Chapter Thirty-one
NADIR
nstinct made Nadir reach for the girl. One arm banded around her waistI and the other gripped her arm. He was covered in champagne, and his suit was probably ruined. He made a low sound in his throat as he pulled her back up and their gazes met through the holes in her mask.
Nadir blinked, noting the strange mixture of fury and fear in her eyes before they cleared and she exclaimed, “Zerra!” Her smooth brown cheeks turned red. “I’m so sorry!” She looked around and caught a passing server, snatching a napkin off his tray and using it to blot the front of his jacket.
“I’ve gotten champagne all over you. I’m so sorry. Oh, I’m so clumsy.”
She kept on talking, keeping up a stream of chatter that Nadir could have sworn sounded forced, like she was a second-rate actress in a play.
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s fine,” he replied, his voice gruff as he waved her off.
“No, it’s not,” she said, looking up at him with those big, dark eyes. They were endless. Like the deepest wells sunk into the earth. He’d never seen eyes like that. He shook his head, trying to dislodge that wayward thought. It was then he recognized her as the Tribute who’d been dancing with Atlas earlier.
“Please let me make it up to you,” she said, having discarded the napkin,
her voice imploring. “How about a dance?”
Nadir hesitated, looking her up and down. From what he could tell, she was beautiful with smooth brown skin, but for the tail end of a scar that ran from the middle of her cheek and disappeared underneath the mask. It was so unusual to see anyone in a Fae court with a scar. Vanity, wagging tongues, and judgmental sneers could bring even the strongest Fae to their knees. But she seemed to bear it proudly, even if, right now, she appeared on the verge of desperation.
“No thank you,” Nadir said, finally coming back to his thoughts. “I was just leaving.”
He brushed past her, but she grabbed his arm. “No. Please, don’t go.”
Nadir stopped and turned slowly, wondering why her touch felt so energetic even through his clothing. “Please, Your Highness.” She whispered the last two words as though she’d just realized she’d made a fatal error in grabbing a royal Fae. She dropped her hands and dipped into an artless curtsy before quickly glancing at the large gold clock above the ballroom. “Just one
dance.”
Nadir scanned the room, debating with himself. He should leave. As usual, he’d gotten into an argument with Atlas and had outstayed his welcome. Not
that he’d ever really been welcome here in the first place.
The girl moved closer. Not a girl. A young female. A very appealing one.
She stepped closer, looking up at him with those soulful eyes, and laid a gentle hand in the center of his chest. It was a strangely bold way to touch him, but his heartbeat kicked up. He frowned, staring at her hand and then back at her, not understanding his reaction.
“Please,” she said again, and this time Nadir found himself nodding as if his body was operating outside of his brain’s signals. The smile she gave him
still felt forced, even though relief sagged in her shoulders. Nadir couldn’t puzzle her out.
When he realized she was waiting for him to lead her to the dance floor, he admonished himself. Get it together, Nadir. He held out a hand, and she placed hers in his. Her fingers felt small, yet substantial, when he wrapped his own around them. A jolt shot through him at the touch and she stopped, looking at him with a curious expression. Had she felt it, too?
For a moment, neither of them moved.
“Shall we?” She tipped her head towards the dance floor and Nadir nodded.
They strode down the steps and took their place in the middle of the
throng. Gently, he placed a hand on the small of her back, that same disorienting feeling threatening to tow him under. She rested a hand on his shoulder and they began to dance slowly, their steps effortlessly falling in sync.
He couldn’t tear his gaze from hers, the rest of the room melting away in a
smear of noise and lights that blended into the background. She looked to where their hands were clasped, lines furrowing in her forehead.
“That’s a lovely ring,” she said, her gaze once again flicking to the giant
clock above them.
“Are you late for something?” he asked, and her cheeks went pink.
“No.” She gave a nervous laugh. “No, I’m not late.”
They continued moving to the sway of the music, couples brushing past them, but he saw none of them, wholly fixated on her.
“A family heirloom?” she asked, gesturing to the ring again. Nadir frowned, perplexed by her interest in it.
“Just something I picked up in the Violet District in The Aurora.”
Her lovely features twisted into confusion.
“It’s not precious to you? Not a treasured heirloom?”
Nadir shook his head. “No. Why are you asking about my ring so much?”
She stopped moving, dropping her hands and stepping back as though he’d become contagious. She ripped off her mask and stared at him, her dark gaze so penetrating Nadir suddenly had the most uncomfortable sense that he was falling through a pit with no bottom. She was trembling. In anger, he realized, noting how her hands fisted and her teeth ground together.
“Did I do something?” he asked, taking a step towards her, wanting to fix whatever it was and choosing not to examine why he felt that way.
“Lor!” someone called, and the girl looked away. Atlas was storming
towards them, fury burning in his expression. Gabriel suddenly appeared through the crowd, coming from the opposite direction. He lunged for the girl, who leaped back from his grasp.
“You tricked me! He's not my mark!” she hissed at Gabriel, who took two long strides and gripped the girl by her shoulders. “Let go of me, you
asshole!” She tried to wrest herself from his grip, but her strength was no match for one of the king’s warders. Gabriel spun her so her back was to him,
one arm around her waist and the other hand still gripping her shoulder while she tried to kick herself free.
It all happened in an instant.
Just as Nadir was preparing to intervene on her behalf, the material on her shoulder slipped, exposing a smooth patch of her skin.
It was only a second before the fabric slipped back, covering her up, but Nadir had seen it.
The black tattoo of three wavy lines set against a circle.
The unmistakable brand burned onto any prisoner who had ever been thrown into Nostraza.
