Midnight in Everwood(63)
‘Any sightings of our good captain yet?’ Dellara asked, sweeping by in a golden whorl of skirts and energy.
‘I cannot see him anywhere,’ Marietta said in an undertone.
Dellara pursed her lips. ‘Give it time. Perhaps he’ll appear later.’
‘I have been dancing for what feels like hours, the night must be drawing to an end.’ Marietta took a gingerbread cake from a passing server’s slab, trying her best to disregard the flesh he displayed.
Dellara helped herself to two. ‘Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. The king lives for hosting balls,’ she whispered into Marietta’s ear, twirling around to speak into her other ear. ‘And he likes them best of all when they defy logic and run through the night. Things are about to get strange and wondrous.’ She waltzed away, licking frosting off her fingers in a suggestive manner.
Marietta took a delicate bite of her cake, all too aware that both women were relying on her. She very much doubted she would be able to persuade the captain into aiding them and loathed the thought of asking him to put himself at risk for her. She surveyed the ball, idly dipping the gingerbread man into the swirl of frosting and eating it, glitter falling on her tongue in sweet bursts, smoky and creamy at once. The ball began to twinkle, brighter, golder than ever.
Tiny winged creatures darted in and out of her vision, teasing her senses with gossamer wings that brushed aside logic. Watching the ephemeral sight, she absentmindedly finished the cake, wondering where the captain was. Was he aware that King Gelum was scheming an invasion? He must be. She mustn’t make the error of believing that his loyalties ran towards anything but the rebellion. No matter how much Dellara and Pirlipata attempted to convince her otherwise. No matter how she had secretly fizzed and fluttered at their mention of him, dwelling on how his eyes had darkened as he’d steadily returned her gaze, standing too close, as if any moment he might close the distance between them. She shook her head. Traitorous thoughts.
Captain Legat suddenly appeared at her side. Marietta cleared her throat, hoping her thoughts weren’t painted on her face. He wore a suit tailored from wisps of night with a dark chocolate scent playing about his lapels. Gold paint ran up his cheekbones and through his bronze hair, flecked with black stars.
‘You’re not wearing your uniform.’ Marietta looked up at him, the throne room still playing host to a myriad of odd illusions. Perhaps she had imbibed one too many snowberry crèmes, the alcohol turning her heady and introspective and tempted.
He leant past her to select a drink of his own, his hand brushing against hers. ‘I am not working tonight.’
‘I had thought you believed that a soldier ought never to be off duty?’ Marietta blinked hard, attempting to ignore the constellations that had tumbled in from the night sky and become tangled in the ball.
The captain gave her a disconcerting look. ‘Tonight I am.’
‘Why are you regarding me in such a manner?’ Marietta lifted a hand to check her golden leaves weren’t dancing across her face. Her hand floated up of its own accord, her skin glittering with sugar. She watched a tiny pixie dance across it, plucking granules to stow in her petal-knapsack.
‘Did you partake in the enchanted cakes, by any chance?’
Marietta lifted her gaze from the pixie to the captain. ‘I was not informed they were enchanted!’
He smiled. She couldn’t help staring at it, at the dimple that appeared in one cheek, the warm glow in his eyes. With some effort, she realised he was speaking. ‘Not to worry; they carry a strong hallucinatory charm but they fade fast. It shall pass in a moment.’
After a troop of acrobatic bears had paused, mid-air, shimmering back out of existence, Marietta’s senses flooded back. Although she was certain she’d caught a glimmer of silver hair on a familiar face, just for a second. She whipped round.
A couple of women danced past in matching outfits that were each constructed from a single ribbon, wrapped around them and tied in a strategically placed bow, one gold, one black. They rested their attention on Marietta and the captain. She attempted to calculate how long they had been standing together. And why the captain might have approached her. A little voice caressed her imagination, whispering maybe, maybe. She banished it. It was imperative she inquire as to the possibility of his assistance, not languish in his eyes. ‘We are interrupting the flow of the ball,’ she said, remembering the nutcracker. ‘And drawing unwanted attention onto us.’
The captain looked at her. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Dance with me.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
She had not considered he might acquiesce. She had presumed he would decline with some tidy excuse before walking away. She didn’t anticipate that he would step forward and take her in his arms. Waltz with her. Moving in rhythm, twirling through the dancers, each time his eyes collided with hers, it burnt.
‘I never had the opportunity to thank you for the medicine,’ she said.
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said, his voice deep silk.
She could feel the heat of his palm against her satin-clad back. She wondered if her sugar-dusting would melt. If the captain would snap shut once more if she asked for his assistance. Perhaps she ought not to broach the subject at all. But then she had noticed the way he looked at her when he didn’t think she was watching. The way he stared into her eyes, deep enough to see her soul. The way he danced with her. She had spent a sufficient number of years under Madame Belinskaya’s tutelage to recognise the emotions demonstrated through dance. And Madame would have approved of the way the captain moved, synchronised with her.