dance?”
I keep my gaze trained over his shoulder, where I find Justice Méndez watching intently, more intently than the others.
“I’m used to the hundreds of eyes. I am not, however, used to yours.”
Something twists in the pit of my stomach, like vipers wrenching themselves into a knot. His breath is cool on my cheek. I shut my eyes and see Dez’s severed neck. The blood that pooled over the executioner’s block. The blood that sprayed Castian’s face, which Davida later cleaned up. Davida, who suffers for this prince. Why? How can he be worth all this pain and destruction?
Castian grips my waist tighter, and I gasp as he tilts me back and pulls me forward in time to the rhythm of the vielles. I squeeze his shoulder harder than I should, and when he rights me, I look straight into his eyes.
The blue is fractured with bits of gold and green in the candlelight. I find the cuts, faint scars, from Davida’s memory. The crescent-moon scar Dez gave him. The divot between his brow is pronounced, like he’s trying to place me in a lost memory. But how could he recognize the rebel girl he met, covered in dirt and tears in the forest, in the one I am now, draped in black silk and feathers and platinum, like a promise of death?
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says, an infuriating victoriousness tugging his full, peach mouth into a smile.
“I suppose you always get what you want, don’t you, Your Highness?” I match his smile with one of my own. Remember who he is.
He quietly thinks on this, slowing his steps. We are in the center of the dance floor, but now other couples have joined us, trying to edge closer in attempts to overhear what a prince like him is saying to a monster like me.
“I fight for what I believe in,” he says, finally. “And I always fight to win. In that sense, I get what I want.”
“Why bother dancing with someone like me when there are scores of ladies waiting for you? Some of them for several weeks.”
He grimaces, and I fear I have finally reached the limit of what I can get away with saying. He halts. I stumble, but he rights me with his waiting hand, as if he knew the next step I’d take. He twirls me under his arm, and I feel like a plaything as I spin back into his arms, bracing my red-gloved hands on his chest to keep at least a breath of space between us.
“Have you not been waiting for me for several weeks?” he asks, guiding me back into the song, out of the ballroom, and through the double doors where the feast spills out into the garden. Couples follow, but here the music is louder and the shadows play with silver moonlight. Here he must lean in closer to speak to me, to see me.
Could he know why I’ve been here all this time? With what I’ve been able to gather from this dance, he couldn’t possibly have the weapon on him.
“I am here for the justice,” I answer him. “Justice Méndez.”
“And I had hoped you’d come here to kill me.” His voice is soft, anguished. The voice of the Castian who broke Nuria’s heart. I can’t marry you. I don’t want to feel sympathy for him. I can’t.
I harden my heart and remember the words he said to Dez in Riomar. Do you have a death wish?
His eyebrows are furrowed. His grip tight. I can feel the calluses on his hands through the silk of my gloves. The most delicate thing about him is the golden circlet that crowns his mane of golden hair. He looks nothing like the simple soldier in the forest who captured Dez. There are different versions of Castian walking around the colorless pit of my memories, and yet none of them are the same boy, least of all the one standing in front of me now.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” It’s the voice of the prince who wanted to run away before the battle. Nuria’s betrothed.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you mocking me, Your Highness?”
“Actually, I’m told I’m not funny at all.”
My skin grows hot when I feel the ghost of a tremble against my ribs. Castian’s laughter as he gently nipped Nuria in her room. I gasp and pull out of his hold.
The song has slowed to a stop, and Castian uses my movement to spin me. I