Pleased the gowns fit us well, the seamstress excuses herself.
Though I may have been agitated that the ball was Giselle’s idea, I can’t deny that I’m excited for the evening—grateful, even, to attend something purely for the pleasure of it.
With no lady’s maids attending us, Milly and I fuss with each other’s hair.
Careful not to catch any strands, Milly ties my golden lily mask securely in place at the back of my head. “There, finished.”
I examine my reflection in the mirror. Milly twisted my hair in long ropes this afternoon after I washed it and secured them up with pins. I hid in my chambers, looking ridiculous for most of the day. Now that she’s taken the sections down, my usually sleek, straight hair falls to my shoulders in dark ringlets.
With my mask, I don’t even recognize myself.
Milly preens in front of the mirror, turning to the side to admire her gown.
A quiet knock sounds at the door.
“Who is it?” Milly calls, obviously not wanting Barowalt to catch her in her costume.
“Letta,” a small voice answers.
Milly opens the door, and the little girl comes in, sulking, and tosses herself on the chair. Her eyes run over our gowns, and her expression turns wistful. “I want to go to the ball.”
“Masquerades are for adults,” I tell her.
“But Lord Bryon’s daughter is going,” she argues.
Milly kneels in front of the girl. “And she’s at least ten years older than you.”
Letta only shrugs.
“How about this,” Milly says. “Tomorrow night, we’ll all wear our gowns, and we’ll have a masquerade dinner right here. In the morning, I’ll help you make the most exquisite costume.”
Slowly, Letta’s face brightens. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
The girl looks temporarily appeased. “Will you invite Grace and Javid too?”
Milly nods.
It’s nearing dark, and soon Keven and Rogert will escort us to the masquerade. Barowalt offered to take us, but Milly adamantly refused, not wanting my brother to see her before the ball. Barowalt, still irritated from coming back from the search unsuccessful, told Milly that if she preferred someone else take her, that suited him just fine.
I hope for Milly’s sake he’ll still attend.
Milly makes Letta promise to behave for the maids, and then the three of us sweep down the stairs, toward the entry. At the bottom, Letta spots a usually somber guard that she’s become friendly with, and he bows to her and asks if she’s had her dinner yet. Milly smiles as he escorts her to the kitchen.
It makes me feel bad that we’ve been here as long as we have, and I still don’t know most of the staff. At least Letta is making friends.
“What are we going to do with the girl when we return to Brookraven?” I ask Milly once they’re out of earshot.
My friend glances at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what will we do with her?”
“She’ll come with us.”
She says it like it’s the most obvious answer imaginable.
Knowing I’ll get nowhere with this argument tonight, I hold my tongue. If Letta’s ever to find a lasting place with the nobility, a family must be found for her. She needs a mother and a father, not an eclectic group of aunt and uncle figures. We can’t just toss the girl back and forth, sending her to spend time at one castle one week and then another the next.
I’m not sure why I’m the only one that seems to understand that.
Keven and Rogert wait for us at the villa’s entry, and my mind shifts from Letta to the masquerade. Despite the festive occasion, both men wear light chain mail. Keven’s tunic is deep yellow, and a rearing lion graces the front. Our golden knight has freed his hair for the evening. It falls to his shoulders in a blond mane, and he wears a black half-mask.
I laugh out loud when I see him. “You look perfect.”
“I look ridiculous,” he replies.
Rogert laughs, obviously agreeing with Keven. He wears a scarlet cape over his chain mail, and it just brushes the floor. Like Keven, he wears a simple mask. With his chestnut hair, and the shadow of stubble he’s allowed to grow along his jaw for the evening, the knight looks more roguish than usual.
“You do not,” Milly says to Keven and sets her hands on her hips, likely wondering why neither of them has mentioned how lovely she looks. “Your costume is very appropriate.”
“I should have volunteered to stay with Asher,” Keven mutters.
We take a carriage to the castle. I twist my long, golden gloves in my hands, growing oddly nervous.
Will Irving be waiting for me? Will he recognize me?
In my mind, I’m afraid I’ve elevated the ball to unattainable levels.
I enter the hall, and the music stops. From deep in the crowd, Irving freezes. Recognition dawns in his eyes, and our gazes lock. As if there’s no one else in the room, he comes to me.
Suddenly, the music crescendos. Without a word, Irving offers me his hand. I place mine in his, and as the crowd looks on, Irving sweeps me into the first dance. The night flies by, and the two of us never leave each other’s arms. When the final bell rings, signaling the evening’s end, he draws me in his arms and kisses me…
Flushing, I glance around the carriage and hope no one noticed that I allowed myself to become lost in a daydream. It’s a silly fantasy, one I shouldn’t indulge in. Very childish.
Still…
The carriage stops, and a masked groomsman helps me and Milly down the steps. It rained earlier, but the sky has cleared. Due to the moisture in the air, the night-blooming flowers in the gardens send a heady fragrance wafting through the courtyard. It smells exotic and sumptuous, and it makes my already-quickened heartbeat thrum just a touch faster. Already, I’m being carried away by the ambiance of the evening.
More carriages line up behind us, each filled with members of Ptarmish nobility who are eager for a night to forget the growing threat that’s stalking the villages in the night. Around us is a great hustle and bustle. Horses prance on the cobblestones, and the sound of their hoofbeats echoes in the night.
Two guards dressed in just-polished armor open the doors, allowing us entry into the castle’s grand foyer. Music filters from the great hall. Dozens of instruments play together, and their unique songs twine into one. Giselle must have hired all the musicians in Ptarma.
With Keven escorting me and Rogert at Milly’s side, we pause outside the great hall. With a flourish, another set of guards swings the doors open, revealing the party. The room is dark, lit only with hundreds, possibly thousands, of long tapered candles. Massive bouquets of Winter’s Bloom roses stand just inside the entry, and a black carpet, newly brought in for the masquerade, trails down the stairs.
Already, hundreds of guests loiter about, their faces hidden behind masks. I gawk at them as they mill about the room. Like crown jewels, gowns sparkle and glow in the dim light, each one spectacular and ridiculous. Most men have forgone a costume, choosing to wear only masks, but, not to be outdone by the women, their tunics and doublets are velvet, brocade, and silk.
I scan the shadowed room, hoping to spot Irving, hoping just perhaps our eyes will meet.
Unfortunately, they do.
He stands in the corner, dressed as a mercenary knight. He wears a brown cloak with a hood and a mask of thin, tan leather. His sword gleams at his side, making him look unnervingly masculine and capable.
Just as in my daydream, he spots me immediately. Just as in my daydream, time stands still.
In fact, the only detail differing from my daydream is that Giselle is draped rather intimately in his arms.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The dark-haired vixen looks my way, possibly wondering what’s captured Irving’s attention. For half a moment, her expression is confused, but then she recognizes me, and a satisfied smirk crosses her face.
Keven, sensing me tense next to him, turns toward the couple. B
ehind his mask, the knight’s face goes hard and stays that way even after Irving none-too-gently pushes Giselle out of his arms.
Irving sends me a look, a look that tells me that I know him well enough by now not to go off of appearances alone. But there’ve been so many rumors about the prince. It’s hard not to believe them when I find him like this.
I tighten my arm in Keven’s and whisper, “Dance with me?”
“Of course.”
The knight leads me into the room where couples have gathered and are twirling with the elaborate, haunting music. Keven dances well, strong and sure in his steps as he leads me. I catch several women on the edges of the room smiling behind fans, giggling with each other as they watch him.
He, however, seems oblivious to their attention. There’s a hardness to his features, an underlying irritation.
“I’m all right,” I say when the music shifts to something slower, something more intimate.
He turns his light blue eyes on me. “I don’t like him, Audette.”
Unable to hide a smile, I pat his shoulder. “You wouldn’t like anyone interested in me. You’re as bad as Barowalt.”
Keven stares at me intently, but just when I think he’s going to answer, Irving taps him on the shoulder.
We pause in our dance, and couples swirl around us.
When Keven doesn’t release me, Irving smiles. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to cut in.”
“It’s not all right,” Keven answers.
Muted irritation flashes over Irving’s face, but he schools it quickly. “How about we let the princess decide?”
The image of him and Giselle flashes in my memory, obliterating the much more pleasant one I had concocted.
Not meeting his eyes, I say, “Perhaps later.”
Irving steps forward, ready to argue, ready to apologize. “Audette—”
“You heard Her Highness,” Keven says, his words curt. “Now please step away.”
With a long, slightly exaggerated sigh, Irving takes several steps back. When my eyes flick his way, he frowns. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he looks like he wants to ignore my wishes and pull me from Keven’s arms.
Part of me wishes he would.
I look away, and Keven leads us deeper into the other couples, away from Irving.
“Perhaps I should speak with him?” I say after several tense minutes.
Agitated, the knight yanks his mask’s strings and draws the fabric from his face. “You deserve a better man than him.”
Sighing, my shoulders fall. “But I’m afraid I like him.”
Keven’s jaw works, and I wait for him to form his thoughts, knowing if I push him, he won’t speak at all. Finally, he says, “I think Giselle purposely stumbled into his arms.”
I study my knight for several moments. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”
“Because I don’t like him.” A tiny, almost smile plays at his lips. “And perhaps you look so lovely I wanted to keep you to myself this evening.”
My feet still, and I freeze, wondering if there’s more to his words than he’s letting on.
Keven releases me and nods to the corner of the room where I, too, noticed Irving’s been brooding. “Go on.”
“And what will you do?” I ask.
Keven glances toward a group of girls who watch him, starry-eyed. His voice wry, he says, “I’m sure I’ll find someone to keep me company.”
“Keven—”
My golden knight truly smiles this time, but it’s not as bright as his rare smiles usually are. “It’s all right, Audette.”
When I hesitate for several moments, again, he jerks his head toward Irving.
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand and push into the crowd.
I find Irving near a corner, as far from the festivities as a person can get without leaving altogether. A few unattached women flitter near him, probably hoping they’ll catch his eye. To their disappointment, he doesn’t even look their way. His mask lays discarded on the table near him, and he idly drums his fingers next to it. A half-finished tankard of mead sits next to him, forgotten.
Without a word, I take the seat beside him. “Not impressed with the evening, either?”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye, and a wry smirk grows on his lips. “I knew if I waited long enough, you’d finally seek me out.”
Teasing, I begin to rise. “I can go—”
He catches my wrist and pulls me back. For a moment, I almost lose my footing. I catch myself before I fall right onto his lap. Smiling, I narrow my eyes, letting him know I’m onto his game. The prince raises an eyebrow, playing innocent.
“This is the part of the evening where you explain how, exactly, you and Giselle ended up in such an intimate embrace,” I say.
The humor leaves his face, and it’s replaced with such irritation that I don’t doubt his next words are true. “She stumbled, losing her footing. Thankfully I was right there, able to catch her before she fell to the floor.”
“Thankfully,” I droll.
“What baffles me,” Irving says. “Is where her husband has gotten himself off to again.”
“He’s not here?” I ask, surprised.
Surely Kent could manage to leave his mistress for one night—just to keep up appearances with his wife if nothing else.
“I don’t imagine I would have found Giselle in my arms if he were,” Irving answers.
My voice dry, I say, “I’m not so sure about that.”
A new song begins, this one livelier than the last.
“Do you forgive me?” Irving asks, though he already knows that I have.
“I suppose.”
He motions toward the middle of the hall. “Care to dance?”
I glance at the crowd, and for some reason, despite its allure, my heart isn’t into it anymore.
“I’d rather walk,” I say, standing.
Gallantly, he offers his arm. “Then walk we shall.”
After several minutes, we find ourselves on a darkened balcony that overlooks the garden. We’re far enough from the ball that no one loiters nearby, and we have the area to ourselves.
In the dark, with the music from the masquerade filtering out the doors and the smell of the night flowers in the air, Irving releases my arm and takes my hand.
His fingers play over mine, teasing me, and, finally, he clasps my palm.
“A hired knight?” I say, addressing his costume.
Irving smiles. “I wanted you to find me since you wouldn’t tell me what you were wearing.”
He leads me to the balcony’s edge, and I lean against the railing. The stone is cold at my back, and the cool air is welcome after the heat of the great hall. The sky is clear tonight, a reprieve after the frequent evening storms we’ve been getting, and the stars are bright.
“You didn’t seem to have any trouble finding me,” I say.
Irving steps near, possibly a little too close, but in the dark of the night, and with no one nearby, I see no reason to object. “How couldn’t I? You are the most beautiful woman here.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile at his flattery. Chastising him, I say, “Pretty words, Irving.”
He grins and shifts even closer. “You’re the only girl I’ve met who seems to detest them.”
“Not detest.” I loosen the clasp of our hands and trail my finger over his palm. “But rather, I know how well they’ve been practiced.”
His free hand finds my waist, and I try not to suck in a telling breath.
“Practice implies I’ve been perfecting them for the right time. The right girl.” His voice is low. “Perhaps I’ve found her.”
My heart stutters and then skips, but I force myself to stay levelheaded, to not let myself be carried away by his charm.
“You’re doing it again,” I whisper.
“I like you,” he suddenly blurts out, no longer sounding as smooth as before. “More than I wanted to.”
A breath catch
es in my chest, and I wait for him to continue.
His eyes search mine. “When I first saw you in the hall on the day of our wedding, I felt a spark—a spark I hadn’t felt for far too many years, but when I hunted you down to bring you back…I didn’t expect…”
“Expect what?” My voice is breathy, but I’m not sure he even notices.
Irving’s hand tightens at my waist, and he looks off. Nervous.
“When you snubbed me tonight,” he says. “It was as if you stabbed a knife in my heart. I was mad with jealousy.” A smile flickers at his lips again, but then it’s gone. “I wanted to challenge Keven to a duel right there in the middle of the hall.”
Trying to keep things light though my chest is hot, I whisper, “That would have been very entertaining. I’ve never had two men fight over me before.”
At that, a wide smile spreads across his face. He shakes his head, moving closer. “That’s it—right there. On this very romantic, very private balcony, I’m about to tell you that I’m falling in love with you, and you won’t even let me finish. Why do I like that so much? Why is that so appealing?”
Feeling light and giddy, scared and hesitant all at the same time, I set my hand on the back of his neck. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I want to marry you, Audette. Not because our mothers wanted it. Not because it will secure my crown. But because, now that I’ve gotten to know you, there’s no one else I can imagine at my side.”
Because I can’t help myself, because I’m an idiot at times, I ask, “What about the gypsy?”
He lets out a single low laugh in the back of his throat, his expression oddly warm. “Rosie’s a lovely person, and I wish her and Dristan the best.” He wraps his arms around my back, pulling me flush against his chest. “But now that there’s you, I am so grateful she turned me down.”
I close my eyes. My heart tells me there’s nothing in my life that has ever felt this right, but my brain warns me to be cautious.
“Please tell me this isn’t an act. I couldn’t bear it if it were. If you care about me at all, don’t pledge your love if you can’t swear it to me forever.” I open my eyes. “I don’t want to end up like Giselle, with a husband who’d rather spend his time in the arms of a mistress.”
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 15