I lifted my chin—still dramatically lower than Nina’s—and fixed her with a hard stare. She assumed I desired the gaze of men. Everyone assumed things about me. Jorge had assumed I wanted…well, something I only wanted when I was married and in love. My father assumed I wanted to be married, if it would free me of this curse. Nina assumed I wanted to marry Montrose simply because he was wealthy.

  “There, now, remember what’s at stake.” My stepmother tapped the side of my face waiting for my answer.

  She knew of the curse, but the look in her eyes said she wasn’t worried about where I went after tonight, be it a fae court or an estate far to the north, as long as it was away from here. She almost ruined this for me. Almost. But I wouldn’t let her spoil what might be my final dance ever.

  “I must speak with Papá.”

  Nina pinched her lips and a look of true disappointment crossed her brow. “He wishes to speak with you as well, but it must be after you dance. There is no time!”

  Raquel finished securing my dress and stepped back.

  “No time for what?” My father’s deep voice came from the antechamber outside my bedroom.

  My heart leapt, and I rushed to him.

  “Papá!” I sailed into his open arms.

  We didn’t usually embrace like this, but we both felt the weight of what was at stake tonight. Nina cleared her throat behind us.

  “I apologize, Zarita, for being absent much of today. I heard that you wished to speak with me.” He held me at arm’s length, his eyes already filling with tears. In my entire life, I’d seen the man cry twice. The first time when he told me of my curse, and the second when my mother died. “Your wedding arrangements have been made. Montrose is ready to marry you tonight.”

  I didn’t want to ask what Papá had done to enable a wedding to take place so quickly. It didn’t matter. With a deep inhale that made my tight dress creak, I lifted my chin and nodded.

  “Do you really think it will work?” I asked.

  Nina dismissed the maids, leaving us to speak of this disaster alone. My father’s hands tightened on my shoulders, but he said nothing. For a man of many words, seeing him speechless sent a wave of tingling panic down my arms and legs. My breaths shortened, and my body heated as my stomach twisted inside me.

  “It will work,” Nina said, walking up to us with a fixed, poised expression. This conundrum was of little consequence to her. “Now, we have guests waiting.”

  “They came earlier,” I whispered as Nina walked toward the door. “I met them. They are fae. Shadow fae.”

  Papá’s face dropped to be level with mine. “You met Oscuro?”

  I shook my head. “He said his name was Casimiro, the son of the Shadow King.”

  Papá straightened. The breath leaving his lungs smelled of his prized wine. “Oh, Zara. This marriage will be our salvation. You were right to tell me that marriage breaks these kinds of things.” He never used the word curse…or maldita.

  Love breaks curses, I’d told him. Not weddings. But maybe to a fae bargain, they were one and the same? We could only hope.

  Nina scoffed. “Be glad that you are marrying at all, under the circumstances. At least your beauty will please Montrose.”

  I glanced down at my cleavage. “By beauty, you mean this, right?”

  She pursed her lips.

  Whenever she spoke of my body like a painting that was for sale, I winced. I grabbed the fringed shawl she held out toward me and wrapped it around my shoulders, crossing it over my chest.

  Flamenco dresses were not worn by the high nobility in Avencia, save for once a year. During the Festival de los Cuentos, when any costume was allowable, many women opted to wear flamenco-style dresses, embracing for one week the form-fitting dresses stacked with ruffles. That festival had ended weeks ago, and I’d be the only one wearing this style tonight.

  All the more reason, according to my stepmother, for my soon-to-be husband to be fawning over me.

  An unwanted chill raked down my spine as I recalled the disheveled princeling who’d stolen my dagger. I didn’t want to think of him. By the time he returned to collect me, the bargain would be broken. It had to be.

  Grinding my teeth, I focused instead on the dance I was about to perform, moving through the opening steps in my head as I exited the room on my father’s arm, Nina walking behind us.

  “You are a dancer,” Nina hissed over our shoulders. “Great men think nothing more of women on a stage than they do of a fancy chair or a nice wine goblet. Entertainers are like ornaments at a party. Something to be admired but nothing more. I’m shocked Montrose agreed to let his bride dance tonight.”

  A weight sank in my stomach as all the blood rushed from my head. Usually, the moments before a dance amplified my spirit and gave life to my bones. But in one statement, my stepmother had stripped everything joyful about this moment. Nina was pale and generally unassuming and she even had freckles, something rare among the Avencian people. Some of the storytellers considered freckles a curse by the sun on those who were tasteless. I knew better than that, as most of the stories told at Festival were solely for entertainment, but at times like this, I was tempted to believe that one held a little truth.

  Without another word to her, we descended the stairs, pausing only as we approached the ballroom.

  My father turned and kissed both of my cheeks. “We will see the end of this tonight,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t you worry. Now, go and have fun.” He smiled, but the expression was strained. He took Nina’s arm, and the two disappeared into the ballroom as the announcer called their arrival.

  Raquel reappeared from the side hall and handed me my castanets. Within the ballroom, I heard my father announcing the upcoming wedding, a fact greeted by loud applause. Then the room quieted, and my father announced my performance. It was time.

  I cleared my throat, made sure my castanets were secured in my fingers, then slipped quietly through the doorway onto the dance floor. A hush fell over the crowd as the tinkling glasses and laughter died down. A few snickers trickled through the seated guests, and immediately the sweat of doubt prickled through my skin.

  I lifted my hands into the air, twisting my fingers around artfully. My heart pounded in my ears. Before the music began, I curled my arms in a snakelike fashion over my head, face lifted to the light above.

  The music began. My foot stomped to the beat and my hips moved, the ruffles in my dress flipping as I cocked my heeled shoe sideways and spun.

  The crowd watched in perfect silence.

  The chandelier above was so bright it was hard to see faces in the room, which made it easier for me to concentrate on the dance. Soon I lost myself in the movements. The tension from a moment ago melted into my hot blood. The thrill of the sound, the rhythm, and the reverberations running through my legs every time I clicked my heels into the floor, erased all the anxiety and brought about a welcome oblivion.

  The music was drawing to a crescendo. It was so quiet I wondered if every person in the room was holding their breath. This part of the dance required that I edge closer to the people sitting in the chairs. This was the part that had brought the crowd to their feet three weeks ago, winning me first place.

  Clacking my castanets and heels in faster and faster succession, I stomped up to the nearest table to finish this performance, selecting, as usual, one man to approach for my final pose. I noticed a dark suit, though I was spinning too fast to take note of his face. He angled his body toward me, leaning one elbow against the table, the other splayed against the back of his chair, as if he was pleased with my choice, like he was some peacock worthy of being singled out in a roomful of nobility.

  He eased back in a comfortable position, knees splayed out, lounging backward as I danced faster and faster, nearer and nearer. I was right in front of him, clacking and stomping as the music reached its final crescendo.

  When I stomped the last step of the dance, I threw my arms up and turned my chin dramatically to the side. I had to hold the pose for five seconds, at least, for full effect. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the man had scooted his feet out so that they were on either side of mine, just under the ruffles of my dress. Heat blazed up my shins at his boldness, but I didn’t break my pose to see who the man was.

  As the first applause began, I straightened and finally looked at the man sitting right in front of me. It was Casimiro, and his was the only face not smiling.

  7

  Zara

  Icy fear prickled my skin, though my blood was still pumping quickly from the dance.

  The lone sound of a chair scooting backward across the wooden floor rose over the polite applause. Casimiro stood, so close that I edged away from him. He lifted his hands and began to clap, his applause continuing long after everyone else’s had stopped.

  Every eye in the room stared at him. His sweeping dark hair was slicked back, revealing his pointed ears for all to see. On his head was a crown that appeared to be made of onyx.

  When his applause ended, heavy silence filled the room. No one moved.

  Except Casimiro, who bent at the waist, his eyes still on me, and said, “A most moving performance. Do me the honor of dancing with me tonight.” He straightened.

  The wedding ceremony was to begin directly after my performance. We didn't have time to dance beforehand. My heart fluttered nervously as I glanced to Papá to give a reply, but when I spotted my father, his face was frozen in open-mouthed shock, a visible sheen of sweat twinkling on his brow as he stared at the fae prince. My knees almost buckled beneath me.

  I cleared my throat. "There is no time, I'm afraid," I replied, hoping my voice sounded calm and confident despite my rushing pulse.

  The fae prince sneered. “There is time if I say there is. We shall dance," he announced, lifting a hand to the musicians. "Though I believe your first dance is already taken by that gentleman over there.”

  Casimiro turned toward Lord Montrose, whose pale features stood out in the room full of dark-haired Avencians.

  “Indeed,” Montrose said, rising from his seat. He bobbed a polite bow to Casimiro, who did not return the gesture. A few people gasped at the impropriety. Others whispered the word fae loud enough that the prince’s lips curled into a smile.

  Lord Montrose walked toward me with a stiff frown, his eyes cutting toward Casimiro twice, but still no one else in the room budged from their seats. My cheeks heated as I took Montrose’s hand and stepped back onto the dance floor, away from the fae.

  This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. We were supposed to join hands and exchange vows after my dance. But Lord Montrose didn't know why the timing mattered. Avencian parties never started until all the hues of sunset were gone, which in the summer was not until after ten o'clock. We had less than one hour to be wed before my time was up.

  Casimiro sat down, but the tension in the room only amplified, as everyone launched into furious whispers, forgetting, perhaps, that the stories all claimed fae had excellent hearing. My pulse remained high while the music started again. As Montrose swept me into the first steps of the dance, I caught sight of the fae prince sipping my father’s prized wine, a bored expression on his face.

  Lord Montrose asked me something, but my brain hadn’t stopped thinking about Casimiro’s request for my next dance. I responded with a half-dazed hmm.

  “I look forward to getting to know you better, tonight,” he said in his heavy accent, offering me the slightest ghost of a smile. This was the man I was to marry, and I should look at him as my savior, my ticket away from the Shadow Court. Instead, my eyes raked the room for Casimiro. Was he about to snatch me right this minute? Did I even have time to hug my father one last time?

  My shoulders tensed a little when I realized Papá wasn’t sitting where I’d last seen him. The fae had indicated that my father would die if the bargain was broken…I nearly lost the contents of my stomach on Lord Montrose’s shined shoes.

  No, Papá was fine. Likely speaking to someone on the terrace, that was all.

  “Thank you,” I said to Montrose, unsure if this was the right thing to say in the moment. My mind was spinning faster than my shoes. The wedding was about to take place, as planned. We still had time.

  My future husband spun me around and gripped me with a featherlight touch. His light skin and freckles certainly stood out against my darker tone, but he was pleasant to look at and not yet thirty-five. I should be pleased with my father’s choice. Love was meant to surmount all obstacles, after all. Perhaps, in time, I’d find love with Montrose.

  The dance ended, and I stared blankly at the table of mantecados, hoping to have time and appetite enough to enjoy them later. It was time for the wedding ceremony. Montrose bowed and I curtsied, my heart in a frantic tangle of emotions. For a brief moment, my eyes glazed over and I pictured Talia the last time she’d been in this ballroom. How I longed to see her again.

  But when I blinked, I saw another face before me.

  Casimiro.

  He snapped his fingers at the musicians, and their strings slid seamlessly into a fast tune. The prince didn’t wait for me to take his hand. Instead, he swept me into a dance as the music began.

  His hand was tighter on my waist than Lord Montrose’s had been, forcing me closer and moving me faster. Instantly, my body responded, heating as I realized I danced with someone who matched my skill and passion. My blood flushed with anger and fear and the twisted desire to outdance this fae, to prove that I was not some toy for him to toss around.

  I pushed against his hands, testing the strength of his lead in the dance. He matched my aggression and soon my arms burned as they pressed back into his hold. His lips held the faintest curl at the edges as he charged across the dance floor with the precision of a marching soldier. Confined in his grip for the duration of the dance, I allowed myself to really look at him. His features were as precisely shaped as the stone of his crown, chiseled and smooth as if age did not touch him. He stared at me with deep-set eyes the color of fresh coffee. My stomach flipped over inside me. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d only come to steal me away to the Shadow Court, I might have wanted to dance with him again. The dance raced toward the first dip, and my body moved on its own, lost to the rhythm.

  He held one strong arm under my back and leaned forward, pressing me down toward the floor with such grace and gentleness I let out a small gasp. As he bent forward, his entire face fell into shadow, lit from above. This close, the spark in his eyes was undeniable, though I couldn’t tell if it was simply because he’d beaten Montrose by proving his superior skill or if he truly enjoyed dancing with me. As he pulled me back up, a shiver interrupted my next move, and his grip tightened, as if to remind me who was really in charge here. Angry at my slip, I stormed toward him, commanding the dance as my own once again.

  “You think getting married will break the bargain?” he asked, his voice low and threatening.

  At that moment, he released me into a spin. When I slammed into his grip once more, my heart drummed against my ribs. “Yes,” I spat back. “The stories all say love breaks curses.”

  Without missing a step, he tilted his head back and laughed. Doubt clamped around my lungs, pushing out all my air.

  “Getting married will not save you from your fate. It will only leave that man a widower. For I will take you, married or not. Better to let him avoid that, don’t you think?”

  The word widower sat heavy on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My feet missed a step of the dance, and Casimiro’s chest bumped against mine.

  “Will your father kill me?” I managed to ask.

  Casimiro’s eyes darkened. “No. That is not his job.”

  As my fear rose, the prince’s hold on me tightened, not allowing me to miss another step. And it seemed that no one in the room—my betrothed included—felt bold enough to cut in on my dance with the fae prince. “But you said—then whose job is it?” I blurted out.

  “Mine.”

  My gasp was covered by the final crescendo of the dance. Shock caused me to go limp, and I felt my body falling to the floor.

  No, I was being lowered, carefully, in a set of strong arms, into a deep final pose.

  Casimiro stared down at me with blazing eyes, his crown somehow not falling off his perfect brow. When he lifted me, he maintained eye contact, drilling in the last word he’d spoken.

  It was his job to kill me.

  While our faces were still close, he whispered, “If you do not want to die, then choose wisely.”

  “Choose? What do you mean?”

  But Casimiro’s hands let go, and he stepped back.

  My gaze shifted to Lord Montrose. He seethed with envy or anger or both, his jaw flexing and his lips pinched.

  “It is time,” the prince muttered.

  “Wait!” I stepped toward the fae prince, and the entire room sucked in a scandalized gasp. I ignored them. “It's not eleven o'clock yet!"

  "We have to be in the Shadow Court by the hour of your birth, or your father dies."

  His words hit me like a volley of arrows. This was it. We really were out of time.

  "I will say goodbye to my father.”

  Without waiting for permission, I stormed away from him. Sweat poured freely down my chest as I marched through the crowd toward the head table, decorated with a heap of white and purple flowers. Papá was standing, gripping the back of his chair, his eyes on me. Every eye in the room was on me.

  As I edged around an older couple, the pair’s clasped hands briefly stole my attention. I blinked down at them, overcome with a pang of jealousy. They were entering the last season of their lives and were well wrinkled with age, but still, they clung to each other.

  I’d never have that chance.

  I readied myself for my stepmother’s attack regarding my dancing with the fae, but my shoulders eased as Papá swept me into a tight embrace.

 

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