The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,114

she’s decided she wants him out of her life and for him to have nothing to do with her, fine. But he has to know.

He takes a deep breath and raises his hand. Lowers it. Turns to walk away. No—you need to know. Before he loses his nerve he knocks on the door.

No response.

He knows she’s in there. And that she recognizes his knock. He tries again.

The door opens. A lady’s maid stands there. “The lady is indisposed at the moment, my lord,” she says.

Cal peeks into the room. Shadow is sitting on an upholstered chair in front of the mirrored vanity, wearing a floral-print satin robe, her short bobbed hair wrapped in tubes of various sizes. She locks eyes with him for a second before they dart away. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s all right, Cornylia. Let him in.”

Let him in. As if she’ll merely tolerate him. That, of all things this past week, hurts the most.

She puts on rouge in the mirror while he waits, clasping his hands in front of him, to be addressed. Then she puts down the feathered puff on the vanity tray and looks up at him.

“Shall we have the first dance? Surely as guests of honor, we can claim that?” he says with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

He waits for her customary quip. Instead she says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The sadness in her voice is like a punch in the stomach. “Why?”

“I can’t say. Not yet.”

“Then when?” This is agony. He lowers his voice. “What am I to do? How do I continue, not knowing what’s happening with you?”

Shadow’s expression remains impassive, but a tear slides down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away. Takes a deep breath. “Your orders haven’t changed, Cal, but mine have.”

“And you can’t share them with me?”

She looks down at her lap. “No,” she says so quietly that he almost can’t hear.

The silence between them stretches for an age. Shadow won’t look him in the eye, and Cal feels dread in his heart and a temporary weakness in his knees. All his dreams turn to ashes in his mouth. There is no future here; she has withdrawn from him. She is a closed door and he is out in the cold.

Without another word, he walks out, the door swinging closed behind him. “Excuse me, sir!” the lady’s maid exclaims when he passes, despite the fact that he bumped into her and not the other way around. She hurries back into the room as he walks away.

His first thought: I’m not attending this party. His second thought: Of course I am. I’m Caledon Holt. I am the Queen’s Assassin. He feels particularly murderous tonight.

His third thought: This is why I vowed never to fall in love.

* * *

CAL WAITS UNTIL THE revelry is in full swing—and he’s had a few drinks—before making his appearance. It’s not as grand as the Small Ball at the palace, but it’s impressive nonetheless, and the crowd is substantial. He’ll give Duchess Girt credit for that. She knows how to throw a party. And the Montrician nobles know how to show up.

Speaking of Duchess Girt . . . He spots her standing near a table of sweets, talking to some of her friends, other aristocratic women donning the same elaborate costumes and garish makeup—white faces, bright red mouths, pink rouge, sharp eyebrows.

He takes a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Across the room, he sees Shadow. Just as beautiful as the last time. She’s wearing the same dark blue dress, but her hair is styled differently—worn naturally, without a wig, her short hair sleek against her forehead.

Shadow is dancing with King Hansen. A slow waltz. Too slow. Cal hates the sight of them together—he has to stop himself from pulling them apart. That’s not gentlemanly behavior, he tells himself. And Shadow is doing what he asked of her. Becoming closer to the king, trying to gain his favor. He resists the urge to interfere.

Not only is she dancing, but laughing and smiling, too.