Page 121 of A Dance of Lies

My throat tightens. I can’t fathom how all of this could end well, but another glimmer of hope invades my heart.

I almost reach out and grab his hand, but I stop myself when he adds, almost reluctantly, “You should know that the other rumors surrounding me are mostly true, however. I spend my nights trying to forget the days. I rely on drinking and sleeping with women I forget all too easily come dawn, if only to stave off the loneliness—which never works. I am greedy, wasteful, and far too proud.”

“I am fearful, damaged, and angry,” I offer—as if it might smear away the shame I am not certain he should feel.

He bites his lip. “I have never really loved anything or anyone. I wonder at times if I am capable of it.”

My heart constricts.

Even so, I feel myself retreating, my walls inching up. Because while I am beginning to trust him, trust is where it must end. There is nothing for us beyond this Gathering, nor can there ever be. However charming and flirtatious he might be, it’s time I remember that.

I lift my shoulders. “Love is often linked to pain, so perhaps that’s a blessing, Sire.” His brows squeeze together, but I quickly change the topic, lowering my voice. “I’m to attend a handful of soirées over the next few nights. That’s all I know.”

A nod. “I will begin on the Fate of Morta gown, among other things. Now, let’s get you back to killjoy in there before he bursts a vein.”

When Anton returns me to the Dance Hall, he pauses in the doorway. “I will have the gown ready by tomorrow night.”

Copelan and I bow as he exits the room, and under his breath, I hear Copelan murmur something a lot like, “I’m sure you’ll deliver itrightto her room.”

I rub my temples.

Silence lingers, until finally Copelan sighs. “Esmée and I are a thing of the past, Vasalie.”

Is that supposed to mean something? “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He slicks back his hair. “I didn’t merely come last night to tell you about the plans you missed. I wanted to apologize. And to tell you that this,” he says, motioning between us, “is something I don’t want to lose. You make me feel alive, Vas. When I’m around you, I feel . . . I don’t know.Passion.And it’s something I haven’t felt in a long time.”

But it isn’t my job to make him feel alive, or better about himself. And I’m tired of him looking at me with either lust or scorn.

Because itwaslust, I realize. A different kind. Not like Illian’s, but lust in that he wanted me for the way I made him feel about himself. And I allowed it because I wanted the illusion of his protection—and because I was trapped. Lonely. Desperate to feel something other than pain and regret.

But what I should have wanted was empowerment.

“Then this morning,” Copelan continues, “after the maid returned your clothes . . .” He shakes his head. “Tell me it isn’t what it looks like, Vas.”

“Why?” The bite in my voice comes as a surprise, but I square my shoulders. “So you can sleep better at night?”

He lets out a breath. “I know you felt what was between us. I know the way your body works. It responds to me with ease. We dance, and you come alive the way I do. Can you say the same when you’re with him?”

He really doesn’t want me to answer that. Not after last night.

I can’t deny that Copelan and I had chemistry. Perhaps we still do. But chemistry is not finite. It’s a shifting thing, malleable as it is predictable. With Copelan, I needed to be touched, held, comforted in all the ways I was deprived of. And with Anton . . .

It was unexpected, like a strike of lightning far outside a storm, one that left me warm and shimmering all over. He unearthed something buried within me—an intrinsic desire I still can’t name. Even now, I don’t fully understand it.

But it doesn’t matter, because I am afraid I’ll never feel it again.

“At least consider the rules, for Fates’ sake, Vasalie,” he says at my silence.

“The rules say nothing about Crowns, only guests, and King Anton is not a guest in his own palace.” I traipse to the center of the room and stretch. “Think what you want. You always have.”

Chapter Thirty-One

That night, I am sent to perform before the Serain dignitaries aboard a docked pleasure barge.

The barge itself is an impressive vessel—a congruence of carved, ornate wood. Flat, multicolored sails ripple like the gills of a fish, and a garland of silk lanterns bedecks the masts, fluttering in a gentle, evening breeze. Lounges entice guests at both the front and the rear, and a golden structure crowns its heart, hosting an inside bar.

It’s a larger event than I had anticipated. Several courts meander on and off the ship throughout the evening. A multitude of performers grace makeshift stages throughout, a constant stream of entertainment. I’m thankful for the paint on my face, applied like a golden mask around my eyes—similar to what I used to do in Il-lian’s court.