many ways, I think that might be more impressive.
The next face I catch sight of is Zol’s, laughing with the King. Next to him is Zain’s mother, the beautiful Zelda Aster.
If I marry Zain, I wonder if they’ll make me change my name to Zamantha?
The thought makes me giggle, and Zain looks at me questioningly. I straighten my face.
I think about Zol’s offer to join ZoroAster’s prestigious Synth-Natural Potions Studies programme. It seems like it’s been designed especially for me in mind.
The trouble is, I can’t quite bring myself to work for the enemy.
Poor Zol, I think. No Zamantha, and no Zain in his programme, if he gets any choice about it.
Zain spins me elaborately, and all thoughts abandon me. I’m sure that my previously neat hair is now in disarray, but I don’t care – I grin widely, wishing we could go faster and faster. Then I spot Prince Stefan staring at me from across the room. He’s standing between two c
olumns, his posture perfect. His eyes catch mine, and the corners of his lips curl upwards. He winks at me, and involuntarily I squeeze Zain’s hand tight.
‘Ow!’ he says.
‘Oh, sorry . . . I got confused with one of the steps,’ I say, quickly pulling my gaze back to Zain.
A breeze tickles the back of my neck, and I realise that Zain has danced us across to the far side of the room. Here, a set of stunning glass doors, framed with (what else?) gold, is propped open to allow air to circulate in the room.
‘This is our stop,’ says Zain. When the music ends, Zain bows to me and I respond with a half-curtsey. Then I take his arm, and we step outside, into the beautiful Laville night.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Samantha
THE PRINCESS IS OUTSIDE TOO – and one of her bodyguards steps forward to tell us to stay back, before realising it’s us and letting us pass.
She looks weary, her forehead lined with stress – the first time I think I’ve seen Evie look anything less than flawless. ‘I’m not sure this ball was a good idea, guys,’ she says to us.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘Just tired. Really, really tired.’ Then her eyes flick up at me. ‘So did my ears deceive me, or did you come into the party with Stefan of Gergon?’
‘So you didn’t set it up.’
‘Nope.’
‘I thought maybe because of what I said about wanting to get into Gergon . . .’
‘Even I’m not that fast. So how did it happen?’
‘I kinda want to know that myself,’ Zain says. He leans back against the stone railing of the balcony and raises his eyebrow at me.
‘Basically . . . all he said was that he wanted to meet me. Someone who brought glory back to the alchemists of Nova.’
‘Wow, smooth. Are you sure that’s all he wanted from you?’ Zain asks, his hands balling into fists.
I touch his shoulder. ‘Hey . . . I don’t think it’s my heart that he’s after. He’s still desperate to marry you.’ I nod to Evie.
‘It would be a good political match . . .’ she says, with a shrug.
I grimace. ‘And what about Katrina?’
Zain’s eyes dart between me and Evie. ‘Wait, who’s Katrina?’
Evie shoots me a warning look. ‘Not now.’
I fold my arms across my chest, but then I relax. It’s not my place to tell. ‘What I mean is, Prince Stefan agreed to let me into Gergon tomorrow. Give me two days to see if my idea will work before you do anything you can’t undo.’
A smile tugs at the corners of Evie’s mouth. ‘Okay, forty-eight hours are yours. No rings on my finger until then.’ The smile disappears. ‘It just won’t be too long before the severity of my situation becomes public. Today in the suite was too close for comfort. Renel spent ages making sure none of the stylists would leak the news.’
‘What happened in the suite?’ Zain asks.
I shrug. ‘It was nothing . . .’
‘It wasn’t nothing,’ snaps Evelyn. ‘I could have killed you.’ A deep, hacking cough almost bends her over double.
We rush forward, supporting her with one arm each. ‘Are you all right?’ I say.
She waves us off. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Temporary blip. Oh, dragons, I need a drink.’
‘Take mine,’ Zain says, passing her his glass of champagne. She downs it in an instant.
When she’s finished, she looks revived. I’m always amazed at how Evelyn can pull together her poise. I’d need to go straight back to bed. ‘Speak of the devil, look who’s next on my dance card. Prince Stefan. I guess I’d better get back to it. Zain, is this . . .’
Zain puts his finger to his lips to stop Evelyn and she nods, knowingly. I stare between them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Ah. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. Have fun, Sam,’ she says, before blowing a kiss my way and signalling to her bodyguards that she is ready to re-enter the party. I’m sad when I notice Katrina isn’t one of them this time.
‘Follow me.’ Zain turns to me, smiles, and I have to take a moment. The light from the party shines against his tanned skin, emphasising his chiselled cheekbones. I return the smile. Prince Stefan might be handsome, but he can’t hold a candle to Zain.
‘Come on, this can’t wait,’ he says.
‘Just so you know, this running away stuff isn’t that easy in these . . .’ I gesture to my heels.
‘We don’t have far to go.’
‘No, wait one second . . .’ I pull out the emergency pair of flats I’d stashed in my bag and slip them on.
When I finally look up, the view from the balcony is almost enough to stop me in my tracks again. The garden is spectacular. It stretches out in front of the stone steps, a series of water fountains drawing the eye down the length of it. These aren’t ordinary fountains; the water hops in perfect curves between small pools, arcing over the guests strolling in the garden, all in perfect synchronicity with the music emanating from the ballroom. The sun is setting, tinting the sky different shades of blush pink and purple. It’s all kinds of stunning, a view I thought I’d only ever get to dream about, and I just want Zain to wrap his arms around me and keep me in this moment.
‘This place is breathtaking,’ I say, lagging back despite Zain’s insistent tugging on my arm.
Zain doesn’t even turn his head to look. ‘If we don’t get a move on then we’re going to miss it.’
‘Miss what? Okay, okay,’ I say, reluctantly turning away from the view. We hurry down the stone staircase that connects the balcony to the garden.
We leave the Palace grounds via a small gap in the otherwise impenetrable thick green hedges. Then, we’re out onto the city streets. I feel like an actress in an old black-and-white movie, one where the characters only speak to each other in sweeping statements full of melodrama. In what other world would I be running through the streets of Laville, in the most expensive dress I’ve ever owned, following behind a handsome young man in a tuxedo? It doesn’t feel real.
A deep voice sounds from behind us. ‘Halt! Stop there.’
Zain and I stop in our tracks. One of the Palace security guards jogs towards us, his heavy form lumbering across the cobbles. My first thought is that they should keep their security team in better shape. My second thought is: Oh crap, we’re in trouble.
‘Yes, sir?’ asks Zain. He subtly steps in front of me, putting himself between me and the guard. I take a small step to one side and stand next to him again. Whatever it is, we’re going to face it together.
‘Are you planning on coming back to the party?’
‘Yes, of course,’ says Zain.
‘There’s a strict no re-entry policy. If you return with me now, I can get you back in.’
Zain bites his lower lip. ‘Please, sir – we’ll only be a few minutes. We’ll come straight back.’
The guard looks back over his shoulder at his partner, who’s just visible in the dark shadow of the hedge. ‘Find me when you’re ready. I’ll help you get in.’ His change of heart takes us aback, but we don’t question it.
‘Thank you, sir – we’ll be quick,’ Zain says.
He nods, and Zain grabs my hand. Excitement vibrates through his grip, and it transfers to me as if by osmosis. I want to know what’s making him so pumped.
It’s not long until we join a crowd, all heading in the same direction. My heart lifts. Maybe we’re going to see the famous L’arbre des lumières – the Tree of Lights – the one place in Laville that has been at the very top of my bucket list. It’s situated in a tiny part of Wild territory that has been preserved within the city’s confines. But Zain is pulling me through the crowd, parallel to it, not joining it. We escape through the other side and I can’t help the small frown that appears between my eyes. What can be more spectacular than the Palace gardens, or the Tree of Lights?
‘We’re almost there,’ says Zain, and I’m glad that the sky has darkened so he can’t see the look of disappointment on my face. He slows as we appr
oach a bridge over the inky black waters of the River Calor. He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and looks at the time. ‘Oh good, I think we’ve just about made it.’
We walk hand-in-hand until we reach the centre of the bridge. Zain stops and leans on the gold-painted railing, staring down at the slow-moving water below. A stout, wide boat glides beneath us, the glass roof revealing couples eating by candlelight inside. It’s the definition of romantic.
‘Over there,’ Zain points.
Looking out over the river, I can see that there is a vast expanse of darkness on the shore, where all light has been extinguished. It’s only visible now that we’re in the very centre of the bridge – otherwise, it’s obscured by buildings. I can just about make out the silhouette of a tree, and I gasp. The tree is huge, its tallest branches disappearing into the night sky.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ I ask, breathless.
Zain nods. ‘The Tree of Lights. It’s not the side that most people see it from, as you can tell by the lack of crowds. But I think this is so much better. Plus, we get it all to ourselves.’
A familiar shiver runs up my spine, which Zain mistakes for a chill. He shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and wraps it around mine. He whispers in my ear, ‘Now, look up.’
I do as he says – so far, he hasn’t led me wrong. I look up and there’s not much to see at first: the sky is dark, but there are no stars – the light pollution is too strong for that.