I could not help watching how the wine stained his lips until he licked it away, and as he set the goblet down before my hand, he said, “Fine.”
“Thank you,” I said lightly and swallowed a mouthful.
It was not long after that I began to fan myself. The heat burned my skin.
“Warm, my sweet?” Adrian asked beside me.
Even as I turned toward him, I felt the sweat gathering upon my brow. He appeared unbothered.
“Boiling,” I said.
“Perhaps movement would help,” Adrian suggested. “We could dance.”
“No,” I breathed. “I’d rather not.”
It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I realized how he would take my refusal. He would think I’d declined because my father and Killian were present, when the reality was that I could not face him right now. I could not be that close to him at this very moment. I wanted distance, but I had to remain at the banquet.
We drank and ate and watched the boisterous crowd, who did not change their behavior even in the presence of my father. Vampires fed from their vassals and performed various sexual acts, small fights broke out, and when blood was drawn—by vampire or mortal—there was an even greater struggle to taste it.
“Despicable,” my father muttered under his breath.
“Perhaps you should retire, King Henri, if this is too much for you,” Adrian said.
I did not like sitting between them.
“Is this how you claim to take care of my daughter?” he asked. “Exposing her to this…filth?”
I worried over what Adrian would say. Your daughter is no saint.
“She has a choice, just as you.”
“You make a mockery of the legacy of this castle.”
“And what is that legacy, King Henri? One of mass murder and the persecution of innocents?”
I pushed my chair away from the table and rose, unable to handle being at the center of their conversation and unwilling to mediate.
“Excuse me,” I said and left the great hall.
It was cooler in the corridor, and I stood near the open doors, staring at the fire that roared at the center of the courtyard. It was one that had not been extinguished since the Burning Rites. Women danced around it, flower crowns upon their head. I watched them for a moment, mesmerized by their movements and the shadows they cast. I wondered if they feared the flames like I did.
“Isolde.”
I had not heard anyone approach, and I whirled, my heart in my throat, only to face Killian.
“Apologies, Queen Isolde,” he corrected himself, though it sounded a little sarcastic. “Are you all right?” he asked.
I was suspicious of his question but answered anyway. “I’m fine,” I said. “Did you need something?”
He hesitated, eyes darting to the left before he spoke. “I would like to first apologize for how we parted.”
“But not for what you said?” I asked.
He looked at me, and I felt as though he was asking: Will nothing ever be good enough?
“What are you doing, Isolde?”
My brows lowered, confused by his question. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That monster is in love with you.”
“What?” My breath rushed out of me at his observation. The notion of love between Adrian and me was ridiculous, especially given what I had just learned about Yesenia. I was surprised by how his suggestion hurt.
“Isolde…”
“Commander—”
“Have you even tried to kill him since leaving Lara?”
“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked him. “I married him to protect our people—people who later tried to kill me. I stabbed him twice. I—”
I’d slept with him. I’d found comfort in him. I’d hurt for him.
“You love him,” Killian said, and he stared at me the way he stared at Adrian.
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t know love if it looked you in the face, Killian.”
“I thought I did,” he said.
“And you were wrong.”
I moved passed him and entered the great hall again. My gaze shifted over the crowd and landed once again on Adrian, who sat reclined, one hand lifted to his mouth as he watched me. I stared at him, at the man who had loved Yesenia, the man who had killed a king for her, conquered a kingdom for her.
She had never really died, and I had never really been his queen, his match, or his equal.
Suddenly, the sound of drums pulsed, nearly vibrating the ground. I turned, looking around me, only to find a procession of women dressed in shimmery, beaded scarves that were so translucent, I could see their breasts and the curls at the apexes of their thighs, their hair threaded through with flowers. They spun and twirled at first through the whole crowd, but then they circled me, and the woman at the start of the line placed a floral crown upon my head while another took my hands, sweeping me into their parade. At first, I resisted as I was pushed and touched, but soon I gave in to the movements, following the beat of the drums and the thud of the dancers’ feet. I let them spin me and twirl me. It was not violent or angry; it was gentle and jovial.