Chapter 10: The Stranger in the Shadows
"Just for curiosity's sake," the voice said, "who are you hiding from?"
For a moment, my spine forgot how to hold me upright. The music below—the orchestra of enchanted instruments playing themselves—blurred into a single hum.
I turned, half expecting one of the nobles' sons, drunk on punch and perfume, to be standing there with a smirk and another dreadful pickup line about how the stars paled beside my eyes. But the shadows stayed shadows. Only the faint shimmer of the chandeliers brushed the marble, outlining a tall, motionless figure I couldn't quite see.
"Who told you I was hiding?" I asked, forcing a smirk.
"I reckon that's what you're doing," he said, his tone amused. "You're not dancing. You're not mingling. You've spent the better part of an hour watching other people make a spectacle of themselves."
"Well, I am mingling with you, aren't I?" I shot back.
A low, dry laugh rolled through the dark. "You know what I mean."
I could almost hear the smirk in his voice. He stepped forward just enough for me to see the faint outline of his shoulder in the silver wash of moonlight. He was tall—taller than most men here—and for one wild heartbeat, I thought whoever I had imagined when speaking to my father earlier had simply stepped out of my thoughts and into reality. Which, frankly, I found hard to believe.
"Why is a beautiful woman like you not dancing with the others?" he asked.
The way the word beautiful rolled off his tongue sent a shiver down my spine. It was a simple compliment, but it did things to me.
I forced myself to get a grip. I still couldn't see his face, just that lean silhouette against the moonlight. A nice voice and a handsome outline didn't mean he wasn't as trashy as the rest.
I gestured toward the ballroom below, where a cluster of overdressed nobles twirled and spun like ornamental tops. "Do you see that?" I asked. "Imagine if someone's hairpiece fell on me. I'd die from the impact alone."
He chuckled, and it wasn't forced—it was deep, genuine, and warm.
See, I know I said I didn't want to get married, but this man was making me have second thoughts.
"To be honest, I'm a bit concerned too," he said. "How do they even move with all that? And the clothes—why do they look like they could hide a small corpse? What's with the makeup? Even demons aren't as terrifying as they are with it."
"Right?" I said, delighted. "At least someone finally sees what I see."
"Hard not to. It's glaringly obvious. I had to look for a place to hide because I thought I'd stumbled into a realm where demons I wasn't aware of lived," he said.
I laughed softly. "You don't sound like someone from around here. Are you?"
A pause. Then, simply: "No."
I narrowed my eyes. "Then where are you from?"
Another pause—longer this time, like he was deciding whether to tell me. "A place far from here," he said finally.
"Helpful," I muttered. "That narrows it down to everywhere beyond these palace walls."
"I like to be ambiguous," he said lightly.
"And I like people who are straightforward, which you are not," I told him.
He chuckled again. "You don't trust me."
"Um… I can't even see you. How am I supposed to trust you?"
"You're not supposed to," he said easily.
"What?"
"I'm not to be trusted."
I blinked. "Well, at least you're honest about it. That's new."
He leaned closer—or maybe it was just my imagination. His presence filled the air, warm and steady, like a nearby fire.
"Honesty is easier when one has no intention of lying," he said.
"And yet that sounds suspiciously like something a liar would say."
Another low laugh. "You're sharper than I expected."
"Expected?" I echoed. "You came expecting something from me?"
"Only that you'd be interesting."
I was momentarily robbed of words. Down below, the orchestra picked up pace. The dancers spun faster, skirts blooming like jeweled flowers. A countess's tiara nearly toppled from her head as she twirled too hard.
The man in the shadows murmured, "If she doesn't take that thing off soon, there'll be something else twirling around, and it won't be on two legs."
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, but it escaped anyway. My eyes followed the countess—and then I saw someone else.
"Did I see that correctly?" I asked in shock.
"The duchess hiding pastries in her dress? Yes, yes you did," he said.
I frowned. "But why would she even do that?"
"Perhaps she has a sweet tooth. Or maybe her fingers twitch to take what isn't hers. Or maybe she hasn't eaten since morning. It could be all three," he said smoothly.
I gave him a suspicious look. "Do you know something?"
"Perhaps."
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"That's because I don't trust you."
I scoffed. "Says the man hiding in the shadows."
"Who said I was hiding?" he asked, voice amused.
"Why else would you be in the shadows?"
And how was it that the shadows clung to him so well I couldn't even make out his features? Suspicious indeed.
"Oh! Seems something else is happening," he said suddenly, tone gleeful.
I looked down and saw Lord Thistlewhip von Puffenfluff dancing very vigorously—hips swaying completely off-beat. He sipped wine as he spun, spilling half of it down his embroidered coat.
His mother—the same duchess who'd been stealing pastries—stared aghast, while I tried and failed to keep my composure. If he had been in my old world, his moves might have sold with the ladies. Women do love a man who can move his hips like that.
"You like his dancing?" the man asked.
"Not really," I said between snickers, just as the wine sloshed over Thistlewhip's chest. He rubbed it in like it was part of the performance, then staggered toward a baroness waving him away.
"Why is no one stopping him?" my companion asked.
"I have no idea," I admitted, "but I'm enjoying it."
The baroness screamed as Thistlewhip reached for her.
"Get him away from me!" she shrieked.
"My love, why do you reject me so? You said if I danced for you, you would accept me!"
"When did I say that?" she demanded, eyes wide.
"Last night when I sneaked into your room," he said proudly.
The entire hall went still. Even the enchanted violins stopped mid-note, clearly intrigued by the scandal.
"Oh dear," I breathed.
The baroness's husband looked as though someone had dropped a dead rat into his drink.
"Why are you pretending?" Lord Thistlewhip asked her earnestly.
"Pretending?!" she sputtered, laughing nervously. "We didn't have any correspondence last night!"
I sighed. "She's lying," I muttered, just as my mysterious companion said the same thing.
We turned to each other.
"How do you know she's lying?" I asked.
"How do you?"
"I asked first!"
He chuckled. "I just know. I'm a good liar, after all."
I laughed softly. "Her body language gave her away. And she just told the entire court they had a correspondence by trying to deny it too hard."
Lord Thistlewhip's expression turned tragic. "We never had any correspondence? You begged me to make you come numerous times! You told me your husband never satisfies you. You wrapped your legs around me yesterday and screamed in ecstasy saying how much you—"
He didn't finish. A guard struck him over the head, dragging him out as his mother wailed behind him. The baroness immediately began crying about his drunken delusions.
"That was awfully late—and with the wrong timing," my companion noted.
I sighed. "I would have enjoyed seeing how that ended, but alas. As usual, they'll bury it up."
"So it's a common occurrence here?" he asked.
"The cheating? The lying? The covering it up?" I said. "Yes. It's practically an evening sport."
A comfortable silence followed. Below us, the crowd glittered and swayed again as the orchestra resumed a waltz. Someone shouted that the king's wine glass was overflowing. My father's booming laugh rose above the noise—loud, confident, and a little too proud.
For a fleeting moment, I imagined staying here all night, half-hidden, talking to this unseen stranger about hairpieces and pastries until sunrise.
If all my suitors had been like this—clever, amused, self-assured without being insufferable—maybe I would have given up on being single long ago.
But then I remembered the rodent-faced suitor from the Sapphire Marches and nearly shuddered. Perhaps this man was just another illusion.
"Are you going to come out of the shadows?" I asked suddenly.
A low, teasing laugh. "Curious to see how I look?"
"Rightly so. I need to know if I'm speaking to someone using a transformation spell on me."
He chuckled. "I wouldn't stoop so low. If you want to see me, then I shall grant your request."
Soft steps echoed on the marble as he moved toward the light. His silhouette sharpened—a strong jaw, a confident stride. I leaned forward slightly, breath caught in my throat, as he was just about to step into the light when—
"Elyndravyssorathielindria!"
Oh no.
I barely had time to turn before a small, regal whirlwind of embroidered robes and righteous paternal fury descended upon me.
"There you are!" Father boomed. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? Your husband-to-be is waiting!"
"Wait—Father, I was just—"
Whatever I was going to say was cut off as he grabbed my wrist with surprising strength for a man whose stomach entered rooms before the rest of him.
For a man so small, he had a lot of energy. How was he able to drag me away so quickly?
I looked back toward the balcony. The mysterious stranger was gone—no trace, no sound, nothing. As if he had never been there at all.
And that, more than anything else, made me frown.
Who could he be? Why was he here? And why, oh why, couldn't my father have waited just a few seconds longer?