“Gods!” Mische was beside me in a flurry of gold and the scent of lavender. “You look incredible!”
She was holding a glass of blood in one gloved hand and some kind of meat-and-blood filled pastry in the other. She looked like the embodiment of sunshine—so dazzling it actually stunned me.
Her eyes were round as she looked me up and down and leaned close.
“Is this… did Cairis pick this?”
“The dress? Yes.”
“But the—”
She stared pointedly down at my chest—my Mark.
“The top piece was uncomfortable,” I said. “I decided not to wear it.”
A sly smile spread over her lips. “You’ve got such balls. I love it.”
I took in Mische’s dress, the gold shifting and glittering under the Nightfire lights. It was so… un-vampiric. So unabashedly her. I couldn’t imagine a single other soul wearing it as well.
“You look good, too,” I said, even though good was too weak a word for it.
My gaze slid across the room again over her shoulder—to where Raihn was talking to the Shadowborn prince. The prince’s eyes kept wandering away from him and landing on Mische.
Poor Raihn. Such an important conversation, and he couldn’t even keep the man’s attention. Then again, could anyone blame him?
“Looks like the dress has earned you some admirers.” I nodded to the prince across the room, and Mische turned to follow my stare—
—And froze.
Her smile faded. Her cheeks, normally flushed, went ashen beneath speckles of gold.
The difference in her was so sudden and stark that it had me startled. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
I touched her shoulder, as if to physically pull her out of her trance.
“Mische,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
I let more concern creep into my voice than I’d meant to.
She turned abruptly back to me. “Nothing. Nothing. I just—I suddenly have a headache. I think I need a drink.” She set down her nearly full glass and turned away, then turned back to me, like she couldn’t decide which direction to go. Her eyes were wide and frantic. “Don’t tell Raihn I’m—just tell him I—I needed more food.”
“Mische—”
But she’d slipped back into the crowd before I could get her name out. I started to go after her, but someone caught my shoulder. I jerked away and turned around, a snarled word already halfway to my lips.
Standing before me was Simon—Raihn’s troublesome Rishan noble.
I recognized him right away, even though we’d never met. He strongly resembled the brother Raihn had killed during that first meeting. But even aside from that, his real tell was that his entire being reeked of vampiric noble entitlement. I knew the type well.
He extended a hand.
“May I have a dance?” he asked.
I’d already taken two strides away from him, my back to the wall.
“I don’t dance with people who touch me without permission.”
Raihn had to kiss this man’s ass, maybe, but I sure as hell didn’t. Besides, I had a role to play: I’m the brute king, and you’re the prisoner wife who hates him.
Simon’s smile—a cryptic curve of his lips that seemed to hint at all kinds of unspoken secrets—didn’t falter. “It was rude of me to do that without introducing myself. I’m—”
“I know who you are.”
Delight sparked in his eye. “Did your husband tell you about me? How flattering. We’ve known each other for a very long time.”
I made a noncommittal noise of agreement and began to turn away, but he caught my arm, pulling me back.
I yanked it away.
“Do not,” I snarled, “touch me.”
But if he was fazed, he didn’t show it. “Like everyone else, I admit I wondered why he kept you alive. Now, seeing you up close, I think I understand.”
I didn’t like this man. I didn’t like the way that his very presence made me feel like I had a year ago—like a piece of meat to be consumed, an indulgence to be coveted. I gave him a smile that was more of a baring of teeth.
“I’m the exotic prize,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Simon laughed. “You are. Rishan kings have always enjoyed collecting beautiful, curious things.” His gaze slipped back to Raihn, still engaged with his conversation across the room, and it shocked me how the way he looked at Raihn was exactly the same as the way these nobles had always looked at me—the same hunger, the same entitlement.