Tomorrow she’d be free. Hopefully.
Chapter 17
Verden tried not to watch as Taryn danced, but when he looked across the dance floor, she was there, her lithe body in the King’s hands instead of his. No matter how many times he told himself it was for the best, it felt wrong. It felt as though someone had shoved a sword dipped in the river of damned souls through his chest and was slowly watching the poison creep through his body until it killed him. Which it would. He couldn’t watch. He couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to stand up and tear Taryn free of the King’s embrace.
But if he did, she’d hate him. She was doing this for her parents. She was a better daughter than he was a son. Maybe he didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t live in the mortal world and he’d have nothing to offer her in Annwyn once Felan was King.
Taryn didn’t care. He remembered her smiling in the moonlight. Her lips on his. His body responded to the remembered heat, but his heart ached. No wonder most Court fairies refused to let their hearts be taken. It hurt.
He wished he had stayed longer at his father’s house instead of racing back to Court for the festival. However, the scandal that would have caused wouldn’t be worth it. The Queen would have been livid, which meant the King would have also been annoyed, and the King and Queen needed to keep it together for a little longer.
All those years of going through the motions and doing what was expected paid off. Verden clamped down on his pain and offered the Queen his hand and danced with her as if he wanted to. If not for her most recent poor behavior, she wouldn’t be hanging on the King’s favor by her fingernails. They were all dancing to the whims of an aging King who was ready to throw down the crown and walk away.
Flashes of white body paint outlined limbs as people danced. A few women glowed from head to toe like diaphanous ghosts. If he were younger and less troubled, he might have found it tantalizing. The soft blue lighting cast everyone in shadows and luminescent highlights. It was hard not to feel the magic of midsummer and the changing of seasons in the air.
What had Taryn said?
While half the world turned toward winter, the other half turned toward summer. It was good to know that summer wouldn’t fade. That the world wouldn’t suffer a winter the way Annwyn would.
“You seem distracted.” The Queen tapped his arm in reprimand.
“Only by the beauty you have created. A magnificent display.” He truly meant it. He hadn’t seen such an extravagant festival in many a cycle. Was this the one she wanted to be remembered for? He glanced down into her dark blue eyes, but they were inky mirrors and revealed nothing.
“I would like a dance with my husband. Can you occupy his little tidbit?” She raised an eyebrow as if he weren’t up to the challenge.
“You want me to dance with her?” His pulse hammered hard, but he couldn’t reveal what that would mean to him, to be able to dance with Taryn in public.
Keep it polite and distant, he reminded himself.
Eyra pulled away from his hold. “That would be ideal.” Then she was gliding through the swarm of dancers.
Tonight there was no pleasant dance with set steps and pretty manners. There was gyrating and bodies getting flung high into the air and caught. He wanted to be part of that, to break out of the constraints and…and go wild. The festivals were where lust ran free, debts were paid, and prizes got claimed.
His gaze landed on Taryn. She and the King had stopped dancing; fabric clung to her skin in all the right places. With leaves braided into her dark hair, she looked like a nymph awoken from slumber and needing to feed. He would willingly fall at her feet and offer himself as her sacrifice if she would take away the ache that filled his heart every time he looked at her.
The luminescence above her eyes made her look exotic, while the markings on her collarbones drew his gaze down. The three stripes on each arm made her seem wild. Less was definitely more. While many women—and some men—appeared to have fallen into the body paint pot, on Taryn what wasn’t painted became more mysterious.
He took her hand and bowed like he would with anyone else and she did the same as if they were of equal rank. Were they now? Is that what she’d been discussing so intently with the King? The questions burned his lips, but he didn’t want to know. He’d rather not know the details, only that she’d get what she wanted, and he would be waiting. Hands linked, they circled as the music shifted to a slower, heavier drumbeat. Around them the dance shifted to something more sultry, more earthy. It was infectious, pulsing in his body and baying for blood.
She stepped closer, her lips parting. His hands skimmed down her torso to her hips; he dragged her close for a moment. Their bodies touched; her breath was on his neck. She smelled like a joy he could never hold on to. He let her go and she spun away, as if tempting him to chase and capture. She was already his; he wouldn’t let her go, even if they couldn’t be together right now. They would be together.
When he grasped her hand and drew her against him, her back to his chest, she didn’t resist. Was she putting on a show? He tore his gaze from her to scan the room, but everyone was involved in their own dancing—some had already moved to the shadowed grottoes created by the imported trees.
He would take what he could have tonight and be happy; he had at least had her in his arms and was doing nothing that others weren’t. He was being almost tame. His hand smoothed over her belly, across her hip; he jerked her closer so the curve of her butt pressed against his hardened shaft. He’d like nothing better than to drag her off somewhere private but they would be missed. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. His fingers laced with hers as he lifted her arm, then let his hand trail down and brush the curve of her breast. She bent her arm to run her fingers through his hair.
“I want you,” he murmured, not caring if she heard over the music and the sounds of other people dancing and fucking.
She turned in his arms. Her eyes were glittering as if full of stars. “Don’t make me want what I cannot have tonight.” But her hand was on his chest, her fingernails pressing against his skin.
He’d rather pain in his skin than his heart. “And tomorrow?”
Verden lifted her, then let her slide down his body. When her feet touched the ground, she broke the contact. She stalked around him, her hand smoothing across his bare back. He caught her as she swept past. With hands crossing their bodies, he danced a few formal steps to the much faster beat. She followed his lead as if accepting that he had won and she was his.
Only for the dance.
It was enough. For tonight.
She leaned back over his arm and he kissed her naval, before swooping her up. Her arms wrapped around his neck briefly before snapping away too fast for it to be part of the dance. Verden spun to see what had shocked her.
The Queen was clapping and by her side the King was still, as if carved in granite.
He drew away from Taryn and bowed to the royals and hoped that they had just enjoyed the dance and saw nothing more. His chest was heaving, his blood was hot, and his skin was like ice. The Queen’s glee was too much of a contrast to her husband’s empty face.
Without looking at Taryn, he walked away, and he could sense her doing the same, felt the distance between them. He was aware of her as she took a goblet from a shadow servant and tried to disappear into the darkness.
The King’s gaze fell on him, and he beckoned Verden forward with the smallest curve of his fingers. Dread swelled in his gut and he knew he’d stepped into a trap set by the Queen. He looked at her; a small smile turned the corners of her lips, the luminescent paint turning her face into a grimacing mask.