Page 167 of Burn Her They Said
Prince Auden twirls me, and my smile grows from the way he presses against Varic’s undetected magic, which rises up my neck to shield my cheek just before the Prince rests his own over it. A tendril of joy rushes from Varic, with his unsubtle way of conveying how he feels about impeding any and all contact between me and the royal handling me.
Tears well with gratitude for the ability to see where Varic’s protection kisses my skin. And while his shield can be sensed by my skin alone, the ability to witness where it protects me is a gift I will not take for granted.
That same sorcerer must notice the shift in my mood as his own smile rises until it is almost mischievous.
Prince Auden’s arms tighten around my waist as we spin into a more challenging rotation, where our sides press together, and I am meant to lift my gaze to his. I pull in a breath and prepare to pretend I am enamored with the hazel eyes staring back, when I gasp at the most impossibly bright brown eyes instead.
I blink and shake my head, but no matter what, I can’t seem to stop perceiving Varic as my dance partner.
His confident smirk pulls on my heartstrings, though I know it’s not his. Not really.
My pulse thrums with the vision tricking me into seeing his brown, wavy hair spilling over his forehead, the same way it does when he leans in to whisper. And the warmth of him—I can feel it. Everywhere the Prince tries to touch me through the shield. And even his warm spice scent invades my senses while the cast of his magic matches the way it feels when he is the one who holds me.
No matter how many times I close my eyes. No matter the number of breaths, the Prince no longer looks, smells, or feels like himself. And the cruelty of this deception isn’t one I will soon forget. Not with my own mind betraying me—not with it tormenting me like this.
Because the grief of wanting this, yearning for this, without ever being able to have it, is cruelty. But the longer I sense it is Varic who holds me—the longer I feel him, smell him, nearly taste him—I have to wonder if this is a kindness to imagine the sorcerer I long to dance with, as the one currently spinning me around the dance floor. Allowing me this one comfort, because the bittersweet truth for us servants of the Empire is that we will only be able to do so when commanded.
Perhaps this is my mind’s way of keeping me safe. Of making me believe I am spinning before an audience with the one I feel most comfortable. Not the Prince.
My dance partner holds on tight as he spins me in a dramatic sweep. Enthusiastic applause rises from the crowd while I allow myself this brief moment of delusion-induced happiness.
The musical notes slow as I lean into the hand supporting my back, arching from one side to the next, spinning together seamlessly with the projection of the only sorcerer my heart yearns for over the Prince’s form. This fantasy allows me to flow through the moves with a confidence I would not be capable of faking so easily.
The swell of music comes to an end, and the amber force-shield rises so high its glow fills my vision, covering my whole body as the vivid projection of Varic fades, along with the joy I felt in its presence.
Prince Auden and I hold our pose as that opalescent barrier prevents our chests from touching, Varic’s magic ensuring that he is the only one to ever truly possess me. The only one to bring the tingling warmth to the most sensitive areas of my body.
The audience roars as we pull apart, so I dip into a curtsy while the Prince bows. He holds my hand when we rise, and I can’t help but marvel at how moments before, this sorcerer felt like him, smelled like him, looked like him.
It all felt so real. I wish it had been.
“I don’t know what spell you’ve cast over me,” the Prince leans in to whisper. “However, I should like more time to get to know you. Another dance, perhaps? Or would you prefer something more private?” His pupils are still wider than normal, and I can’t help but suspect he might have been dosed with something in the wine he drank before he asked for my hand in this dance.
But what would be the purpose?
Varic catches my eye as my Guards close in. I extract my hand from the Prince’s to grab hold of my skirts, then I force a smile and curtsy. The Prince bows before I stride away to where my Guards and I stood when he first arrived.
Disgust infiltrates my chest with how easy it is to behave in such a manipulative fashion, regardless of its purpose—a trait I did not wish to inherit. Ensuring the Prince remains intrigued with me as I make him wonder. Make him wait.
Walking is a challenge after so much spinning, taking far more focus to remain upright. Cool mist casts up my spine, carrying Cirin’s signature blue as it spreads out to reinvigorate my tired limbs. His Majesty’s piercing gray eyes find and pin mine. A chill of a different kind rolls down my body as he tracks my movement.
Murmurs and muted conversation follow us, as do the eyes of every esteemed guest. Cloying in their attention—pressing in and crushing my ribs—until the Emperor’s own gaze falls away and I can finally pull in a breath, taking my place in the center of the five-pointed star made up of my Guards.
I lift my chin and pretend to look ahead when Varic’s distress spirals in a veritable cyclone, kicking out specks of fear and rage while tears well in my eyes with no hope of disguising them, as this level of distress is too much for either of us. So much that it could not have come from this evening alone. Instead, it is the culmination of every powerless experience we have ever known.
I siphon as much as I am able, and my tears fall freely as I reabsorb what he took from me, shuddering with every one of the emotions distinct from his own, with my deep green hue cast over them. The fear and anxiety, frustration, and discomfort—the sense of violation I would have otherwise been overcome with had Varic not extracted it while I must have been too distracted to notice.
My gut twists, and I nearly drop to the ground with a cry as I force my hand to remain by my side. Overwhelmed with Varic needing to harm himself because he was so overcome with absorbing all I could not tolerate, all to keep from obliterating all of us.
A quiet thrum vibrates through him while his face flushes, and his bloodshot eyes stare vacantly forward. This is not my Varic. This is the shell of the cunning, observant sorcerer who stole my heart so many years ago.
The guests seem oblivious as they converse among themselves, only occasionally gazing between me and the Prince. Yet even with these fleeting glances, I doubt they’d have reason to look down past my shoulders. So I extend a hand toward Varic, with the magnet that is him drawing me in, inundated with the urge to grab hold of him and squeeze. To let him know that I am here, and I care more than he knows.
I survey the room to ensure no one is looking, then prod the side of his thigh with the tip of my little finger. He glances down with furrowed brows as I gesture for him to look again, but he sends me a questioning look instead. I widen my eyes and indicate down before he finally obeys my unsubtle command and watches when I poke his leg. He narrows his eyes, and I force my gaze forward, hoping he received the message.
Varic drops his shoulder and releases his hand to hang at his side.
My pulse pounds and a small smile tugs on the corner of my lips as I slowly—painstakingly slowly—reach as far as I can without drawing attention.
