I bit my tongue and said nothing.
“Come on,” he pushed. “Show us what you can do.”
He circled around me again, now no longer looking at me but at his kin. “Show us.”
“Show us,” another person echoed.
“Show us.”
“Show us.”
Nerves crept along my back as they penned me in, hungry wolves stalking a stray lamb.
I could do this. I could use my magic. I’d used it earlier tonight—I think. I wasn’t sure how, or what I’d actually accomplished, but I’d given in to the voice. I just had to do it again.
I burrowed down into my soul as I searched for the godhood.
Come on, I pleaded. Come out and play.
The voice was silent.
“Having problems, Diem?” Jean asked. The crowd snickered, their grins bordering on bloodthirsty.
I remembered Luther’s advice about needing strong emotion to call it forward. Internally, I grasped at the hollow cavern of my heart, looking for a loose thread of feeling to unravel, but every attempt slipped right through my fingers.
Help me, I begged.
Still, the voice was silent.
Perhaps there was no emotion left to draw from. I had spent the night being grabbed and teased, insulted and challenged, threatened and cornered, and the onslaught had finally left me numb.
Even the thought of failing now inspired no meaningful fear, because I knew this game of theirs had nothing to do with my magic. The only point of this charade was to humiliate me. And for better or worse, for all my faults and weaknesses, one thing was true:
Diem Bellator was not a woman anyone could humiliate.
“No,” I said simply. “I won’t.”
“Won’t?” Jean asked. “Or can’t?”
“Won’t,” I lied.
He let out a breathy chuckle, then let his gaze drop brazenly to my chest, sneering at the sight of the scar on my collarbone. His tongue clicked disapprovingly as he reached out to touch it. “Oh dear, Diem. What will we do with you?”
“Kneel.”
A broad, masculine hand closed around Jean’s wrist and squeezed, trembling with the force of its angry grip.
“Kneel to her, Jean. That’s what you’ll do.”
Jean’s face turned a ghostly pale. I didn’t have to follow his panicked stare. I would know that voice—and that hand—anywhere.
Just like I knew the silky aura of power caressing my skin.
“Keep your hands off my Queen,” Luther snarled. “And you will address her by her title, or I will rip out your tongue with my hands and nail it to the door of House Hanoverre.”
Jean grimaced, struggling to tug free. “We were only having a friendly chat. Diem here—” He moaned in pain as Luther’s grip tightened. “Her Majesty is refusing to show us her magic.”
Luther released him with a violent shove, sending Jean stumbling backward into the arms of his jackals.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Luther growled. “When Her Majesty revealed her power to me, she nearly flayed my skin from my bones and brought down half the palace.” The corner of his mouth curled up slightly, and my stomach went weightless.
“Then surely she’ll have no issue giving us a taste.”
“It’s not safe.”
Jean scoffed. “So it’s too much power for her to handle?”
“It’s too much power for you to handle. A single shot of her magic burned through my strongest shield. A weaker Descended like you would be left in a pile of ash.”
I propped a hand on my hip. “When you put it that way, maybe I should show him.”
Luther’s eyes slid to me. A crackle of energy passed between us that said more than any words ever could.
“In this crowded chamber, I would not recommend it, Your Majesty,” he said with a deferential nod. “The risk of an innocent person being harmed is too high.”
Though we were both playacting our roles, shielding our truths from the world, there was a sliver of truth to his words. I had ripped through Luther’s shields without even trying. And if I really did unleash my magic in this packed ballroom…
I scolded myself for even attempting it, and I half wondered if that was exactly why the godhood hadn’t answered my call to arms.
“Sorry,” I said to Jean with a shrug. “I wouldn’t be a very wise Queen if I ignored the counsel of my own High General.”
Jean glared at us both. “I guess my sister was right. We’ll see what you’re capable of soon enough—at the Challenging.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
It turned out dancing wasn’t half bad.
Eleanor appointed herself master of my evening dance card, determined to keep me trapped and out of any more trouble. The end of each song brought her back to my side to swap out my partner and whisper instructions.
“Ask about his grandchildren and you won’t have to talk for the whole song.”
“Don’t mention carrots, it’s a sensitive subject.”
“Breathe through your mouth, she’s very nice but she smells like feet.”
The majority of Eleanor’s picks were much older Descended. Several I recognized as leaders of their Houses—no coincidence, I suspected. A long string of handsome young men pestered her while throwing hungry looks my way, but she waved them all off, to my grateful relief.
Hours flew by, and as the end of the evening neared, I felt as if I’d danced with nearly every person of importance in the room.
All but one.
After my run-in with Jean Hanoverre, Luther reunited me with Perthe and gave him a scathing lecture about my penchant for wandering off alone, then stalked away before either of us could speak. By the time I spied him tucked into a shadow near the stage, I was stuck on the dance floor, stealing glances between spins and dips, greetings and goodbyes.
Even at a distance, we were somehow connected. Every time I looked his way, his pale eyes were locked on me as if I were the only object of interest in the room.
Taran and Alixe eventually joined his vigil, the three of them whispering as they stood guard. Occasionally, I spied a woman approach Luther for a dance, and more than a few times, that woman was Iléana. He only relented once—a turn with Lily to a fun, jaunty tune that had our shoulders brushing in passing and the brief escape of a smile on his lips.
When the crowd grew thin, Eleanor filled in the rest of my dance card with her own name. We grabbed Lily and careened across the room, laughing until our sides ached. Although Henri and the Guardians were never far from my mind, I gave myself permission to have fun for this one fleeting moment, all too aware that my life might not have many more chances at happiness left.
One of the musicians stepped forward to kiss my hand and accept my gushing praise, and he announced to the room the next song would be their last.
My eyes snapped to where Luther had been standing. Taran was throwing his arm around a reluctant-looking Alixe and hauling her toward the dance floor with a downright evil grin, but Luther had vanished.
“Diem, dear,” Aemonn crowed loudly. He flipped the edges of his cape, molting feathers flying in a cloud behind him. “How blessed I have been to spend this evening at your side.”
I shoved down the sting of disappointment and tried to muster a smile.