Page 29 of To Dance with Death

No, not a dining room, but an entire pavilion, with multiple tables, couches, nooks. Still no sign ofHis Gloriousness.

Music and parties are in full swing in every direction. There is no rhyme or rhythm to this place, it seems, but I take note of a wide walkway—or bridge, rather—that leads outside and into another, seemingly quiet, palace structure. Hoping for a slice of solace there—a closet, a secluded hallway with a bench, even—I decide to follow it.

This part of the palace is mostly unlit and unoccupied. Servant dwellings, perhaps? I yank open the double doors and amble inside, the dim hall rather empty save for a few doors. I pull at one, and it opens into…

Nothing. Darkness. A void. There’s no floor, no ceiling, no view whatsoever. Frowning, I push it shut, though the next reveals the same thing. Empty.

The third door, however, opens into a room.

The space is small and squared, with an unlit mantel to my right, bracketed by tall, ornate shelves. A single wingback faces it, with a plush rug set underfoot. Then there’s a desk to my right, stacked with tomes.

A study, I presume. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Ahead is a small balcony, and instead of facing the city, it opens to a curve of mountains behind.

To a private waterfall, in particular.

A fresh, nighttime breeze sweeps into the study, gentle, yet with such weight it feels like being shoved by a tide. Forcing my way out, I clutch the balustrade for support.

Figures splash into a natural pool a few stories below, a thin waterfall dumping into the far end. Giggling echoes about.

I force in a few slow inhales, the air so thick it feels like dragging in mouthfuls of steam. My body aches in every possible way. My quest suddenly feels insurmountable—a burden even heavier than the frame I can barely hold up.

So overwhelmed am I that I’m about to withdraw, to curl into the wingback and forget the world, when a sound—like a door clicking—steals my attention.

It comes from a balcony higher up, adjacent to mine across the curvature of the tower, but just close enough for me to recognize exactly who strides outside.

My pulse takes flight, as if to propel my heart from my very chest.

If possible, his eyes are brighter here than in the mortal world. Like emeralds held to the sun, visible even from where I stand.

Chapter Ten

A long, dark velvet robe filigreed in jade drapes across his shoulders, the moonlight silvering his bare chest beneath. A golden torque wraps the column of his throat, his ears and fingers decorated with gems as they always are, yet he’s so much more ethereal here.

He looks like aFate.

Then I notice the chalices he’s carrying.

Not one, but two.

I can’t look away from those chalices, even as I want to. I will my legs to back away, but here I remain, frozen in place.

Another figure strides out behind him.

I watch, stone-still, as she peels the robe from his shoulders, slender fingers working the fabric down his chest from behind until he wears only a pair of dark breeches slung low on his hips.

I don’t dare breathe as Dahlia curls her long arms around Anton’s torso, her lavender curls nestling into the curve of his back. Her teeth graze the bud of his shoulder.

It is only once he laughs that I drop to my knees.

The moment I do, it’s as if I’ve shot an arrow his way.

His gaze travels over the balcony.

The balustrade shields me, but still I see a narrow slice of him through the sheen of threatening tears. But I quickly look away—duck farther—then heave the meager contents of my stomach onto the stone between my hands.

By the time the world slows its spinning and I manage to crawl inside, Anton is gone.