Page 82 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

Each person in the room picks a partner, and, of course, that leaves Jun and me together. We’re quickly thrust into a waltz, one that many of the students don’t seem to know, but Jun and I are both well-practiced.

“You’ve surprised me again,” I say.

His fingers press into my back. “C’mon. You know I can dance.”

“Not like this.”

“I took lessons. It’s drilled into my head, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

“But you should.” I press closer to him—unnecessary for the dance, but it may be one of the few chances I get at proximity, and after our night together, I crave it.

He moves smoothly, leading me through the steps others are stumbling through.

“Change partners!” my father yells.

My eyes widen.

I don’t want to leave Jun—but if it’s part of the game, we must. Regretfully, I slip out of his hands, and we pick other partners. In the shuffle, I end up pressed to Selina.

Her vibrant eyes lock on mine. She’s as good a dancer as Jun and finds herself in the leading position between us. Dominating.

“Your father is Profess Cruz, isn’t he?” she asks—likely an attempt at small talk.

“He is. Do you see the resemblance?”

“Oh, it’s uncanny.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“And he clearly sprung for dance lessons. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. You are far too kind.”

“Your ally is good, too. I’m hoping to dance with him if we switch again.”

“You would be lucky.” I smiled tightly. “He’s my mate. Just so you know.”

It’s a lie, and not a necessary one for this conversation, but something wicked possesses me to say it.

She lifts a brow. “Apologies. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“You didn’t. It’s fine?—”

“Switch partners!”

As I detangle from Selina, I can’t fight the thought that I narrowly escaped death. A fake one, thankfully.

There’s another shuffle and a song change.

I end up with Augustin. He’s as pale as a ghost. His hands shake as he tries to lead me through the dance, and I barely avoid him stepping on my feet.

“Settle down.” I laugh. “They’re not judging us on our ability to waltz.”

“God, I hope not.”

“What are you?—”

Augustin goes limp in my arms before I can finish my sentence. He flops to the floor without the same drama as Daisy, and I look up.