Page 118 of The Shadows Between Us
Everyone in the ballroom has paused to watch the spectacle, though neither the music nor the chatter has ceased.
And now, not a soul seems to have a problem approaching me. Not when I can have them thrown from the party. Not when the king’s guards obey my commands. In fact, I’m greeted by no fewer than ten nobles as they grab drinks and sample hors d’oeuvres.
“An astonishing party. Are those chocolates shaped like rosebuds?” Rhouben plucks a candy from the table and tosses it into his mouth. After swallowing, he adds, “I could kiss you right now.”
“Best not to do it in public,” I say.
“Seriously, Alessandra. Thank you. I know I’ve already said it, but I’ll say it again. You freed me from Melita. She’s left the palace, she was so distraught over the breakup, Eliades’s rejection, and then Eliades’s imprisonment. I’m a free man again.”
And he doesn’t even know I just saved him from marriage to me, as well.
“How are you enjoying your bachelorhood?” I ask.
“I’m going to celebrate by dancing with every single gorgeous woman in attendance tonight. That includes you. Save me a dance?”
“Of course.”
He kisses my hand, and I watch him take off to a corner where Petros and Leandros laugh together.
It’s nice to see Leandros. I worried he wouldn’t come.
As if sensing my gaze, he looks over. Upon seeing me watching, he offers a small smile. I offer him a grand one in return.
Leandros is clad in all black, just as Kallias was the first time I laid eyes on him. Only Leandros wears a painted black rose near his lapels. I almost miss the plant, since it blends in so well with his waistcoat. The sight of the flower endears Leandros to me even more. Kallias hasn’t spoken to him in a year, and yet, he shows up at a party in honor ofthe king’s mother and wears her favorite blossom. The rest of his dark attire makes Leandros’s golden skin look lighter, and it really brings out the darker undertones in his pale brown hair.
It doesn’t matter what he wears—he’s so handsome and thoughtful. He really will make some girl very happy.
I force my gaze away and survey more of the room. I’m pleased to find that most everyone is showing up in the proper attire. I see a group of ladies dressed as tulips, their necklines rising in the back to a standing collar, curving around their heads and to the sides of their faces, shaping like a tulip’s petals. Bands around their heads have the protruding stamen.
One lady is ambitious enough to attempt what I think is supposed to be a daffodil. With a gold hat shaped like the flower’s horn, she looks rather… different.
The men are predictably boring, with nothing more than flowers in their breast pockets to match the ladies.
I spot Hestia and Rhoda and rush over to them. Rhoda is dressed like her namesake. The hem at the base of her dress is gathered into clusters that look like purple-pink rhododendrons. Simple, yet quite elegant.
Hestia is a marvel in dusty pink. She, too, went for roses, but instead of shaping the entire dress like one, she simply had her seamstress sew exquisite beading over the entire skirt, shaping trails of thorny vines and blossoming flowers.
“You both look exquisite,” I say.
“Thank you,” Hestia says. “Did you notice my shawl?”
I take the time to examine the pink silk about her shoulders. “Oh, you sewed it yourself, didn’t you?”
It’s a simple task, sewing down the ends to give the accessory a smooth edge all around, but I know how terrible Hestia was when shestarted learning to sew, unable to keep her stitches straight. And while the shawl isn’t perfect, as I can see a loose thread hanging off one end, most of the stitches look fantastic.
“It looks amazing,” I tell her.
“I had a good teacher,” she says in return.
“The decor turned out even better than you described,” Rhoda offers. “And you put everyone to shame with your dress. How do you manage to look like a flower without looking ridiculous?”
“I spent a lot of time on it,” I admit. When I wasn’t with Kallias, I was sewing.
“Something is missing,” I note as I survey Rhoda. “Ah, I told you to bring Galen! Where is he?”
Rhoda flicks a black lock over her shoulder, discreetly pointing her head toward a spot against the wall.
It takes me three tries before I spot him. I was looking for a servant, dressed in simple cotton and drab colors. I wasn’t prepared for a dashing man in purple-pink brocade. He even fixed his hair, somehow getting the ends to smooth back out of his face. Despite the improved attire, the man looks terribly uncomfortable with the way his hands twitch at his sides and the way he eyes the guards nearby as though expecting to be thrown out.
