Legendary (Caraval #2)(27)
“Trying to run off with my fiancée?”
The superior drawl skimmed the back of Tella’s shoulders, as cool and polished as a freshly sharpened sword.
Elantine’s heir.
13
“Now this is an interesting surprise.” Genuine amusement lit a pair of silver-blue eyes, as dazzling as crashing waves, shadowed by untamed hair so gold it could have been turned into coins.
“It’s you.” All the air escaped Tella’s lungs.
The boy from the sky carriage—the same indolent young nobleman who’d threatened to toss her from a coach and dropped a half-eaten apple onto her slippers—flashed a delinquent smile. “You can call me Jacks.”
In a move far more gentlemanly than anything she’d seen him do the other night, he took her free hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. His narrow lips were soft and cold, bringing a fresh chill that tripped all the way up Tella’s arm as he spoke low words against her hand. “I didn’t actually think you’d be brave enough to wear the dress.”
“I hate to see a good gown go to waste,” she said, flippant, as if his presence had not completely unhinged her. Elantine’s heir wasn’t supposed to find her so quickly. He wasn’t really supposed to find her at all. And he wasn’t supposed to be the reckless boy from the carriage—that didn’t fit with the image she’d had.
The heir—Jacks—had sounded ruthless and far from lazy. Yet this young man with his bloodshot eyes and untamed hair appeared to be the epitome of careless. The bone-white breeches clinging to his lean legs were clean, but his scuffed sable boots looked as if they were meant for a stable rather than a party. He didn’t even bother with a tailcoat. His bronze cravat was tied all wrong, crooked against the throat of a pale shirt that could have done with quite a bit of ironing.
Tella wondered if the wicked rumors about him were wrong, or if Jacks chose to cultivate an idle image on purpose. His golden hair fell over one eye, yet he looked down on Tella with all the confidence of an emperor as he said, “Shall we dance?”
Dante cleared his throat and tugged Tella closer.
Jacks’s mouth twisted, his smile far more feral than friendly. “Surely you’re not trying to keep me from my fiancée at my own party.”
Dante’s grip tightened. “Actually—”
“Don’t mind him, he’s just jealous,” Tella cut in, before Dante could do something unfortunately noble, like confess the charade was all his doing. Not that Tella understood why she was protecting the person partly responsible for this predicament. Or that Dante even needed protecting. Perhaps she just wanted to prove that she didn’t need him taking care of her.
Tella removed herself from his grip.
Dante clenched his jaw so tight she heard his teeth grate together. But Tella didn’t spare him another look. She could manage this on her own.
She held out her hand.
Jacks ran one slender finger over his savage smile, leaving her hand untaken.
Then he took her by the hips. Cool, sinuous, and solid, his arm snaked around her, reeling her scandalously close to his side.
She swore Dante actually growled this time, as Jacks drew her away and into the sweaty crowd of revelers.
The heads of several guests had turned to look at Dante after he and Tella first entered the party. But now Tella swore every set of eyes followed the reckless young heir now clutching her waist. He kept her extremely close as he guided her past fountains dripping sinful liquors, and partygoers flirting with performers costumed like cotton-tailed foxes and half-human leopards.
“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to run,” he said.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because,” he spoke into her hair, each word as slow and languorous as the lazy strokes of his fingers against the bottom of her rib cage, “I don’t think I made a very good impression during our first encounter, and by now I’m guessing you’ve heard the rumors that I’m a soulless madman who will do anything to get the crown.”
“You’re saying they’re not true?”
“If they were true, you’d already be dead.” His lips remained pressed against her hair. To anyone they passed it probably looked as if he was truly enamored, on the verge of inappropriate, almost as if he were trying to start more rumors. Tella didn’t know what she’d expected would happen if the heir found her, but it was definitely not this.
“If I’m a murderer,” he murmured, “do you really think I would have let you live after hearing you’d claimed to be my fiancée to get into the palace?”
“If all of this is your way of saying you don’t plan any retribution for a little fib, then we should part ways. I’m actually here to meet someone else.”
Tella felt Jacks’s cold mouth move downward, frowning, against her hair.
“I’m disappointed, Donatella. I thought I was your friend. But not only were you late, now you’re trying to escape me.” His idle tone turned sharp and something terrible twisted inside of Tella’s gut. “Is this because you don’t have my payment?” Jacks looked down on her with a smile so disturbing it could have made an angel weep.
Unholy saints from hell.
Tella fought to breathe as all her plans and hopes began to crumble.