“A problem for you?”
“Aye.” He pulled out her chair. “You should sit, as you won’t be given many chances to be off your feet now.”
“I don’t know all the dances.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He hesitated, then leaned down, spoke quietly. “You’ll dance with others, as you should, and you’ll enjoy. But I’ll ask you don’t look at any of them as you looked at me. I want that for mine.”
He straightened, turned to his mother, held out a hand.
Marco leaned over to Breen. “Sexy dance!”
“Stop.”
“I see what I see, know what I know.”
“Go dance with Brian.”
She’d barely said the words when Morena’s brother Phelin came up to her. “Let’s dance, shall we, to spots of rain and leaping frogs.”
“You weren’t always annoying.” She smiled at him as she rose. “I remember you made up games when you lowered yourself to play with—you called us girl babies.”
“Well now, I was, I think, all of six at the time, so far superior.”
Her big brother. That’s how she’d thought of him then, and how, she realized, she felt now. “I don’t know the dance.”
He winked at her. “I’ll talk you through it then. Girl baby.”
* * *
Shana watched Breen dance. She watched those who’d professed to be her friends fawn over the witch from outside. The despair she’d begun to feel as she’d found Keegan’s lackies guarding Loren’s house, keeping her from seeking shelter and help against this horrible betrayal, had hardened, had heated into a burning rage.
They searched for her in the forest, from the skies, in the village. As if she’d broken laws instead of defending herself, her place, her rights.
And when she’d come back, so tired from hiding herself in trees and stones and high grasses among the sheep, she’d had to sneak into the castle like a thief in the night only to find the door of her own room barred to her.
The door to her parents’ room guarded against her.
And with her own kind searching the castle, the grounds, with empaths searching for even a whisper of her thoughts, her feelings, she would soon find herself unsafe in her own home.
And all because the one from the other side, the one who didn’t belong, had somehow turned the taoiseach against her.
Had turned so many so now they feted her like a goddess.
But Shana would break that spell, she would retake her rightful place. When the other from the other lay cold in her own blood, they would thank her for ridding them of that false goddess. Keegan would pay, just as the usurper paid.
Then she wouldn’t be wife of the taoiseach.
She would be taoiseach. And everyone, anyone who turned from her, like Kiara, would live in misery in the Dark World.
Let her dance. In a blur of speed, Shana plucked a knife from a tray. More than one head turned in her direction, but as she slid along the stone wall, she saw puzzlement, then dismissal.
Let them all dance, she thought as she worked her way slowly to the wall behind the head table.
The night should have been a celebration of Keegan’s pledge to her. Instead, the night would end with blood when she slit Breen’s throat.
* * *
Breen wondered if she could get back to the table and off her feet for two minutes. Clearly, the Fey could dance all night.
When Marco grabbed her hand, she remembered he could, too.
“Come on, girl. Let’s show them how they dance in Philly.”
The table wouldn’t do it, she thought, as she’d still be in plain sight.
“Air. I need five minutes outside in the air. I’m not sneaking off,” she promised. “Bollocks and I are going to step out—as I imagine he needs to for different reasons than mine. And we’ll be back.”
Marco looked down at the dog. “You make sure she comes back.”
She slipped out, and Bollocks made a beeline for the gardens, where a few couples wandered.
She just lifted her face to the sky, to the shine of the moons, and breathed in.
Maybe her feet ached some, but the rest of her felt buoyant. Music pumped against the doors and windows behind her, and voices raised in song joined it. Wine flowed, and laughter swam on it.
She felt the beat of that joy in the air, in the countless hearts surrounding her. If she could have chosen a night to lock in so she could return to it whenever she liked, it would be this one.
Then she felt another heart, and the fury pounding in it. Snarling, snapping, Bollocks tore through the gardens back to her.