22
Lyana
At first, she’d admit, she had been playing up the laughter and the smiles for the benefit of the grouch in the corner who had yet to formally introduce himself to her or make polite conversation. But as proud, boastful Prince Damien continued to spin her around the dance floor, Lyana realized she was enjoying herself. Enjoying the attention, yes, but mostly enjoying the stories. For once in her life, Lyana could ask as many questions as she wanted about all the lands she yearned to visit, and someone was there to answer.
Milo, the boisterous and jovial Prince of the House of Paradise, had mesmerized her with tales of his rainforest home, an isle where the tree canopy was so thick it was sometimes difficult to see the sky, where flower petals could grow to be the size of her arm, where the air was so warm and heavy it stuck to the skin like a damp blanket. He was a far better dancer than she, but he never showed it. Instead, he used his skills to lead her in dizzying circles she could have never managed on her own, while describing the balls his family hosted and painting the most wonderful pictures with his words.
Nico, the more reserved but delightful Prince of the House of Wisdom, had eventually, after much pushing and prodding, overcome his evident shyness to tell her about his home, an isle similar to hers in that the air was cold and the ground uninviting. But unlike her home, his was so far north there were months when the sun never set, and months when it hardly seemed to rise. They didn't live in a city of crystal, but in the dark underground, in sweeping caves the size of her palace, connected by an elaborate system of hollowed passages, all of which led to the great library at the heart of his house.
And Damien, too charming by half, had spent their first dance enthralling her with the image of his homeland, the isle of the hummingbirds. A vast mountain range cut through the center of their lands. On the eastern side stood a dense rainforest with every fruit and plant imaginable, while the west held a sprawling desert with nothing but sand for miles, aside from a river that cut through the monotony. The palace rested on the riverbank, a location chosen as all the major cities were—by the god stone at their centers and the sacred nest they protected.
“Are the palace walls really made of towering gardens?” Lyana asked, continuing the conversation from their previous dance. Soft tendrils of music accompanied their movements. “I can’t even picture it.”
Damien laughed, a deep, rich sound that would make any girl’s heart skip a beat. Lyana’s was no different. “They are. My god, Eurythes, provides the water through a river he must have carved into the land himself. We take seeds from all different parts of the rainforest, cultivating our palace and the barren ground around it into the most beautiful garden you’ve ever seen, full of more color than a dove living in this snowy isle could ever imagine.”
Lyana offered him a challenging smirk. “I have a very vivid imagination, you know. You wouldn’t be building my hopes up, would you? Just to lure me with pretty words and even prettier places?”
He dropped his jaw in mock shock. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare mislead the Princess of the House of Peace, so beautiful and charming a meager hummingbird like myself would have no hope of wooing her.”
The way he spoke made it evident he didn’t believe a single word he said—well, about his meager station in life, at least. She hoped the part about her beauty and charm was true, though there was something unsettling in the fact that she couldn’t know for certain.
Just as she was about to return the favor with a quip of her own, a determined voice interjected, “May I cut in?”
Lyana bit her lips to keep from smiling as she turned to face the raven blocking their path.
“No,” Damien drawled, using the hand around Lyana’s waist to try to spin her in the other direction.
But her feet were firm. A curious energy sizzled in the air, emanating from all the eyes that had followed Lysander as he crossed the floor. The crowd wondered what the raven prince could possibly be doing. Their shock at his interruption of her dance was palpable—she was the princess born of Aethios and so very far above him in their estimation. A false judgment, but that didn’t make it any less real. To deny his offer would be a sign to all the other royal families that they should do the same, a blow from which the House of Whispers might not recover. And to accept? Well, Damien’s ego probably needed to be brought down a peg or two, and most of the guests in the room would assume she was doing just that—trying not to humor the prince who was so clearly favored to win the role of her mate.
But that wasn’t the thought that filled Lyana’s mind as she nodded and slipped free of the hummingbird’s grasp, opting to stare into a mask of deep obsidian feathers rather than pearlescent indigo.
There wasn’t anything in her mind at all. Because as soon as the raven gripped her around the waist, her thoughts fled. His fingers brushed the exposed skin on her back, then moved away as though they had been scorched. He gently skimmed her flesh once more, tenderly enough to seem as if he were asking permission. Lyana placed one hand on his shoulder, using the other to take the arm still hanging by his side. As she moved, his grip tightened, boldly digging into her as he began to lead.
They didn’t speak, not at first.
Lyana studied the buttons on his jacket, the gold band and black stone hanging from his chest, the leather panels beneath her fingers, smooth to the touch.
He studied her.
She could feel his gaze skim her bare throat, then dip along the edge of her dress, over to the slits in her sleeves where every so often her skin would show. And then his eyes lifted to her face, burning and brazen as they roved over her lips and the feathered edge of her mask, then settled on her eyes, staying there, not looking away.
She swallowed.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Her throat grew tight.
Beneath the layers of her gown, her temperature rose, bringing a flash of heat to her cheeks and a light sweat to her palms. The longer she avoided his gaze, the more demanding it became, until she was sure the whole room could see the steam that must have been rising from her skin.
I have to say something.
Anything.
But what?
She didn’t want to apologize for surprising him because, well, she wasn’t sorry. And in a place this crowded, with so many eyes focused on her, any mention of what had transpired between them would be dangerous. Even if she wanted to have a serious conversation, she shouldn’t. And it wasn’t really her style, anyway.
In the end, she settled on a provocation.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to ask me to dance,” she prodded, her tone airy. Yet her eyes remained on his chest, still too afraid to look up.
Lysander didn’t answer.
“I was feeling rather rejected, to tell you the truth,” she continued, noticing his jaw clench as her own lips twitched into a smile. She seemed to have a certain effect on him. “All the other princes came over as soon as supper was done, but not the grumpy raven prince, determined not to even glance in my direction. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I’d hurt your feelings somehow, though for the life of me, I can’t imagine what I could have possibly done to earn your ire. Gratitude, maybe, but not anger.”
His throat bobbed, and before she could continue, he released his hold on her waist, spinning her in a wide circle, putting some much-needed breathing room between them for a few moments before returning her to his arms.