Mermaid Tear (The Fated #2)

42 | The Consequence

Before Iliana could think of what to do after Nicolet's departure, a nobleman offered her a bow and an extended hand. Unwilling to retreat--as that would mean going to Zuher--she accepted and allowed herself to be swept into another dance.

And another.

And another.

It wasn't until her feet started to ache that Iliana realized what was happening. The heat of Zuher's eyes on her back, the gleam in the nobles' eyes, the ladies' whispers barely muffled by lace fans, it all twisted into a chilling plot.

It was another battleline. And, somehow, one even more dangerous than the challenge Zuher had settled before her. While Zuher would no doubt view Nicolet's interference as a show of loyalty--he had pulled her away from Del, after all--the others were laying down a quiet gauntlet. They were showing her their faces and whispering names that she carefully filed away. And they did so in plain view of an emperor who clearly wished she would return to his side.

Anyone who offered to dance was a potential ally.

Time passed in a blur of titles and murmured greetings so quiet she had to struggle to catch their meanings above the undercurrent of music and conversation. Her mind felt flush with information, to the point she was worried she would recall none of them after the party died. It wouldn't be without effort, however, as she carefully examined everything about every soul to approach her.

It wasn't until the far doors opened again, and an announcement echoed above the buzz of voices, that Iliana pulled her attention from her dance partners.

"Ales of Zuher."

The title left an uncomfortable lump in her chest. Somehow, hearing it applied to him made the situation even worse. A sensation that only grew as she reflexively released her partner and turned to face the stairs.

If she hadn't known what state he was in prior to the ball, Iliana never would have guessed. Like Zuher, he gave off the air of someone who was purposefully a mess. His suit jacket was nowhere to be seen and the sleeves of his black-and-crimson three-piece were rolled up his forearms. His hair hung as it pleased. And as he strode forward, one hand stoved into the pocket of his pants, there wasn't a single falter in his steps. Whether he had been healed, or he was simply ignoring the hidden pain, Iliana had no idea.

All she knew was that with each step he took, that cocky amusement curled onto his lips, Iliana found herself more-and-more unable to summon an ounce of hate.

Within a minute of his arrival, Lykos drew even with her. He didn't pause, however, instead just raising a hand to ruffle her carefully pinned hair as he passed. It was enough. Familiar embers of anger sparked in her chest as Iliana spun to face his back.

"Bastard."

He grinned, but didn't stop until he reached the base of Zuher's stairs. From there he dropped into a deep bow.

"Master."

Irritation glimmered in Zuher's gaze. His fingers curled over the arm of his throne, digging deep past the surface of the onyx. She couldn't tell if it was due to her own actions, or Lykos' bold fashion choice. But, after a long, silent minute as the crowd seemed to hold their breath, Zuher sighed and relaxed his grip.

"You test my patience, Ales."

Lykos didn't reply. Was it etiquette? Or did he just have nothing to say that wouldn't worsen the situation?

"Go. I don't want to see your face. Your eyes annoy me."

Lykos gave a small nod of his head and stood. Then, without another word, he pressed into the crowded floor and disappeared. Iliana took a step--intending to follow him and inquire about the matter Aran had brought up before--but froze as Zuher cleared his throat.