𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑫𝑶𝑾'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑻𝑨𝑹 - 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈

CHAPTER VIII.

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𝟕:𝟒𝟓 𝐩.𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.
𝐎𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐚, 𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐤𝐚.
༻✧༺
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𝕹essa was drowning. Her corset was too tight, that was why. Nothing to do with those mesmerizing ebony eyes that were locked with hers. She barely noticed the rest of the crowd following the Darkling's gaze towards her and the nobles around getting slightly away from her. She barely heard the blonde girl grunting and addressing Nessa a deadly look as the Darkling backed away from her. Everything was blurry. Everything but him. He was dressed in a black kefta, as Inej predicted, with an elegant gold crown at his brow.

Only a sharp eye could notice the change in him when his eyes landed on her, his eyebrows slightly lifting, his mouth imperceptibly opening. It took a huge mental slap for Nessa to snap out of it.

Get yourself together, Volkov! He is just a man. A very powerful and infuriatingly handsome one, but still a man. You can—you have to do this.

She tightened the lock on her emotions ; control slid back in place. She then sank into her most beautiful curtsy as the Darkling slowly approached her. Finally, his voice came out, deep, low, making Nessa's skin cover in goosebumps.

"Will you do me the honor of allowing me this danse, lady..."

"Anastasia Illyn of Os Kervo, Your Majesty. It would be my outmost pleasure." She answered in her most melodious voice.

She rose as the Darkling handed out a hand and forced herself to take it, masking her nervousness behind her most charming smile. Gods, this would be so much easier if he looked like a troll. He led her in the center of the room, and they saluted each other, him bowing and her making a curtsy again. The rest of the guests quickly fell into pairs as the music started.

A firm hand slipped around her waist, perfectly matching her curves, as the other took Nessa's own hand, the cloth being so thin that she could practically fell the roughness of his hand on hers. She put the other on his shoulder and they started waltzing around the ball room in perfect harmony. This close, there was no escaping the surreal features of her partner and enemy, the deep ebony irises, the defined cheekbones and jaw lines, the clean-shaved beard and the dark, long hair, pulled backwards. He looked way too young to be this monster described, seeming no older than thirty years-old, maybe thirty-five.

His aura was crushing, suffocating. There was no denying the power that lied within the man. Nessa could feel it almost physically, like a tidal wave unfurling on her skin.

Despite the fabric separating them, she could feel the muscles in his shoulder, the way his hand perfectly fit hers, couldn't help but notice how firmly he grabbed her waist.

His expression was now impenetrable, looking at her like he was trying to see directly into her soul, while Nessa tried her best to look just like the naïve and pretty rich girl she was supposed to be.

"How do you like Os Alta so far, Lady Illyn ?" The Darkling asked with polite interest.

Her answer had to be natural so it wouldn't sound suspicious, but original enough so that he'd remember her.

"As my first introduction to the world of politics, it is quite the event." She chuckled lightly. (An idea popped up in her head, a risky one.) "But between us, Your Majesty," she added on the tone of confidence, "the Grand Palace is definitely one of the ugliest buildings I have ever seen."

She was relieved to see a smirk curve the lips of the Darkling.

Touché.

"My predecessors had indeed most...disturbing tastes." Their eyes locked again as his smile took a mischievous accent. "Tell me, Lady Illyn, why have you come to Os Alta, beyond politics? Is your father seeking alliances? As suitor for his daughter, perhaps?"