“Is that Blythe Hawthorne on the arm of a prince?” Bodies pressed in behind Signa, falling into a tizzy of whispers that had her digging her heels into the marble. She’d been a fool to let Blythe out of her sight, too distracted by Byron and Eliza, who even then fought to steal her attention. The pair no longer stood near the dance floor but had excused themselves to a corner of the room. Eliza spared no glance at Byron; in fact, she held her fan out to cover her mouth. Every so often Signa would catch a glimpse of Eliza’s lips and see that they were moving. Byron stood close enough to listen, and though he hid it well, he was speaking, too.
Signa longed to get closer, sensing with everything in her that she was missing something important. But if Fate had made one thing clear, it was that he intended to allow Signa no reprieve. She’d been enough of a fool already to allow Blythe to fall into his hands; she wouldn’t make the same mistake again by allowing him anything more than a single dance with her cousin.
The ballroom fell quiet as Fate bowed to Blythe, who returned the formality with a curtsy. Though she would have heard the whispers by now, Blythe was light on her feet and held herself with the grace of a queen as she placed one delicate hand atop Fate’s arm and allowed his other to settle upon her waist. The swell of a waltz filled the ballroom, and with every step the couple took, Signa’s pulse throbbed in her neck.
How was it that Fate had managed to convince everyone that he was royalty? He had only to appear and already ladies were fawning while men straightened their vests. Signa thought to ask some of those men for more information—where the prince allegedly came from, or where his parents, the queen and king, were—yet the moment her mouth formed the words, their eyes went glossy and stared blankly back at her. They watched her as though swept into a dream, never hearing the questions.
No one else noticed it. But Signa did, just as she noticed that while the voices had quieted, they wielded their whispers like finely honed blades and flocked around Blythe like wolves circling for the kill. She wished again that Death were present, if only to feel his comforting chill against her bones as she watched her cousin with increasing dread in her stomach. On her own, Signa’s abilities were not yet a match against Fate’s. She thumbed at the belladonna she kept tucked in her dress regardless, just in case. Whether Fate intended it or not, he was broadening the target on Blythe’s back, and one of these days someone was bound to take aim. Signa wished only that she could be Blythe’s shield.
Fate set his hand on the small of Blythe’s back, a small gesture but one that was far from innocent. Like every other unmarried woman in the crowd, Signa readied herself to pounce the moment the song was over, unwilling to watch her cousin continue this parade of tossing her hair back and smiling in some ridiculous attempt to sway a man she undoubtedly hated.
“Look at them,” Charlotte whispered dreamily, leaning her head against Signa’s shoulder. “They make quite the pair, don’t they? Their children would look like little sunbursts.”
“He knows that her father’s been accused of murder, doesn’t he?” Diana flapped her fan against the heat of the ballroom, and for once Signa found herself wishing she had one of her own. Why was it that these events always looked so much more glamorous on the outside than they truly were?
It was a challenge to stand idly by as Fate and Blythe danced. Though, given all the eyes on Signa, she had little choice but to force a smile onto her lips. She needed to get onto that dance floor, which meant that she needed to make herself look approachable at the very least. Already Charlotte and Diana were being swept away with invitations, names filling their dance cards. Eliza Wakefield, too, had rejoined the others on the floor. Though her dress dazzled as she spun and twirled in the arms of a man Signa had never seen, her smile was frayed at the ends, and her gaze kept flickering toward the corner where Byron stood watching, the sconces cutting grim shadows across his face.
Signa nearly cursed when she realized what she was doing. How much easier it would have been if she’d been honest with Death about her intent to come and had him watching over Byron. As it was, she had to make a choice—there would be time for Byron later. But first, getting Blythe as far from Fate as possible took precedence.
She accepted a dance from the first man to ask her and took her place across from him in a row of other women. Down the row her eyes wandered, searching for Blythe. It wasn’t until she turned her attention back to her partner that Signa noticed the man who stood before her was not the same one who’d invited her to dance. It was Fate himself, silent but for the gleam in his eyes that spoke louder than laughter. There was no time to retreat before the song began.