Page 93 of Sharpest Court

I was panting, taking in the bespangled cloak room around me, when I heard what every person in a slinky dress dreaded to hear: the sound of fabric tearing.

I cursed, panicking. I tried using the interior walls to heave myself through, but the snag wouldn’t allow movement. The brick footholds crumbled under my shoes, and then my legs were dangling—caught in a gaping swathe of silk.

After a few moments of frantic struggle, I slumped like a wilted flower, the window frame digging into my ribs.

“This cannot be happening,” I moaned into the silence.

A click sounded and my head snapped up, my pulse lodging in my throat.

Keil slipped inside, but no relief chased my alarm. If anything, my skin grew fiercely hotter as he slowly took in the sight before him, his features pursed with restraint.

And then he laughed so wholeheartedly that his eyes watered from the force.

“This is not funny,” I snapped. “You need to pull me down.”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed, hands braced on his knees. “Give me a moment.”

I scowled. He was far too jovial for someone who had dullroot running through his system, and I was just petty enough to resent him for it.

Once he caught his breath, he sauntered toward me, mouth twitching.

“What are you waiting for?” I demanded.

“I just need to ingrain this image into my mind.”

I shoved his shoulder with a blast of my specter, but it only fanned the flames of his amusement as he reached up to grip my waist. I latched onto his shoulders, my legs grappling for purchase as he began to pull.

“The great lady of Vereen,” he mused, his voice a low rumble by my ear, “stuck in the window of a gambling den. Do you think they’ll write poetry about this moment?”

“They’ll be writing your obituary if you don’t hurry up and get me down from here.” I hissed the words against his neck, the scent of him dizzying at this distance.

“Should you really be threatening the man currently doing you a service? Because I could always just—” He began peeling away without me, and I tugged him back by the collar, inadvertently drawing his smirking mouth closer to my own.

“Fine,” I bit out. “I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I’m composing a ballad in honor of your chivalry. Just hurry, before—”

A louder rip sounded, and we tumbled to the floor together.

I landed hard on Keil’s chest, breathless, one palm anchored beside his head to catch my fall. My dark hair flowed down, creating a curtain around us, and time seemed to still as I caught the heavy look in his eyes.

For a moment, I felt only his firm palms around my waist, his breaths lapping over my lips, his searing attention as he gazed up at me, pupils dilated.

Then, slowly, he drew one hand up to brush a strand of hair from my brow. His fingers lingered around the curve of my cheek as he whispered, “What were you saying about that ballad?”

I swallowed, and his eyes tracked the bob of my throat. I was watching him watch me—flustered and yet mesmerized into stillness—when my bare thigh grazed the cool floor.

And my heat dissipated.

I gasped and scrambled back. A long slash ran through the silk, leaving me exposed from hip to hem.

“I can’t go out like this.” I tugged at both flaps of silk as if that would miraculously weld them together.

“Are you sure?” Keil sat up at the waist, grinning. “I daresay you’ve improved the garment.” I shot him a glare, but humor still sparkled in his eyes as he sighed. “Look around, my lady. We could have ended up in far worse circumstances.”

I glanced over the sparkly jackets and glimmering shawls, all perfectly suitable to cover the tear. Then my eyes landed on a particularly bland clothes rack, and I smiled. “You’re right.” I stood, then offered Keil my hand.

He took it with mock surprise. “Say that again.”

I rolled my eyes and headed straight for the staff uniforms. I found a shirt and matching trousers, then tossed them to Keil.