Empire of Flame and Thorns (Flame and Thorns #1)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W e only make it three steps into the ballroom before I stumble to a halt. Or try to, anyway. Draven simply keeps walking, pulling me with him. But he glances down at me and arches an eyebrow.

“Changed your mind?” he asks.

“I… No. Well, I…” I stammer while that awful realization that hit me a few seconds ago still crackles through my every nerve. It makes panic flicker through me, so in the end, I just blurt out, “I can’t dance.”

Draven raises both eyebrows in surprise.

“I don’t know how to dance,” I repeat, futilely trying to pull against Draven’s grip while he continues moving us farther out onto the dance floor. “I don’t know what to do.”

He might be used to attending fancy balls in the Ice Palace with the empress and emperor and all of his powerful friends, but I have never been in a situation where ballroom dancing was even remotely relevant. I’ve been gutting fish and trying to start a rebellion all my life, for Mabona’s sake!

My stomach lurches as Draven at last pulls us to a halt and spins me around so that I’m facing him. I look up, expecting to see a cruel smirk on his face, and wait for his mocking words.

To my surprise, none of it comes.

“That’s alright,” he says. And though there is a small and highly amused smile on his mouth, there is nothing mocking about it. “I do. So all you need to do is to follow my lead.”

A jolt shoots through me as he suddenly places a hand on my waist and pulls me closer. While my brain is trying to sort through the jumble of thoughts that flashed through it, Draven moves one of my hands to his shoulder and then takes the other in his free one. And then he starts us into the dance. I can’t even hear the music we’re dancing to because my heart is beating so loudly.

“Consider this practice,” Draven says.

His voice cuts through the noise in my brain, and I finally manage to compose myself. The rest of the room comes back into focus. Thousands of candles burn in the glittering chandeliers, the light sparkling against the shimmering walls and the vaulted ceiling. The shifters in the corner are playing their instruments, creating music that is somehow both dramatic and heart-wrenching at the same time. And other dragon shifters, who are wearing clothes in the color of their respective clans, are swirling across the shining floor alongside us.

I meet Draven’s eyes. The light from the candles makes it look like the gold in his eyes is coated with smoldering fire. The sight is so intense that I almost forget that he spoke earlier.

With enormous effort, I manage to get my mind back on track.

“Practice for what?” I reply.

A smirk curves his lips. “Obeying my commands without question.”

I draw my eyebrows down in a scowl. Shooting him a look full of challenge, I try to pull back and stop moving in the direction he is taking me.

However, the moment I stop following his lead, I stumble in the wrong direction and almost crash into another dancing couple. The two people, who look to be from the Blue Dragon Clan, glare at me.

Draven uses that moment to pull me back to him. Since I wasn’t ready for it, I slam right into his firm chest. I swear I can practically feel the sharp ridges of his abs even through our clothes. My cheeks flush a little, and I quickly put some distance between us again.

With that smirk still on his face, Draven tightens his grip on my waist and then moves us into the dance again. And since I really don’t know how to dance, I’m forced to admit that I have to follow his lead right now if I don’t want to make a fool of myself.

“See?” Draven says, amusement lacing his tone. “Great practice.”

“Mabona’s tits, you’re such an asshole,” I mutter.

“Yes, I am.” He fixes me with a pointed look. “However, very few people dare to say that to my face.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“You expected me not to be?”

Remaining silent for a few seconds, I study him while we continue dancing. He keeps his eyes locked firmly on mine, but still never misses a single step.

“I’m not sure what I expected you to be,” I answer at last.

He seems almost surprised by the honesty. Holding my gaze, he looks at me as if he’s trying to read answers in my soul. Or maybe to make me read answers in his.

My heart clenches, and everything suddenly feels too intense. Too intimate .

I quickly break eye contact and instead busy myself with looking anywhere but his face. My gaze drops down his body. And I blink in surprise, noticing for the first time what he’s actually wearing.

Ever since he ambushed me in the corridor earlier, I’ve been too preoccupied with everything else. His intense eyes. The knife he held to my throat. The very likely possibility that I was going to make a fool of myself on the dance floor. The feeling of his hand on my waist. All of it has taken up so much of my attention that I haven’t even noticed what he’s wearing. But now that I have, I can’t stop staring at it.

For the first time ever, he’s not wearing that black dragon scale armor. Instead, he is dressed in some kind of black formal wear.

I stare at his clothes, my mouth slightly open, before shifting my stunned gaze back up to his face. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He jerks back slightly, surprise and disbelief pulsing across his face. Then he draws his eyebrows down in something that looks remarkably like an embarrassed scowl.

“What am I wearing?” he counters, and then shoots a pointed look down at my silver dress. “What are you wearing?”

“The clothes provided for me.” Dropping his hand, I instead grip the flowing black fabric that cascades down his back, and pull at it. “Is that a cape?”

His hand shoots down, grabbing mine and forcing it away from his cape before bringing it back into the correct position for the dance. He tightens his grip on me. Both on my hand and my waist.

“Yes, it’s a cape,” he huffs.

“Why are you wearing a cape?”

“To make a statement.”

“A statement? What kind of statement?” I nod towards the massive black wings behind him. “That you’re a moron who doesn’t realize that your fancy little cape will get all tangled up in your wings the moment you try to fly?”

He yanks me closer.

Air escapes my lungs as my body slams into his muscular chest. I try to pull back while refilling my lungs, but Draven snakes his arm around my waist, holding me firmly pressed against him. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his breath caress my lips.

“Azaroth’s flame,” he curses, but there is a hint of something like amusement in his tone too. His eyes glint as he holds my gaze while speaking almost directly against my lips. “You always act so soft-spoken around everyone else. Who knew that you had such a sharp tongue underneath all that fake submissiveness?”

Heat sears my cheeks, but I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or indignation or anger or… something else. Taking my hand from his shoulder, I place it against his firm chest and try to push myself back to create a little more space between us. But his arm remains around my back, holding me tightly against him, while he moves us slowly around in a circle as if it’s part of the dance.

I swallow and try to come up with some kind of cutting reply. But all that makes it out of my mouth is, “How do you know how I always act?”

“You seriously think I didn’t see you with that group over there?” He nods in the direction of the people I tried to make friends with earlier. “How you let them walk all over you.”

“I didn’t let them walk all over me.”

He just arches a pointed brow in response.

I scoff, but I can’t argue further because deep down I know that he’s right.

“And yet with me, you let that sharp tongue of yours come out to play.” He leans impossibly closer and cocks his head. The move makes him slant his mouth over mine, barely a breath away. “Why is that?”

Lightning skitters across my skin as his breath dances over my lips. My heart flutters in my chest and my veins feel like they’re on fire.

I know that I should probably make up some kind of excuse or lie or say anything that will make him less likely to mess with my chances of winning the Atonement Trials. But I don’t.

“Because I don’t care what you think of me,” I reply. “I don’t care if you hate me. Truth be told, I kind of hate you too.” I stop myself right before I can say, and that’s why I feel so incredibly free when I talk to you . Instead, I finish with, “And that’s why I don’t hold back when I talk to you.”

A soft laugh escapes his chest. It makes his warm breath hit my lips and slide over my cheeks, sending a ripple down my spine.

“I see,” he says.

He relaxes his grip on me, allowing me to draw back slightly again. I try desperately to clear my head as he slides his hands back into the correct position for the dance. My heart thumps in my chest, beating in tune with the swelling music as Draven spins us right into the building climax of the song.

“The cape is a statement,” he says, picking up the threads of the conversation that started this head-spinning confrontation. “My entire outfit is a statement.” He rustles his wings slightly. “I’m showing off my wings in a half-shift so that people will know that I’m more powerful than them. But I’m also wearing a cape which, as you so astutely pointed out, will get caught in my wings if I try to fly right now. And what does that tell people?”

I consider for a second. Then realization hits me.

“That you’re so powerful that you don’t even need your wings to win if someone attacks you,” I finish for him, finally understanding his reasoning.

“Exactly.”

“Huh.” I glance down at his outfit before meeting his gaze again and raising my eyebrows. “Clever.”

He narrows his eyes. “Was that surprise I heard?”

I just flash him an unapologetic grin.

My stomach lurches as he picks up the pace, spinning us faster and faster as the song approaches its crescendo. Candlelight flickers around me, and my dress swishes across the smooth floor.

“So, clothes tell a story,” Draven says. “I’m wearing this. And you…”

He slides his hand from my waist and up along the side of my ribs. I suck in a shuddering breath that I’m not entirely sure has anything at all to do with the pace of our dance. His fingers skim my back as he keeps his hand high up on the side of my ribs. Lights flicker through my brain as he draws his thumb along the curve right underneath my breast.

“You’re wearing a silver dress that you were ordered to wear,” he continues. For the first time tonight, a cruel glint creeps into his eyes as he stares me down. “Just like all the other fae in this room, you weren’t even allowed to wear your own clothes.” He slides his hand back to my waist as he spins us again. “So what does that tell you?”

I open my mouth to respond, but before any words can make it out, the song ends with a dramatic pounding.

Draven spins us one last time and then uses our momentum to dip me towards the floor. My back arches over his hand, and my hair flows down to brush against the floor. Draven leans down over me.

“It says that you’re so outmatched against me that you will never be a threat to my power,” he whispers against my mouth.

My heart slams against my ribs. Then he abruptly pulls back and yanks me up into a standing position again. I blink, disoriented for a second while Draven releases me and takes a step back.

“Except I was,” I blurt out before he can walk away with the last word. “I was a threat to you and your precious image back during that power demonstration.”

He scoffs and then flashes me a mocking smile. “Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.”

His wings shift slightly as he tucks them closer and starts turning to leave.

“Why did you do this?” I ask, almost stumbling over the words in my haste to get them out before he can stride away.

He turns back to me and raises his eyebrows in silent question. I motion vaguely at the dance floor around us, where the other couples are now moving away towards the tables filled with food and drink instead.

“Why did you dance with me?” I ask.

An unreadable expression slides across his handsome features. I have to suppress the urge to back away as he starts advancing on me again. He moves until he’s so close that his chest brushes against mine. Then he leans down.

For one insane second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

But right before his lips can touch mine, he angles his head and instead continues forward until his mouth is right next to my ear.

A shiver of pleasure rolls down my spine as his breath caresses the shell of my ear. And I swear I can almost feel the bastard smirking.

“Because now,” he begins, once more making his breath dance over my sensitive skin, “I have just put a gigantic target on your back.”

My heart drops and my stomach flips.

Draven draws back, and when he meets my gaze again, there is a wicked grin on his mouth. He winks. “You’re welcome.”

Then, before I can so much as curse him, he turns and strides away, leaving me standing in the middle of the dance floor. Alone. My heart patters nervously as I slowly turn to look at the crowd around me.

Dread spreads through my chest like cold poison.

Because Draven is right. Every single contestant is now watching me through narrowed eyes. Some of them flick a glance at Draven before they continue studying me and talking quietly to the people next to them.

“Fucking asshole,” I growl under my breath.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I stalk away from the dance floor and towards the first group of contestants that I see. Or rather, the first group that contains a somewhat friendly face. I need to try to mitigate the damage Draven caused before the rumors can spread too much.

Fenriel, the guy with the hawk who stays in the room across from mine, stares at me with surprise and confusion written all over his narrow face. I walk up to his group, snatch up a glass of wine from the table, and down the whole thing before grabbing another one.

“Mabona’s fucking tits,” I curse.

The other contestants just watch me warily.

But thankfully, Fenriel takes the bait I threw out and asks, “What was that all about?”

I heave a sigh and rake my free hand through my hair again in a gesture of frustration. Then I turn and sweep my gaze over everyone in the group, to make sure that they’re listening too.

“A few weeks ago, I kind of spilled a drink on him,” I begin, going with the truth. Or mostly the truth, anyway. “And he’s still pissed about that, so now he’s getting revenge by pretending as if we’re friends in order to put a massive target on my back.”

I barely dare to breathe as I wait for their reactions.

Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave when most people in the group let out an ohh and nod in understanding. Thank Mabona.

After talking a little more to that group, I quickly move to another one. I need to tell as many people as possible the same thing. That way, if people gossip about what happened, the majority will explain to the others what really happened.

Another dance starts back up while I work my way through the ballroom. The candles burn lower and the laughter grows louder as the evening wears on.

Thankfully, most people seem to accept my explanation of what Draven was really doing. I still move on to yet another group to truly make sure of that.

“What is she doing?” a female contestant with red hair asks right as I drift over to their group.

My heart lurches, and I think they might be talking about me. But then I follow their gazes and realize that they’re looking at Lavendera.

The brown-haired woman stands alone by one of the pale stone walls. She’s not eating or drinking anything. She’s just standing there, staring blankly at an empty spot on the opposite wall.

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with that one,” another woman replies from the group watching her. “She’s not right in the head. I’ve heard that she actually lives out in the thorn forest.”

The redhead raises her eyebrows. “Seriously? Is that why we almost never see her in the city?”

“Probably. Or because no one wants to spend too much time with her. I mean, have you heard the weird shit she says sometimes?”

“Yeah.” The redhead nods. “I’m willing to bet that it’s because she got seriously hurt when she competed in the previous Atonement Trials.”

“She has been in the trials before?”

“Yes. That’s how she got that scar on her face.”

“No, it’s not,” a third person replies. A guy this time. His eyes are full of sympathy as he casts a glance towards Lavendera. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? It’s actually Jessina Iceheart who did that to her. She was so jealous of how beautiful Lavendera was that she slashed her across the face with a shard of ice.”

The redhead scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh come on. That’s a myth. Do you seriously believe everything that people gossip about when they’re drunk? Why would?—”

“Listen up!” Imar’s voice suddenly cuts through the chatter and music.

Everyone falls silent.

“Contestants,” he continues, sweeping his gaze over all the gathered fae. “You have one more hour left to enjoy this evening of splendor that your emperor and empress have so generously gifted you. Then you will return to your rooms. Because the first trial starts tomorrow.”

A ripple sweeps through the room.

Finally . I’ve had enough of all this fake generosity. It’s high time to actually get started with the real trials so that I can win and finally prove to everyone just how invaluable I really am to the resistance.

The dragon shifters, who are just here as spectators to enjoy the show, grin and nod excitedly at Imar’s proclamation. Some people on our side do as well, but most shift their weight as apprehension no doubt settles in their stomachs.

“Make the most of it,” Imar finishes.

With an ominous smile, he turns and strides back towards where the Iceheart monarchs are seated on two grand chairs. They watch us all with wicked amusement. I flick a quick glance in search of Draven, but I don’t see him anywhere.

So instead, I return to my own task. Imar told us to make the most of this hour, and I intend to do just that. After grabbing a new glass of wine, I continue trying to repair the damage Draven did to my reputation.

I use all the tricks I have in order to make people listen to me. Since they saw me dance with the Shadow of Death, most people have at least become curious enough that they don’t outright ignore me the way they did in the beginning. It works in my favor, and I manage to speak to most groups.

But as I move towards one of the last groups that I still haven’t spoken to, a strange feeling rolls through my stomach. I trail to a halt, and glance down in surprise. I feel nauseous. Which makes no sense. I’m no longer nervous and worried.

Shaking my head, I start forward again.

Another wave of nausea washes over me and then climbs up my throat.

I slap a hand over my mouth.

Across the ballroom, several other contestants do the same thing.

Panic slices through me as my stomach heaves.

With my hand firmly pressed against my mouth, I run towards the door.

Others do the same.

My insides twist. I sprint through the corridors as fast as I can.

I barely make it to the lavatories before the vomiting starts.

And as I sit there on my knees on the cold stone floor, emptying the contents of my stomach over and over again, I can’t get the image out of my head. The image that I caught right before I ran out the door.

The image of Alistair and Maximus. Grinning. Clinking their glasses together.

And then raising their glasses to us in a mocking salute.