by Allie Burton
The few people at the entrance waited patiently, probably because there were at least a dozen human guards standing nearby carrying guns. I stumbled, and the cyborg kept me upright.
Focus.
The attendees wore a mixture of the latest metallic fashion technology with old world costumes. Hair piled high with feathers and jewels similar to my stepsisters. Long dresses and electron skirts with flashing neon colors. Men wore suits with tails coming to a point. Trim on the pants blinked in the colors of the kingdom.
As I started up the stairs, several guards whirled toward me. I ducked my head. Nerves notched up and down my spine. I needed to be unnoticeable. I needed to blend.
Climbing each step, I tried to control my quaking knees and quivering hands. A buzzing caught my ear and I glanced up. A beam of light swooshed from the eyes of the stone gargoyle. Camera, magical sensor, or both? My pulse raced. I could be apprehended for a number of crimes, and future crimes. My gaze darted around searching for an escape if I was recognized as a majik before getting into the ball.
Except there was nowhere to go, no way to leave without being noticed and gunned down.
I mixed in with the few people waiting for the final defense of security. My green dress blended in with the ultra-bright colors and sparkling material of the latecomers. I didn’t stand out in a good way or a bad way.
Which was reassuring, and yet so many things could go wrong.
I minced forward toward the security cubicle. Only three people ahead of me. I let out a shaky wheeze.
The man wearing a suit made entirely of neon lights stepped into the cubicle. The skin on his face was darker than most.
Alandaska had an unwritten code. The paler your skin, the higher up in society you must be. Farm workers and laborers had tanner skin from working outside and cast as undesirables. Although not as undesirable as majiks.
A shrill alarm blasted. Bright lights swept an arc near the security cubicle.
Jumping back, I pitched on my toes. Every nerve screamed to run. They’d caught me with early detectors. The one beaming from the gargoyle or some other hidden equipment. I hadn’t even gotten past the first line of security.
“Don’t move,” a voice blared over the loudspeaker.
Several clicking noises banged. Guards lifted their weapons and pointed. Getting ready to kill.
I froze. Magic sparked in my fingers ready to come to my defense. I squeezed my hands into fists trying to hide my powers. I scanned back and forth between the sweeping lights and the bottom of the stairs.
Guards blocked the exit. More guards surrounded the cubicle. Surrounded the man standing inside. His glamor disappeared, and I could see a tiny body with large, pointy ears. The oversized head had rows of jagged teeth and beady red eyes below lizard-like ridges. The dapper suit he’d been wearing puddled around his small frame.
A gremlin.
Creatures so mean and nasty most other majiks avoided them.
The guards stuck a weapon in the gremlin’s face. A magnetic cuff was slipped around his tiny wrists. A guard clicked on his weapon and a taser of light shot out connecting with the now exposed majik.
“Ahhhhhh!” The gremlin crumpled to the ground. His ears became woodened, and his red eyes lost their glow.
The guards shoved the few of us in line further back, jostling me and causing me to lose my balance. I stuck my arms out to regain control of my feet in heels. One of the guards grabbed the gremlin’s ears and dragged him around toward the back of the palace.
My entire body rattled with aftershocks. That could’ve been me. Still could be me.
“Everyone back in line,” the one guard pushed the man in front.
My belly jolted. I studied the arch while the line reformed. Two people to go. Would I be tasered next?
“Step this way.” A guard pointed at me and indicated the security cubicle. “Stand underneath while we scan your DNA make-up.”
Forcing my trembling knees forward, I hoped the elfin shoes would protect me and conceal my DNA as my fairy godmother had promised. I inched forward.
“Step all the way inside.” The guard indicated a line on the ground in the center of the scanning machine.
I did not want to end up like the gremlin. Yet, I couldn’t run. Gardenia’s protection better work. I surveyed the shoes and stepped onto the line. I couldn’t fail before I began. Think of Arbor.
Think of the prince.
I lurched. No, don’t think of the prince.
My body heated and sweat formed on my brow. An invisible rope tightened around my lungs and I found it hard to breathe. One thing at a time. Get into the palace. Slip away and find Arbor. And if I never saw the prince, I wouldn’t have to fulfill the Binding Promise.
The glass doors of the cubicle swished around me. Surrounded me. I couldn’t get out if I wanted. Pursing my lips, I tried to let out long, slow puffs. Tried to calm my frantically beating heart. If my DNA didn’t give me away, my physical reaction might.
Green, orange, and red lights flared around shooting out from the walls of the cubicle. Scanning, searching, being intrusive. This wasn’t a simple security scan. This machine scoured my blood, determining if I was human, and therefore worthy enough to enter through the palace front doors.
I bristled. Who’d decided majiks shouldn’t enter the palace? At one time, majiks ruled the land of what was now Alandaska. They’d counseled the human rulers of the kingdom. Helped them achieve the goal of hiding the country from the rest of the world. Used their magic to protect all citizens.
Now, majiks weren’t allowed in the front entrance as my stepsister had teased.
Would the guards discover my true identity? What about the magical dress and shoes? The weight of each thought wrapped around my ankles and anchored me in place. What about my weapon?
The lights switched off and a disembodied voice said, “All clear.”
My shoulders slumped, and I wanted to melt into the ground with weakness. I hadn’t realized how stiff I’d been holding my body.
“Move forward.” A guard waved.
I hurried out of the cubicle’s scanning area, wanting as much distance as possible. Gardenia had said there would be other magical detectors throughout the palace so I could never take off the shoes, but the most thorough test was the cubicle I’d just endured. If I could pass that test, I could pass any test. I stood straighter ready to face my mission.
My mission. Not Gardenia’s.
Two cyborg servants opened the front double doors to the palace. I rushed through and made my way across the foyer to lean against a balcony overlooking the festivities.
And my jaw dropped.
The size of the ballroom was massive. An entire skyscraper could fit inside. Rows of Roman-inspired columns went from the marble floor to the frescoed ceiling. The images on the ceiling depicted a human king greeting majiks of every kind, even a gremlin like the one arrested. The artwork must be historic because that exact situation would never happen under Regent Theobald’s reign.
Two large stages situated at opposite ends of the room. The first held several ornate chairs with a canopy overhead. Must be where the regent and prince sat. I would avoid that end of the room. The other platform held dozens of musicians wearing identical suits. They played various instruments from the historic viola to the electroencephalophone.
A third stage had been erected in the middle of the ballroom. I didn’t understand the purpose. A large blue pad covered the stage resembling a sports arena except with no computers or vid screens. Neon electric wires crisscrossed around the edge and top of the structure, similar to the cage Arbor had been shoved in when the SCUM had taken her away. A large, dark tunnel led underground somewhere.
Hundreds of people swirled around the strange stage in the traditional dance of the kingdom. Thousands of people strolled and milled the edge of the dance floor, sampling appetizers passed by cyborg waiters, talking amongst groups of people, scanning their celltabs, raising glasses, and laughin
g.
A gaggle of brightly dressed girls lingered by the throne chairs, probably waiting for the entrance of the prince. They wanted their chance to dance with Prince Zacharye and the possibility of making an impression.
I’d make an impression. A bad one. A murderous one.
But not if I avoided him.
Enough gawking. Time to go.
Gathering my courage, I pulled back my shoulders and went down the steps to the full ballroom. I planned to stick to the edges, avoiding anyone who might recognize me. Especially my stepmother. With a thousand people, the chances were slim if I hid behind columns and headed toward the prison right away.
A tittering group of women wearing similar ornate dresses flashing in varying bold colors passed and I ducked behind a sleek, wide, marble column.
“I heard it was a troll who will fight in the arena,” a woman tittered.
“I’ve never seen a troll in person.” A second woman wearing a headpiece with glowing gems sounded disgusted as if the troll they spoke of was a curiosity, and not a living being.
“Who cares as long as the fight is exciting.”
“And the troll ends up dead.”
Their uncaringness sent a shaft through my center. The troll might not be human, but he was a living creature. And why would a troll fight in the middle of a ball? Why were humans so mean? I was almost human, and I cared about Arbor, cared about people and majiks and creatures.
“Exactly,” the first woman agreed. “One less zauber in the kingdom is always a good thing.”
“Why mess around with games? All zaubers should be executed.”
“Maybe when Prince Zacharye rules.”
“One can only hope.”
I sucked in air and backed further away from the cruel women and right into something warm and solid and smelling of subtle sandalwood.
Someone.
“Okay. You found me.” The disappointment in the male tone had me swiveling around and scowling.
I was used to guys making fun of me or ignoring me. His clear disdain ruffled my pride, especially since I hadn’t been searching for anyone. Only avoiding several. “I wasn’t looking.”
His shiny black shoes glared even from the darkened corner he lurked in. His pants covered long legs and were made from the finest cloth. The threads glimmered with a special light. The jacket, over a matching vest, defined his slim waist and broad shoulders. He was tall, especially compared to my small. His vivid silver eyes reminded me of the lake in the forest near my mother’s home.
My fingers sparked, and I had an urge to touch him. I fisted my hands together. I couldn’t have a magical misfire at a royal ball meant only for humans. “I meant, I wasn’t looking for you. For anyone.”
His simple, wide-brimmed hat shadowed a tanned face and covered most of his shoulder-length, jet-black hair. The lighter tips curled at the end as if only the ends had been bleached by the sun. He had high cheekbones a girl would die for, and yet they were completely masculine on him. A red scar marred his hairline and forehead giving him a roguish quality. By the reddish color, the scar was recent.
“Everyone’s looking for me.” He had an ego the size of this palace.
“Must be nice to be wanted.”
No one wanted me. Not my stepmother and stepsisters. Not the kids at school. Not the bigoted kingdom of Alandaska.
“Not so much, sometimes.” His forlorn voice contrasted with his rich-boy clothes. “Did you ever want to run away and be free?”
My gaze darted around hoping we weren’t heard. He sounded like Gardenia with talk of freedom and feeling imprisoned. This guy didn’t understand real imprisonment.
“No?” He answered for me. “Since I can’t be free, I might as well start the show.” He gave me a slight bow in a courtly manner. “May I have this dance?”
Chapter Eight
The question came out of nowhere and wove in a whirlwind through my ribs. I couldn’t be distracted by a cute guy, even if he was the first to ever pay attention.
“What? No.” I forced my mouth shut before I told him to go stuff himself, too. Being rude wouldn’t fit in at a royal ball. Or maybe it would. Except I didn’t want to be anything like the women who’d laughed about executing zaubers. “No, thank you.”
This guy was another guest at the ball. One who probably lacked dance partners because the girls waited for the prince to arrive. Which was probably unusual for him with his trim, athletic-build and gorgeous face. His dark skin made his cherry lips more prominent and I wondered what they’d taste like. Whoa. He wouldn’t remember me two seconds from now.
“Why not? You could guide me onto the dance floor.” His lips tilted up in a knowing way.
As if he knew more than I, which I didn’t doubt. I felt like that a lot lately.
My eyes stretched. “Dance? Me?” And what did he mean by guide? Couldn’t he find the dance floor on his own?
He grinned and the light in his gaze scorched. It wasn’t a mean-making-fun smirk, but a kind, teasing smile. A kind of grin I’d never had centered on me. “You are attending a ball. And that’s what people do at balls. Dance.”
I arched a brow, trying to appear as amused. “Do they?”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” His eyes glinted, and between the gaze and the smile and the way both warmed my insides, I was falling under his spell.
Except he wasn’t a majik. There was nothing magical about him. And I didn’t have time for romance.
“I wouldn’t know. This is my first ball.” The honest statement slid off my tongue. It felt good to be truthful. “And I’m completely out of my element.”
“I understand the sentiment.” His mouth positioned into a serious frown. “I hate these events.”
So he’d attended royal events before. He looked about my age. Maybe he was a friend of the prince. I froze. I couldn’t become friends with a friend of someone I was supposed to assassinate. Although this guy might know his way around the palace.
Hmm. Maybe I could pick his brain.
Ingrid swished by in her pink dress. She scanned the people as she paraded, taking in everyone. She stopped to talk to the group of women I’d been avoiding.
Using the guy to block me from view, I shrunk my shoulders trying to become smaller than I already was. I couldn’t leave with my stepsister so close. She’d see me and tattle.
Considering the guy beside me, I needed to figure out what to do and if he could help. I needed to converse, maybe flirt. “What is this arena fighting I’ve heard people talking about?”
Something hard reflected in his gaze and his expression starched. Then, he placed a loose, casual smirk on that didn’t seem natural. “The regent’s favorite sport where they force a majik to fight against a dragon.”
Bile curdled in my belly. How could anyone call the disgusting cruelty a sport?
By his flat tone and un-emotional words, I couldn’t tell what he thought about the arena fighting. Best to change topics so I didn’t scare him off. I needed him to block my stepsister’s view and I needed information.
“Do you visit the royal palace often?”
“I never visit the palace.” His lips pursed into a sneer.
Trying to be discreet, I peeked at Ingrid. She stared in my direction and I quickly turned around, ducking my head.
The guy ducked his head and faced away from Ingrid, too. Why was he avoiding my stepsister? Did they know each other? He bowed his head. “Please, dance with me.”
My fingers sparked at his request. A cute guy had twice asked me to dance. I wanted to jump for joy and brag to Olivia and Jade who had written me off as a loser. Except my magic was trying to make itself known and fear of discovery shunted any happiness. I curled my fingers into fists trying to control the power even though my fingers flickered, and my legs twitched to move to music with him. Dancing would be dangerous. The chance of discovery was too great.
And what if while dancing I ran into Prince Zacharye?
The sharp poi
nt of the dagger nudged in my hair. My scalp prickled. The weapon wanted to find the prince. Taking a couple of deep breaths, I tried to make my voice stress-free. “I prefer to watch from the sidelines.”
“Me, too.” He grimaced, displaying cute dimples in both cheeks. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice.”
I understood not having choices. “It appears we are at an impasse. You must dance, and I must not.”
He grabbed hold of my fisted hand and uncurled my fingers. The sparks morphed from magical to a shimmering heat. His caress ignited a different kind of power. “I can teach you how to dance.”
I ripped my hand from his. “Who said I didn’t know how?”
“Then, let’s dance.” His wide eyes told me he’d never had to work so hard for a girl and my heart swelled.
“Unfortunately,” I repeated the word he’d used earlier in the same uptight tone. “I can’t right now. There’s something I need to do.”
“What’s more important than dancing at the ball? With me? At the prince’s coming out ball.” The cute, pleading-puppy eyes returned.
My knees weakened. I couldn’t give in. First, there was my mission. Second, I couldn’t be noticed by my stepmother or stepsisters. And third, I couldn’t take the chance that I might dance close to the prince. His earlier request had hinted at protection, but protection from whom? Was he hiding?
Something we had in common.
I forced a laugh, trying to sound casual. “Are you so sure of yourself? Now, if you were the prince…”
Something dark flashed across his face. “You’d dance with me if I was the prince, not if I was a commoner?”
“The exact opposite.” I internally kicked myself for speaking the truth again. I would love to dance with him and stay far away from the prince. It didn’t matter what I wanted. Ingrid was strolling away, and time was wasting. My ride only lasted until midnight. “I need to go.”
He pressed his fingers on my bare arm and the contact branded. “Why?”