Vaguely, I realize the music has stopped. It seems the entire ballroom circles our trio now, gasps rippling from the inside out as the news of my identity spreads. I catch a glimpse of the ladies I’d seen before. They lean into each other, even the butterflies on their gowns stilling.
“You thought you could come here and be one of us?” Rose laughs, brittle and cruel. She stomps on the mask again. Ebony shards spin wildly in every direction. “You’ll never be. You don’t belong here.”
On the royal dais, Tarkin rises, clearly debating whether he should have me forcibly removed by the guards. Mariel shrinks into his side. But it isn’t the Briar King who turns my guts to pudding. It’s the Etherian ambassador, the orb of his staff glowing hot as his magic builds. He stares me down, thin lips pressed into a line. I can smell his loathing from here.
Anger and humiliation ball up inside my chest, stabbing their thorns into the underside of my flesh. Into my bones. Until my vision tinges red. I want nothing more than to give these people exactly what they so clearly desire. Spit my cursed blood in their faces and watch them shrivel. Poison their wine. Murder their children.
But I am not fool enough to think I would live beyond my first strike.
And so, coward that I am, I pick up my skirts and sprint toward the first door I can find, a parting tide of party guests in my wake.
CHAPTER NINE
I run until one of my infernal slippers tears and sends me sprawling. Rage boils in my veins. I snatch up the shoe and hurl it as far from me as possible. My dress is in shambles. The skirt is torn where my throbbing knees met the ground, the fabric billowing like shredded cobwebs.
I force down breaths soaked in earth and dew and pace back and forth between the manicured hedges on either side of me. No matter how hard I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, I can still see the courtiers. Rose’s triumphant smirk as Arnley staggered away from me. The horrified expressions of the women with the butterfly sashes. I knew better than this. That I could never be one of them. And yet I let myself hope that just for one night—
I’m a fool.
A fountain gurgles just ahead. I splash chilly water on my face, letting it dribble down my cheeks and drip off my chin. It leaves a gritty residue, which has me blinking in surprise. The water from the fountain is no longer clear, but a black, sticky mud. My palms sting and then I’m hit with the smell of woodsmoke. Damn everything. I must have cut my hands when I fell, and my blood in the water caused—I suck my teeth—this.
Dragon’s teeth. Of course it did. The sludge spewing from the fountain is just like the soured cream at tea. Like the time I’d fallen down the stairs as a child, broken my lip, and the spots of my blood on the rug in the hallway chewed the fabric to ash. This is what Vila blood does. It destroys everything it touches.
Riding the fresh wave of my anger, I shove both hands into the murky filth. Steam rises instantly. The blackened water roils and coughs and spits over the varnished white sculptures of leaping fish and bathing maidens, leaving them ugly and distorted. Exactly like me.
“It’s true,” a soft voice says behind me. The fountain calms. “You’re the Dark Grace.”
So someone followed me. Eager to get a glimpse of the mongrel. I count to ten as I release a slow breath, willing myself not to react. To bite back whatever snide remark dances on my tongue. When I turn, I need not worry about words at all.
Princess Aurora, the amethysts in her diadem reflecting the moonlight, stares back at me. “Well? Aren’t you?”
It takes me a moment to remember how to speak. This close, the princess is breathtaking. And she should be. At their births, the royal daughters are besieged by the Graces, each vying for the chance to offer their gift and curry favor. Even if the princess had been born with straw for hair and bloodred eyes, her faults would have been remedied by nightfall.
“I—yes. Your Highness.” I cobble together a curtsy, gaze flicking behind her, where there must be guards stationed.
“We’re quite alone, I assure you.” She nears me, trailing one graceful hand along a hedge. A faint scent of appleblossoms and the peach-drenched wine from the celebration fills the garden. “I often come out here when I want a break from the court.”
I have no idea how to respond. What does one say to a princess? If her parents knew I was alone with her right now they would—I don’t even want to know. “It’s…nice.”
She steps back as a mud bubble erupts and splatters my gown. “That fountain has seen better days, though.”