Page 7 of This Shattered Star

The worry creases between his brows eased.

“I know.”

Diana tugged on my arm once more. She shoved the doors open, and led us directly into an already heavy crowd.

Lilting music drifted through the air, alongside the aroma of spices wafting from the grand buffet table on the far right of the room. Gemstones of all kinds dangled from the chandeliers above, tossing their glittering, colorful light down onto all surfaces, including the faces of everyone here. Windows lined the entirety of every wall, making it seem as though one could touch the clouds if they reached high enough.

The other competitors were lined up at the front of the room, waiting before a red carpeted dais stretching thirty steps upwards. I counted each set of stiff shoulders as we approached. Twenty, including myself.

Diana shoved two girls apart, only to set me in between them. “Don’t you dare move,” she hissed in my ear, then aimed for the steps of the dais.

Reigning in my scoff, I ignored the wilting looks the two girls at my sides gave me, and focused on Maverick instead.

He conversed with another member of court whose name I never bothered to remember, leaning towards the older man to better grasp his words over the cacophony of the crowd.

His easy smile and drawn-back shoulders portrayed a perfect picture of undisturbed contentment. To those who didn’t care to look any closer, it was indeed a masterfully woven portrait.

But I cared far too much.

His portrait was frayed. That seemingly easy smile was too tight. Overcompensated the clench in his jaw, and the squint in his eyes.

As Diana reached them, Maverick brought a hand up, silencing the man mid-sentence. Any contempt that lay in his expression cleared immediately. His smile widened to display all his teeth, turning that squint into genuine mirth.

All those frayed details, painted over in an instant.

The king was a handsome man. And he knew that fact well enough to brand it as a tool when required. Though the gods had kept him alive for several hundred years, he didn’t look a day older than his late twenties. His wavy, onyx locks were neatly combed, jaw dusted with just enough stubble to accentuate his sharp bone structure. Standing taller than almost any man, his strength remained visible even under his dark navy ensemble. Each time he shifted, the muscles along his biceps pulled taught against the material. Indestructible both magically, and physically.

But it was his eyes that could suck one’s breath right out of their chest. The way his near-depthless eyes, their color darker than his hair, settled on someone of interest was enough to cause knees to quake, and send stomachs fluttering.

He stood as he greeted Diana, without bothering to dismiss the other man. He didn’t need to.

She said something I couldn’t hear despite the quiet settling over the crowd.

Whatever it was, Maverick found it rather amusing. His laugh tumbled down the steps of the dais, a melody that rivalled the cellos and their cheerful vibrato. But when he replied, he looked directly at me.

Goosebumps raced down my arms. Lingering before the threshold of fear and anticipation yet never daring to fully settle into either emotion.

“Each year, we fill this room.”

Maverick’s words rang out, his eyes finally leaving mine to study the rest of the crowd. Everyone stopped what they were doing, the sound of his voice alone a command to pause and listen. “We fill it with fresh faces—fresh hope.”

With Maverick’s attention elsewhere, I let my own wander. I’d heard this speech too many times to count. I couldn’t be bothered listen to it again.

An empty seat remained to Maverick’s left, sandwiched between other members of court. Diana took the occasion to gingerly perch on its edge, reminding me of the crow statues hanging by the castle’s main entrance.

Stiff, with an unerasable eerie leer at the passersby below.

Repressing a shiver, I looked away.

But a different kind of chill crept up my spine as my gaze collided with Kodhan’s. He was the only other person who didn’t focus on Maverick’s speech.

His attention was latched wholly onto me.

Kodhan’s ensemble all but screamed his title as heir to the Dreadmourne line. He donned a black vest cut perfectly to his figure, accentuating the strong width of his shoulders. Embellished with glittering rubies, his lapel bore no sign of wrinkles, and the solid gold buckle of his belt was without a single smudge. More rubies and buttons of gold lined the cuffs ofhis sleeves. They shifted as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

His lips curled slightly at the edges when our gazes met again.

A single spark of fear ignited in the pit of my stomach.