A blond human appears beside me with a tray of champagne. He bows his head as he offers them to me, and I slip one off.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He nods and disappears back into the crowd.
“Everyone who feels like they just joined a cult, say aye.”
I snort as Daniel leans against the table next to me, a glass of champagne in each hand.
A girl in a short silver dress breezes past us, and Daniel’s eyes dart from me to her retreating form. He lifts one of his glasses to me, then hurries after her. “See you around, Darkmore!”
In his absence, Adrienne swims into view across the room. She’s standing in a corner with a few other girls her age, dancing along to the music. She gives me a hesitant wave when she notices me watching.
A hand brushes the back of my elbow, and as I turn, Reid slides in beside me. The sight of him immediately makes my stomach drop.
“Dance with me,” he says.
I sip my drink. “I’ll pass.”
He reaches over, takes the glass and plate from my hands, and sets them on the table. When he turns back around, he’s so close I have to tilt my head back. His blue eyes burn into mine. “It’s tradition.”
Sighing, I let him take my hand and lead me into the center of the floor, though only a few other people are dancing right now. Bracing one hand on my hip, he takes my hand with the other, his grasp firm. The orchestra music swells as we sway side to side, and a few more people trickle onto the floor around us. I catch sight of Kirby and Monroe over Reid’s shoulder.
A second image appears in my mind—a memory. Ten years ago, back when Monroe first arrived at the estate. She’d somehow immediately fit in with the dynamic between me and Kirby, even though she didn’t talk much at first. Her parents had been two of over a dozen victims of an antiwitch group in the city, but for some reason, the queen had found her promising enough to bring her to the estate until she was old enough for the academy.
It wasn’t that unusual; the estate has a program to teach and house kids who otherwise wouldn’t have had a chance at the Marionettes. Kirby and I spent that whole first week trying to get her to talk, smile, something. The thing that finally did it was sneaking into the throne room while the rest of the estate slept. We’d danced around, laughing and daydreaming about what our initiation celebration would be like. Kirby had tried to teach Monroe to slow dance, but the two kept stepping on each other until, eventually, they fell over. It was the first time I’d ever heard Monroe laugh.
I blink back to the room in front of me as Monroe and Kirby twirl onto the dance floor, giggling. They find a spot a few feet away from us and fall into an easy rhythm, alternating spinning and dipping each other.
This is all we ever wanted. A day we’ve been dreaming about since we were kids. I used to curl into bed with Calla and muse about what color my dress would be, how I’d do my hair. As I reached my teen years and my friendship with Connor shifted into something more, I let myself picture dancing with him under the lights, even though I knew it would never happen. But as I look around the room at all of the dancers, the lights, the food, and the glamour, suddenly I want to be anywhere but here.
How can I possibly enjoy a second of this after what I did to Connor? While he’s sitting down in some cell all alone?
“You have scars on your fingers,” Reid says.
My head snaps back to him. His gaze is trained on our interlaced hands, and he runs the pad of his thumb along my fingertips.
“The violin, right?”
I don’t respond.
He sighs. “You ever going to talk to me again?”
I glare up at him.
He shakes his head. “I think you may be the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”
When I still don’t respond, Reid tightens his hand on my waist and bends down until his lips are beside my ear. “At least pretend like you’re having a good time. Your mother is looking.”
I glance out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, both of our mothers are looking straight at us—the queen at her throne, my mother beside her. My mother gives me what almost looks like a smile. Maybe I’d been imagining the weird mood between us earlier, or maybe she hadn’t wanted to show favoritism during the ceremony. But that doesn’t change what happened. All I’m ever going to see when I look at her now is the blankness of her face as they dropped Connor in front of me.
“Then that’s the last thing I should do,” I mumble. “She hates it when I’m happy.”
He turns us so his back is to them, blocking me from their view. He meets my eyes but doesn’t say anything else. Neither of us do. We move along with the music, watching each other, and something about it makes my stomach knot and heat rise to the surface of my skin.
One song blurs into another, and halfway through the third, his eyes flit over my face. “You want to get out of here?”
I raise an eyebrow. “It sounds like you’re propositioning me.”
“It’s a yes or no question, Darkmore.”
I sigh, glancing at our mothers still by the throne. Not only are my thoughts probably written all over my face, but I’m willing to bet he’s getting some of them through the bond too. “More than anything, yes,” I breathe.
His hold tightens on my waist, then he pulls back and offers me his hand. I can feel eyes on us as I take it, and he heads for the door. But I don’t look. I just tighten my grip and follow.
The air bites the moment we step outside, but my body barely reacts to it. At least, not the way it once would. No goosebumps rise on my arms; no chills run down my spine. It’s like I can feel the cold, but it’s fleeting. As soon as I register the sensation, it moves on. Reid closes the door to the patio, muffling the music still pouring out from the party. The sky is overcast, few stars managing to squeeze through.
He comes to stand at my side and leans against the railing. Neither of us says anything, and the breeze picks up, sending his hair into his eyes.
God, I want to hate him. I want to scream and throw things and let all of this rage inside of me pour out at him. Tears rise up again, and I have to look away. Because as much as I want to direct all of my anger at him…all the people in this estate who knew about the trial—all of the people who know me and watched me grow up—they all stood by and let this happen.
And he was the only one who tried to help.
“Will you get in trouble for turning him?” I whisper.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Nothing I can’t handle. No matter how angry they are, I don’t think they’ll hurt him. Not now that he’s one of their own. I’ll keep an eye on him to be sure.”
I nod slowly and wrap my arms around myself. “Who spelled your blood for you?”
Finally, he turns to me, a troubled expression on his face now. “Adrienne.”
My eyebrows lift, and I sway a little on my feet. I guess that would explain her weird behavior earlier, but why hadn’t she told me? Something wet hits my cheeks, and it takes me a second to realize I’m crying.
“Valerie.”
I sniff and turn away again, looking out at the grounds.
“Valerie.”
I don’t respond.
“Look at me.” He takes my chin between his fingers and forces me to meet his eyes. I’m struck for a moment by the intensity, the hardness there. “I’m sorry. No matter the reason, I shouldn’t have done it. But if you hadn’t killed him in there, they would have done it anyway—possibly somewhere I wouldn’t have been able to give him my blood and complete the process. Then you’d be out of the running for the Marionettes, and he would be dead. I thought it was the best option at the time.”