Glitter (Glitter Duology #1)(56)
Blinking rapidly, I come around a corner and look up to see the very person I was just queuing up my Lens to locate. We both slow as we approach, the air thick between us, though Molli manages a wan smile.
“I was looking for you,” I say before she can speak.
“I found you on my Lens,” Molli says. After everything, she decided to come find me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I don’t have a story, or an excuse. Not one I can tell her. But the sentiment is real. I am sorry. For more than I can ever confess.
“No,” Molli says, staring at the ground. “I was oversensitive.”
“You weren’t. I should have let you come.” That one is a lie, but I do wish I were in a position to have allowed her to come. I suddenly wish she’d met Giovanni when I first started going to him, and I picture lessons where we laugh when I mess up, and she claps when I master a pose. It would have been fun. “It’s this new dance,” I say, tucking her arm into mine as though it could erase the gaping falsehood I’m about to spin. “I just couldn’t get the steps. I needed help. I should have trusted you wouldn’t mock me.”
The Historical Society’s Master of Ceremonies wants to début a traditional dance number at a ball a few weeks hence. As a newly made high noblewoman, I’m expected to participate. As an untitled lady labeled of little value to the haughty court, my Molli is expected to sit out. Six months ago we’d have sat out together and neither of us would have cared. Now the imaginary distance between us chafes at us both.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t teach her the steps. Besides, I’ve been looking for opportunities to spend time with her. The last two weeks, I’ve hardly seen her at all as Glitter manufacturing has been draining such a large amount of my leisure time. Today is likely the best opportunity I’ll have for a while.
We gather in the Hall of Mirrors with Lady Mei and Molli and a few other court ladies our age. Lady Mei and her cousin Lady Kata are playing word games on their tablets, and Lady Nuala is reading an actual paper tabloid someone snuck in from Paris.
Molli and I go through the steps, side by side. I actually like this particular dance—it’s slow and graceful, making use of long lines and languid arms. Despite what I told Molli, I picked it up very quickly.
“It feels awkward,” Molli complains with a giggle. “It’s so slow.”
“Watch me,” I say, using a remote to set the music back to the beginning of the practice track, then striking the first pose. “It should be alluring. Sensual, even.” This is truly where Giovanni’s lessons shine through—steps that require an awareness of one’s entire body, from fingertips to toes. I’m so caught up in the steps, I don’t notice the ladies around me growing silent until I see Molli’s wide eyes staring not at me but just over my shoulder.
Somehow sensing what I’m about to find, I pull my limbs into a stiff, upright position—shoulders back, neck straight—and turn my head to see His Majesty watching me. His eyes are dark and intense, and before he can shutter them, I see that same look he gave Sierra Jamison in that shadowed hallway.
Animal wanting.
I’m used to His Highness’ lascivious looks—actions, even. But this is something more. A legitimate spark of desire beyond his simple propensity for agitation. It’s something real. A dark foreboding tells me that this is the first moment His Highness has realized I could be not only his unwanted affianced, but a compelling plaything.
He steps forward slowly, and an entirely different breed of terror squeezes my spine and dries my tongue. Not for my physical self—for something deeper.
“That was lovely,” he says.
I force myself to smile even as I struggle to make my legs hold me. His Highness places a finger under my chin, and though every cell of my body cries out against it, he bends his head and places a kiss on my lips. Not a hard, savage thing—but one that could almost pass as a caress from a gentleman truly in love.
Which is even more frightening, more invasive. The moment his mouth leaves mine, I duck my chin and slant my head to the side, hoping the flush on my cheeks looks like pleasure rather than rage.
I don’t know why I raise my eyelids; perhaps it’s that hint of premonition when one is being watched. Regardless, I meet Lady Cyn’s eyes and wish I’d stayed in my chambers today.
She’s frozen in the very act of stepping forward, her body balanced awkwardly. She must have seen exactly what I saw—that whatever the King was feeling today, there was no pretense, no act. The King wants me. Wants me desperately. I think Lady Cyn understands, now, that she’s lost.
But she also saw my eyes. She knows I’m utterly false. She’s lost her hopes, her dreams, her ambitions; all to a pretender who’s just as bad as she is.
A light smattering of applause accompanies His Highness’ little act of amour, and the sound breaks the connection between me and Lady Cyn. His Highness preens at the attention, and with one last murderous look, Lady Cyn spins on her heel and clicks away.
The King never sees her.
“ISN’T HE DELICIOUS,” Lord Aaron says, leaning in close to my ear at the assembly that night.
“He’s not for you,” I say, arching an eyebrow.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t observe,” Lord Aaron retorts, glancing over his shoulder to where Saber is treading two steps behind my ruffled train. I hadn’t intended to bring Saber out so soon, but His Highness himself sent me a com asking how my new toy was coming along. Considering the events of this afternoon, I had little choice but to bring him out of spite. “Much to my eternal disappointment, I’m not actually in a committed relationship and therefore have no reason to feel guilty for a roving eye.”