If the corset was a prison, the Grand Banquet Hall was the executioner's block.
Kaia sat at the long, polished mahogany table, trying to make herself as small as possible in a dress that seemed determined to announce her presence to the entire hemisphere. It was pink. Aggressively pink. A shade of "Blushing Rose" that Victoria had insisted emphasized Kaia's youth, but which Kaia suspected made her look like a partially digested shrimp.
"Sit up," Victoria hissed from beside her, the command barely moving her lips.
Victoria looked, predictably, like a silver goddess. She was wearing deep violet silk that matched her eyes, her posture so perfect she could have balanced a tea set on her head while riding a horse.
"I am sitting up," Kaia whispered back, gripping her silverware. "My spine is currently fused to the back of this chair."
Across the table, the Empress beamed at them. She sat on a raised dais, flanked by the Emperor, who was busy stabbing a roasted pheasant with unnerving enthusiasm.
"Isn't this delightful?" the Empress cooed, her gaze sweeping over the two couples. "The Taryn sisters and the Valdamar princes. A portrait of harmony."
Kaia forced a smile that felt like she was baring her teeth.
To her right sat Prince Beckett. He looked dashing in a dark green coat, but his smile was strained, his eyes constantly darting toward the door where the Royal Guard was stationed. Specifically, toward a massive, scarred captain who was standing stone-still by the archway.
And directly across from her...
Him.
Prince Aeron Valdamar sat in a high-backed velvet chair, looking like the concept of "Sin" had put on a cravat.
He hadn't touched his food. His white-gloved hands rested on the table, still and composed. But his eyes—those terrifying, liquid-silver eyes—were fixed on Kaia.
He wasn't looking at her face. He was looking at her throat, right where her pulse was currently trying to hammer its way out of her skin.
Don't look at him, Kaia chanted internally. Look at the pheasant. Look at the chandelier. Look at Beckett's nervous twitch.
She picked up her wine glass. Her hand shook, just a fraction.
"I trust you are finding the palace accommodations comfortable, Lady Kaia?" Aeron asked.
His voice cut through the ambient chatter like a blade. It was smooth, polite, and laced with a dark amusement that made the fine hairs on Kaia's arms stand up.
She choked on her sip of wine.
Victoria elbowed her in the ribs. Hard.
"Quite comfortable, Your Highness," Kaia managed, setting the glass down with a clatter. "Though the corridors are... extensive. One could easily get lost."
Aeron's lips curled. "Indeed. It is dangerous to wander alone. Especially at night. The gardens can be full of... pests."
He held her gaze. It was a direct hit. He knew. He absolutely knew.
"I prefer the library," Kaia lied, lifting her chin. "I find gardens... messy."
"Messy," Aeron repeated, testing the word. "I find them revealing. People tend to lose things in gardens. Inhibitions. Dignity. Gloves."
Kaia's blood ran cold. She stopped breathing.
From behind Aeron's chair, Caspian the valet suddenly coughed loudly. "Ahem! More wine, Your Highness? The vintage is... particularly aggressive tonight."
Aeron ignored him. He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the gold in his hair. "Do you like fruit, Lady Kaia?"
He gestured to the silver bowl of winter berries in front of her.
"I... yes," she stammered.
"Please," he commanded softly. "Eat."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was the voice from the dark. Spread your legs.
Kaia felt a flush of heat rise from her chest to her cheeks. She was trapped. If she refused, she was rude. If she obeyed, she was submitting.
With a trembling hand, she picked up a strawberry. It was ripe, dark red, and glistening.
She brought it to her lips.
Across the table, Aeron's eyes darkened. His pupils dilated, swallowing the silver. He wasn't blinking.
Kaia bit into the berry. It was sweet, the juice bursting on her tongue. A drop of red escaped, sliding down her bottom lip.
Aeron's gaze dropped to her mouth. He tracked the movement of the juice with a hunger so raw, so palpable, that Kaia felt it like a physical touch between her legs.
He slowly, deliberately, brought his own gloved thumb up to his lower lip and dragged it down, mimicking the path of the juice.
Kaia dropped the rest of the strawberry.
"Oh, dear," the Empress laughed, oblivious to the fact that the air in the room had just turned into pure electricity. "Nerves! How charming. Young love is so clumsy."
"Clumsy," Aeron agreed, his voice rougher now. "But delicious."
"You are blushing, sister," Victoria noted, her voice cold. "Do try to control your complexion. You look feverish."
"I need air," Kaia blurted out. She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Excuse me, Your Majesties. I... I think the corset is too tight."
"Oh, poor dear!" The Empress waved her hand. "Go, go! Beckett, perhaps you should—"
"I will escort her to the corridor," Aeron announced, standing up before Beckett could even blink.
"Brother, I—" Beckett started.
"Sit," Aeron said. It was a command, not a suggestion. "Enjoy your pheasant, Beckett. I know the way."
He walked around the table. He moved with that same predator's grace, the velvet of his coat absorbing the light. He offered his arm to Kaia.
His white glove was pristine. Perfect. Saintly.
Kaia looked at the hand. She remembered what it looked like bare. She remembered how it felt wrapped around her thigh.
"My Lady?" he prompted.
"I can walk myself," she whispered, terrified that if she touched him, she would burst into flames right in front of the Empress.
"I insist," Aeron said.
He reached out and took her hand.
Even through two layers of silk—his glove and hers—the shock was instantaneous. It zipped up her arm, settling heavy and hot in her stomach. He didn't just hold her hand; he gripped it. His fingers tightened, possessing her, pulling her into his orbit.
"Breathe, Kaia," he whispered, leaning down so his breath ghosted over the shell of her ear. "You haven't even begun to suffer yet."