When it was finally their turn, they stepped onto the balcony and saw that the ballroom was sunken compared to the rest of the castle. Around twenty steps led down to the floor below. Scanning the room, Etani watched the crowd while they milled around. It was difficult to tell who was who.
"The Princess Nayishma of Weorene and the Princess Etani of the Winter Court of Faerie," the announcer boomed out.
Heads turned as their names were called out, and the two exchanged a glance.
King Alaric, who was dressed as a warrior, perked up, looking towards the balcony. Another figure turned their way and her eyes met those of Epharis, who was dressed as a wizard. He stared just as hard as his brother.
Turning to the stairs, she was forced to release Nayishma's hand, allowing her to lead the charge.
With one hand on the balustrade, the phoenix descended the stairs, her free hand holding up the hem of the gown so she did not trip.
Mimicking her, Etani followed the princess. She was glad when they reached the bottom and she could settle her dress again. The shift in weight had been pinching her side, and the pinch eased when the dress was dropped.
The princess led the way through the milling crowd as the next couple were introduced. They stopped before King Alaric, both curtsying deeply before the man as was standard for such events, according to Nayishma's extensive knowledge of court life.
The king dismissed them with a wave, yet his eyes were fixed on Etani. Turning her back on him, she allowed herself to be pulled into a small group of dancers, grinning when Nayishma placed her small hand against the black fabric at her waist.
"Now Yish, don't get any ideas," she teased. The woman pulled her into a dance when the beat dictated.
They moved seamlessly to the music, swapping hands and turning back the way they had come, Nayishma even going as far as to twirl her, which set Etani to laughing quietly.
Before too much longer, they were both asked to dance, she by a man wearing what appeared to be a high general's uniform. The man who took Nayishma wore a cloak with large horns sticking out of his forehead. He was a demon, and Nayishma was delighted to have a chance to dance with a demon.
Accepting his offer, Etani placed her hand in his, and her other hand on his shoulder, allowing him to lead her into the slow steps.
He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, with a pointed little beard she found oddly charming. His eyes were sapphire blue, and she noticed he had slightly pointed ears. Giving him a more clinical appraisal after that revelation, she thought that he might be a halfling elf.
"My name is Rictor," he said in a low, smooth voice.
"Etani," she whispered, allowing him to twirl her and stepping back to him.
"You're the princess that showed up without warning one day?" He seemed genuinely curious and her grin was all the confirmation he needed. He grinned back, tilting her into a dip that bent her back over his forearm. Straightening again, he pulled her smoothly into the next song as the music changed.
"You're an elf general?" she asked, falling into step with him.
"I am. I am General Leonold of Astor." His chest puffed up as he spoke, and she laughed. The man of whom he spoke had been a famously ferocious and dedicated elf that had lived some three hundred years previously. He had led his king into victory multiple times, finally to be cut down by his own king, who poisoned him.
"Let us hope you do not meet the same fate."
It took him a moment to realise she was teasing him, and his smooth face flushed.
Promising to dance with him again later, she was pulled away by another man, this one dressed as a pirate, wooden leg included. She had to wonder if he actually cut off his leg to suit the part.
His dancing was a little awkward, but it was more fun for that fact and he was quick to laugh.
"Riskal the Rascal," he boomed. The man was huge, standing well above her height. He had a big red beard, and wore a white shirt that was open to midway down his chest, showing red chest hair too. He had on brown pants and a red sash around his waist held a sword.
"Quite a pretty little thing, aren't you," he said jovially, and she 'accidentally' stepped on his foot, which made him laugh.
After two dances with him, she had lost track of Nayishma. Refusing a dance to a man dressed as an angel, she invited him to join her for a drink before heading back out onto the floor and he happily followed. His little golden wings were charming, and his round face matched his round belly perfectly.
She took the opportunity of the drink to look around, locating her little phoenix towards the back of the room, dancing with the unicorn centaur from the hallway.
***
The night progressed quickly, she passed from hand to hand, and stopped to locate her friend whenever she lost track of her.
Her night soured when the hands that found her next were thin and cool. Looking up, she found Epharis looking down at her.
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close as he began the dance. She had to admit he was an exceptional dancer.
"You have been hiding from me," he said calmly. She knew that calm was more warning than if he had been shouting.
"Hiding is a strong word, I'd say—" she cut off as he jerked her closer to him and gasped, almost falling into him.
He caught her, using the action to whisper in her ear. "If you hide from me again, I will tear this city apart to find you."
Releasing his grip on her, she fell into step with him again. She swallowed, meeting his eyes. He was deadly serious, and she shivered at the thought of being alone with him.
The music changed, but no one was brave enough to try to take her from the prince, and so she fell into step with the new pace.
He kept her close, only allowing her far enough way to twirl before pulling her close again.
Releasing her hand, he dipped her back, and she felt his fingers tracing up her throat, feeling her naked skin. The move was so incredibly sensual and possessive that she wanted to hit him, but she did not touch him. A flick of his fingers had the choker fall free of her throat and his eyes lingered.
"I have always thought your throat was beautiful," he murmured and pulled her upright once more.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to free herself from him, turning only to have her arm caught and her body pulled back against him, her back to his chest.
He moved so seamlessly that it looked entirely intentional, as though it were all simply part of the dance. Two more steps of the dance and his arm curled around her jaw, turning her face to his, her body entrapped in his arms.
His face was so close to hers, she could barely think. He released her, spinning her out only to draw her back in once more.
"Epharis, why can't you just let me go?" she whispered as his arm curled back around her. They spun in a circle slowly, their bodies turned so that they gazed behind each other though their faces were turned to each other.
"You are mine," he said simply, his fingers tracing her jaw as she was let out, both taking a step back and then moving back in towards each other.
"Only for so long as you need me," she retorted.
The expression on his face gave her chills.
"You will be mine forever, Etani, Princess of the Winter Court. I never intended to let you leave."
The words resounded in her chest and she jerked her hand free of his, but he caught her again and pulled her into another twirl.
Anger built up in her, and she wanted to escape, to find Nayishma, but the woman had disappeared in the crowd once more.
"You lied…" she whispered, her heart aching for a reason she could not understand.
The lich nodded once, his eyes lifting from her to something that was happening at the back of the room.
The music cut off sharply, and the crowd surged back.
Epharis's arm went around her protectively even as she turned, trying to understand what was happening.
A scream resounded, and the sound struck a chord in her that filled her instantly with cold.
"Yish?" she asked automatically, looking around her. None of the faces were ones she recognised.
Prying the lich's arm off her, she pushed past those around her, searching for her friend.
Guards had moved forward, shoving people out of the way to get to the incident.
***
A glance at Alaric told her the king had been watching the dancers from his throne, but he was now standing, his face pale.
Dread filled her at his fear, and she shoved harder, struggling to get people out of her way.
The smell of blood hit her like a wall, and she knew instantly that something truly awful, something life-altering, had happened. She did not know how she knew, but she did not think Nayishma was all right.
The crowd went silent as the scuffle broke apart, something or rather someone slumped to the floor, blood spilling around the figure. She tried to get closer, but people were backing away. Then she saw who it was.
"Nayishma!" she screamed.
People were quick to get out of her way then, and she ran for the princess, her silvery-white and gold gown turned crimson.
An attempt to stop her was made, but an elbow to the face was all it took to get them to back off. Slipping in the blood, she staggered to her knees and her arms went around the princess, lifting the woman's light frame into her lap.
"Yish, you're going to be okay," she whimpered, scanning the wound and knowing it would not be okay. The blood was the distinct colour of venous blood. "I'm here, it's okay... It's okay…"
Nayishma looked up at her, her bloody hand resting against Etani's cheek.
"No, my darling, I'm not."
They both knew the princess lacked the ability to heal given her heritage. Etani wanted to scream and rage that monsters like her could heal, and the good, sweet, wonderful Nayishma could not.
"Yish I'm sorry... I could not get..." She went still at a little shake of the head from the dying princess.
"It was my time, that's all. But... I do not want to die like this, not from a knife... Please..." Yish stared up at her and through the cloud of anguish and horror, she could see what Nayishma was asking.
"I can't..." she whimpered, hating herself.
Nayishma drew her closer, her eyes fluttering.
"One last gift from me to you, kiss me," she whispered, her breathing erratic.
For an instant, Etani felt a horrible terror in herself, knowing that her best friend wanted her death to be at the hands of someone she cared for.
She knew she would do this for the woman.
Leaning down, she caught the delicate jaw in her fingers and lifted her face. Ignoring the gasps of those around them, she kissed the princess.
When she delved, she could feel the fluttering of a soul that was desperately clinging to its home, but when her tendrils reached for Nayishma, the soul turned and reached for her in return, arms wide in welcome.
When she withdrew, she constructed a box in her mind, one simple and delicate. The lid was carved into elaborate detail that showed the beautiful face of her friend. Placing the soul in the box, she pressed it shut. She was not going to consume her friend, she was going to keep her safe and warm, stored away deep in her heart forever.
By the time her eyes opened, the hall had been cleared, all except a large number of guards, the king and prince, the vampire twins, and the werewolf woman. Behind her, she heard the blubbering of the captured assassin.
Lifting her head, she could feel the blackness retreating from her eyes and they met those of Alaric, who was staring at her both horrified and intrigued. She vaguely noted that he had never seen her kiss before, but that did not matter now.
Hearing a grunt and then a scream of pain she turned, her eyes falling on the murderer. Laying the princess down gently, she turned and pushed herself up in the same move. Epharis had known what she was planning, and he wrapped his iron-strong arm around her middle, even as she went for the man, something dark and hot blooming to life in her gut.
Screaming in rage, she tried to elbow the man in the ribs, but he merely grunted and wrapped his free arm around her chest, hugging her to him.
"Let go, lich!" she raged, struggling and wriggling, but his grip would not budge. He let her scream profanity, hit him, and even break a few toes in her stamping his foot, but still, he held onto her.
"We need information, Etani," he said finally when she had gone still. Her breaths came in ragged pants and her eyes were locked on the man who looked like he was about to vomit in fear.
"I'll get anything you want from him," she said, wanting nothing more than to get her hands on the assassin.
"You are too emotional." He said it dispassionately, his arms tightening in response to her tensing muscles. He nearly hugged her off the ground, her back pressed into his chest.
Making an effort to relax her muscles, she turned to the king, glaring at him.
"I am going to interrogate him," she demanded.
The man's brows lifted, seemingly not offended by a mere princess making a demand of a king.
"Very well, Epharis will monitor to assure we get the information we need."
Her grin was savage as she turned back to the man and he made a squeaking sound, seeing the two of them together, the lich restraining her.
Epharis looked frustrated, but he agreed and only after the man was led away did he release her.
Stepping away from him, she turned to see Nayishma's body being gently lifted from the ground into a stretcher by her crying maids.
Hurrying over, she helped them and frowned at the veil that covered her face. She removed it, throwing the wretched thing in the drying blood. As the princess was lifted, Etani leant down and kissed her forehead gently.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered to the maids, each of whom hugged her tightly before departing with the princess.
"Where are they taking her?" she asked, sensing the lich had followed close behind her.
"They will have her treated so she can be returned home in a proper state as is befitting her status," he breathed.
She knew that meant embalming her, a form of entombing her in her perfection. "Don't let them veil her."
The man gave a low murmur of agreement and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, turning her. Her eyes lingered on the retreating group, finally turning to look at him once they had vanished down the hall. She blinked at the intensity of his stare. This was the first time he had gotten his hands on her—outside of a formal setting—in months of trying to find her while she had hidden from him.
She had to think he was restraining himself from throttling her, but instead, he only spoke in a low voice, squeezing her shoulder and pulling the headdress off her, handing it to a guard to have it taken up to her rooms, and ordering the princess not be veiled.
"We will deal with this assassin now, then we will talk."
She nodded, planning to slip away before the latter, but she wanted to get her nails into the man who had dared to touch her friend.
Allowing him to lead the way, she followed him down into the dungeons and still further down and she realised that was where he had kept her when he first captured her, but not which room had been hers.
They found the man in the sixth room on the right side of the hall. The lich allowed her to open the door, watching as she pressed her hand against the centre of it.
It swung open slowly on screeching hinges. The man screamed as her feral grin turned on him, her eyes alight with malice. She was still wearing the blood of the woman he had murdered.
She was going to destroy him, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it.
He had ended the life of one of the most beautiful, kind, and gentle woman she had ever had the privilege to meet, and she was going to make him pay for that.
After she made him pay, she was going to make whoever sent him pay.
Stepping inside, the lich followed her, and the door slammed shut with a deadly finality.