The Cinderfall Grand Museum wasn't just a building; it was a monument to the city's vanity. A sprawling neoclassical beast of marble and granite, it sat in the heart of the gleaming financial district, its pristine white columns a stark contrast to the grit and shadow of the Undercroft I called home. Tonight, it was ablaze with light, every window a golden eye staring out into the rain-slicked night. A fleet of sleek, black cars, silent as sharks, disgorged the city's elite onto a rain-swept red carpet.
I felt the low, humming static of supernatural power before we even stepped out of the car. The air was thick with it. This wasn't just a gathering of Cinderfall's human wealthy; it was a neutral ground, a watering hole where the city's hidden predators came to mingle under a thin veneer of civility.
"Ready?" Rhyian's voice was a low murmur beside me. He had been silent for the entire ride, a statue of coiled tension in his perfect tuxedo.
"No," I answered honestly, my hand clutching the small, heavy evening bag that contained the relic box. "But it doesn't matter."
He turned to me then, his silver eyes catching the light from the museum. They swept over me, taking in the crimson gown, the diamonds at my ears, the cold resolve in my expression.
"Lena was right," he said, his voice soft and raw. "You look like a queen."
Before I could process the unguarded sincerity in his words, the car door was opened by a doorman. Rhyian stepped out, and a subtle hush fell over the immediate crowd. The Sovereign of Cinderfall had arrived. He turned and offered me his hand. It was not a command, but a genuine offering of support. I placed my trembling fingers in his cool, steady grasp, and allowed him to help me from the car.
The moment I stepped onto the carpet, I felt a hundred pairs of eyes lock onto me. It was a physically palpable sensation, a wave of curiosity, envy, and pure, predatory assessment. I was the mystery on the Sovereign's arm. The human who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my expression into a mask of cool indifference. I was no longer Carys Corbin, the shopkeeper. Tonight, I was a player, and this was my opening move.
Rhyian's hand moved from mine to the small of my back, a subtle, proprietary gesture that was both a claim and a shield. It sent a jolt of unwelcome warmth through the silk of my gown.
"Breathe, Carys," he whispered, his lips close to my ear as we ascended the grand marble staircase. "They can smell fear."
The grand ballroom was a breathtaking spectacle of gilded ceilings, colossal crystal chandeliers, and a swirling sea of Cinderfall's most powerful beings. A string quartet played a haunting waltz in the corner, their music a delicate thread weaving through the low hum of a hundred conversations. I could feel the different energies in the room—the cold, steady hum of the vampires, the faint, earthy scent of a few were-kin, and the oblivious, bright static of the human elite who thought this was just another charity event.
Our entrance did not go unnoticed. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. We were a living, breathing scandal. The reclusive Sovereign, who had not been seen at a public event in years, had arrived, and on his arm was an unknown, beautiful human.
"Smile," Rhyian murmured, his voice a low command. "You are not a prisoner. You are here by my side. You own this room as much as I do."
I forced my lips into a cool, pleasant smile, my eyes scanning the crowd. I was looking for two faces. I found the first one almost immediately. Serafina.
She stood near a marble column, a vision in an emerald green dress that complimented her fiery hair. She was holding a glass of champagne, but her knuckles were white. Her green eyes were fixed on us, and the hatred in them was so potent it could have curdled the wine in every glass in the room. She looked from Rhyian's hand on my back to my face, and her expression was one of pure, murderous jealousy. The first part of my plan was working perfectly. She looked every bit the spurned woman with a motive.
Then I saw the second face. Across the room, near the grand buffet, stood Silas. He was dressed in a classic, if slightly dated, tuxedo, chatting amiably with an elderly human councilman. He looked exactly as he should: a kindly, academic figure completely out of place at such a glittering affair. He caught my eye and gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, a secret acknowledgment from a co-conspirator. It sent a shiver of ice down my spine. He was a perfect actor.
"It seems we are the topic of conversation," Rhyian murmured, guiding me toward the center of the room.
"You knew this would happen," I replied, keeping my smile in place.
"I did," he admitted. "It is a necessary part of the strategy. Let them talk. Let them stare. Let Silas believe you are my cherished, pampered pet. It makes his perception of you as a weak link all the more convincing."
Just then, Serafina began to move toward us, a shark scenting blood in the water. Her smile was a slash of red lipstick, all teeth and no warmth.
"Sovereign," she purred, her eyes flicking to me with disdain. "How good of you to grace us with your presence. And you brought your... guest."
"Serafina," Rhyian acknowledged, his voice turning glacial. "Carys is not my guest. She is my partner."
The word hit Serafina like a physical blow. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Partner?" she echoed, her voice tight. "An ambitious title for a human."
Before Rhyian could respond with the icy fury I saw gathering in his eyes, I stepped forward slightly, meeting Serafina's gaze.
"It's not ambitious when it's accurate, Seneschal," I said, my voice sweet as honey, but with a core of steel. "But I can see how the concept might be confusing for someone who has only ever known how to be a subordinate."
The shot landed. A flash of pure fury lit her emerald eyes. Her mask of civility cracked. I had just used her own lessons in courtly warfare against her. She had expected a frightened rabbit, but I had bitten back.
Rhyian's hand tightened ever so slightly on my back, a silent signal of approval, perhaps even pride.
Serafina recovered quickly, her expression smoothing over.
"Enjoy your evening," she hissed, her smile now a venomous promise, and glided away into the crowd.
"Well played," Rhyian murmured, his voice laced with dark admiration.
"I had a good teacher," I said, thinking of Silas's poisonous advice.
The music shifted, the waltz slowing to a more intimate, melancholy tune. Rhyian turned to face me.
"Now comes the most tedious part of the evening," he said.
"Enduring the political backstabbing?" I asked.
"No," he replied, a strange light in his silver eyes. "The obligatory dance."
He held out his hand. My heart leaped into my throat. The plan required us to play the part of a united front, and nothing was more public than the first dance. It was a strategic necessity. But the thought of being in his arms, of that physical proximity, terrified me more than any Coven assassin.
Steeling myself, I placed my hand in his. His skin was cool, his grip firm. He led me to the center of the dance floor, and the other couples seemed to melt away, leaving us in a circle of watching, whispering onlookers.
He placed one hand on my waist, pulling me closer, and took my other hand in his. The contact was electric. It had been seven years since he had held me like this, and my body remembered it with a shocking, traitorous clarity. The scent of him—that clean, winter-storm scent—filled my senses.
We began to move, our steps falling into the slow, practiced rhythm of the waltz. He was an impossibly good dancer, guiding me with effortless grace. We didn't speak. We just moved, two actors in a silent, loaded play. I kept my eyes fixed on the knot of his tie, unable to meet his gaze. I could feel the steady, unnatural stillness of his body, the immense power held in perfect check.
"Look at me, Carys," he whispered, his voice a low command.
Reluctantly, I lifted my head. His silver eyes were boring into mine, filled with a universe of unspoken emotions. The crowd, the music, the danger—it all faded away, leaving only the intense, magnetic pull between us.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice raw. It wasn't a compliment; it was a confession.
"I look like bait," I replied, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.
"You look like a fire in the darkness," he corrected softly. "And I am a man who has been cold for a very long time."
He pulled me closer. The hand on my back burned through the silk of my gown. My breath hitched. The space between our lips narrowed. The world seemed to stop, holding its breath. This was it. The "almost kiss" I had dreaded and, to my shame, craved. His head tilted, his silver eyes dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood.
Then, from across the room, a grandfather clock began to chime the hour. Ten o'clock.
The spell was broken. It was time.
I pulled back slightly, my heart hammering. "The Hall of Antiquities," I whispered, my voice shaky.
The fire in his eyes was banked, replaced by the cold focus of the commander.
"I know," he said, his voice tight with regret and resolve. He released me, taking a step back, and the loss of contact was a physical ache. "Be careful."
I gave him a single, sharp nod. I turned away from him and, clutching my evening bag, began to walk through the crowd, leaving my partner on the dance floor. I was no longer an actress in a play. I was a hunter, and I was on my way to the kill.