Page 150 of A Dance of Lies

Because I never escaped him.

He knew. Somehow, he found me. “How long?” I rasp. How long has he known where I was?

“You weresoeasy to keep track of, selling Emilia’s ring to buy passage on that ship.” He scoffs. “I admit we lost you for a time, once you took up residence in that theater—or so I am told. I suppose I should thank you for runningstraight to himthereafter.”

Straight to him.

Because I had caught his eye. And not just because of my dancing.

“He recognized me,” I breathe. Somehow. Though we hadn’t met.

A shrug. “I knew you were in Miridran, that it was only a matter of time before we tracked you down. So we sent drawings, descriptions. He suspected the truth once he got a good look at you.”

I think back to the way Illian climbed onto the stage at the Melune. How his brows leapt an increment—a hint of a surprise once we were face-to-face. I’d assumed it was because I had been younger than he had initially thought.

“And when he found Emilia’s glove in your belongings, that cemented it.”

Her glove, embroidered with her name.

Emilia’s glove.

The one that had gone missing.

“As far as my acquaintances knew, I had already sent you to your suitor.”

I sway, the ground tilting beneath me.

To anyone else, this must look like he’s whispering his blessings; a doting father sad to lose his daughter but glad to gain a son.

All this time, and I had played right into their plans. I should have seen it. Should have put the pieces together here at the very least, when at every step my father was there.

And now Illian thinks to collect me like a tax collector would his coins.

My father takes my wrist, his thick fingers squeezing the fragile bones the way he had years ago. He nods at Illian, who removes his gloves.

Illian holds my gaze as my father presses my palm neatly into his. Flesh to flesh. A deal sealed.

We are touching, for the very first time.

I wait for time to stop. It feels like it should. Then, softly, Illian tacks a kiss to my knuckles before sliding a ring onto my finger. It’s cold, small, and altogether too tight, just like my shackles.

And before I know what’s happening, he takes my jaw and nudges my lips to his.

My mouth is slack, numb, but he makes up for my lack of response, plunging harder, tilting my head back. His lips are wet. Cold, like frost. Like his soul.

Then, with a shudder that feels like relief, he backs away and slides his mouth to my ear. “You have no idea what it’s been like being unable to touch you.”

Revulsion climbs up my throat. I blink, and he comes into focus. His eyes are dark, heavy, and I remember all the times he looked at me this way before and never acted on it. Until now.

Until now, when my father allowed it.

The woman he brought to his room, swathed in my costume. The times he reached for me but pulled away—

I understand, now.She is

yours in every way.

Only then do I hear the crowd, the music. Illian lifts our hands, displaying my ring before them. And when finally the cheers subside, he leans in, confirming my guess. “Yes, Vasalie. I made a vow to your father not to lay so much as a finger on you until he gave his permission. And I kept my word.”