“We’re so glad you came, child.” Lady Rensfield appraises my hair and makeup, smiling softly, but not daring to come any nearer.

I dipped gracefully into a respectful bow for the hostess. “I appreciate the invitation, and my lady’s maid certainly enjoys the chance to practice her skills.”

Husband at her side, the Rensfields were both were tall and striking figures. “And how is your father doing, Daelyn?” Lord Rensfield adjusted his monocle to look down at me. “Last I heard he was trying to broker a deal for more iron.”

A fan snapped shut. “Please, Reginald! The last thing Daelyn wants to discuss is business, or her father. Have you forgotten what it is to be young? Did you ever enjoy speaking about your father’s pursuits?”

“Well—” His white mustache twitched as he beheld his wife’s expression, abandoning the argument before it could begin. “No, dearest. I suppose you’re right.”

She leveled a look at her husband, daring him to contradict her. “Of course I’m right, I always am.” But her husbnad was already looking off into the crowd. If it wasn’t related to business, then it was related to gossip, and Reginald Rensfield didn’t partake in superficial pursuits. “Tell me, Daelyn. Do you have any special announcements that you’d like to share with an old friend first?” His wife on the other hand lived for them.

My face must’ve been blank with confusion. “Special announcements, Lady Rensfield?”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially into a fake whisper, “I hear that Prince Soren has recently become engaged.” It was not whisper enough as the nearest heads turned ever so subtly in our direction. “You wouldn’t happen to be aware of the details, would you? Possibly even a participant? A Cassemir-to-be?”

My heart stuttered as sadness crept its way into my mind unbidden. Not for the prince, I’d never met the man. I’d never even been to Etheroz or left the city of Covosna for that matter. I pretended to smile, but it felt too wide. “Alas, I assure you any royal match to be found is not mine.”

“Pity. I do wonder what his grace is waiting on.” She hit the fan into her palm, thinking. “If your mother were alive, she wouldn’t stand for this dilly dallying. It begins to look...” Suspicious. The unsaid hung between us.

“Perhaps he’s just forgotten to arrange a match...” I said softly, speaking without thinking.

“Oh child, I’m sure the Duke’s just been busy attempting to arrange the right match. If you think his standards for business are high, you can imagine his standards for marriage are doubly so.”

This warranted a small chuckle from Lord Rensfield. “Your father may be pickier than the emperor himself in that regard.”

Music floated through the air of the estate as I excused myself. The Rensfields were an older family, with their heirs long grown up and married away. While they‘re old and graying now, 50 years ago their lack of ambition saved their lives. With little to no political standing, the newly weds were barely spared the axe as Emperor Cassemir beheaded the rest.

They had helped my grandfather shape the new court into what it is, and by proxy had become akin to distant relatives. Close enough to have watched my father, and then me grow up, but distant enough to not risk a Bloodbinding at either of our hands. Searching for refreshments, I tried to forget Lady Rensfield’s prying comments and the subsequent hurt of rejection. It wasn’t unusual to be unmatched at twenty-two years of age, but for a girl of one of the highest noble houses, I could’ve been betrothed at birth. Every year that passed only further ostracized me from society, as if to further prove something was wrong with me that I didn’t already know about.

Perhaps my father was making an arrangement and decided it would be easier if I was left unaware of the negotiations. Being third in-line for the throne himself, he surely would want a match worthy of my proximity to the throne as well.

Manuevering on the outside of the ballroom, I found the refreshments at the very back, covered in sweets and delicate glasses of wine. Reaching for a glass, I stared through my displaced reflection and into the depths of the liquid. I tried not to imagine the red turning viscous, clotting and—I put the glass down quickly. A white would have to do.

It was surprisingly sweet, a small victory. I nursed it through the next three sonatas until it turned bitter in my stomach. I wasn’t sulking in a corner or hiding on the veranda. I was where every partnerless woman aimed to be, on the edge of the dancefloor. But I wasn’t like the rest of the onlookers, they had friends to talk with and to gossip to. No, I was an island, and those around me kept a wide berth as they passed. I hated attending these pointless galas.

Above the rim of my glass, a dark figure stopped infront of me. “Pardon me, my lady.” My eyes raised in surprise as the man bowed. The shape of his jawline and the scar along his brow, this was the first son to the Count of Deva. I tried to remember his name. “Would you grace me with a dance?”

My mouth dried at the sudden attention, even the ladies to my left stilled in shock. He held his arm out in invitation, a genuine smile painted on his handsome face as I took his arm. “I'd be delighted.” I said softly, hopefully.

Guiding me towards the center of the ballroom, we waited for the next song to begin. Now that I was among them, the eyes of the other guests couldn’t avoid mine as apprehension turned into incredulity when they noticed my dress. The gown itself was light olive, with multiple rows of ruffles to fill the bell of the skirt. The bustle scooped low in the back and was covered in lace and ribbons which continued towards the front. The bodice was modestly cut where it crossed my chest, connecting to sleeves that hung off the shoulder. It was a popular style of dress, but what made it different was the wealth sewn into the trim. Delicate lace inlaid with small crystals and gems lined every ruffle, and satin edge. A small dowry’s worth of gems infact. Enough to secure any potential match in attendance, enough to remind the court who the LeMonts really were.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Finding an open spot in the crowd, the count’s son spun me around to face him before taking a step back to bow. Tristan—that was his name, I hadn’t seen him in years. I curtsied deeply, lowering my eyes coyly and his cheeks reddened at the attention. It was said that he’d accompanied a trader’s ship to the Bronze Isles to see more of the world. Rumor added that it was against his father’s wishes.

The violin began, and we raised our hands, nearly palm to plam as our arms wrapped around each others like snakes. We moved slowly in-sync, my muscles waking up to remember how to be graceful, fluid.

My dance instructor had been torturous with his instruction. “To dance is to be art in motion.” He’d stop us to correct the angle of my wrist, or tilt of my head. “Every twitch of your muscle must be intentionally elegant. Like a weapon in the hands of a soldier, your body must become an extension of the music. To become as weightless as sound in order to become one with the stars.”

And I was.

The sonata was haunting as the other instruments accompanied the melody. The notes hanging in the air like a ghost, a thing you could see but never touch. A thing that was lonely, and afraid, but dying to live. For a moment I could forget who I was, and what I wasn’t.

The notes began to fade into silence as the dance concluded. My soul leaving the heavens to settling back into my body, breathless. Tristan’s eyes were unfocused, his breathing equally ragged as he led us from the dancefloor. I was clay in a potters hands, and while Tristan was no master, he was skilled. I longed for him to lead me into another dance, but as the music began again he pulled us into the shadows.

“Why are we—” I looked up into his face, and saw a hunger so raw that I stumbled back a step. His grip held firmly to my arm.

Tristan lifted my bare hand to his mouth, and languidly kissed the back of my palm. “You dance divinely.” He murmered against my skin, before raising his eyes to my lips, lingering a moment too long for comfort. I moved to pull away, but Tristan held my hand firmly in his grasp.

“I think we should return the dancefloor.” My voice was light, playful, but I could barely contain the cold apprehension that ran down my spine.

“But how will I know you better if we don’t talk? Humor me a while.” His face leaned closer to mine until his breath grazed my face. I stiffened, realizing just how strongly of alcohol Tristan smelled.

We weren’t secluded, merely out of focus in the dark. “I fear you will not enjoy knowing me, my lord.” Trapped between his chest and the wall at my back, I refused to be cowed into ducked under his arm like a child. I held my posture in challenge. “I’m much too dull for conversation.”

He smiled, eyes unfocused. “Then it’s a good thing I’m better at other uses of the mouth.” His eyes lingered on mine a moment, speaking softly, “You have the most peculiar eyes—” Without any further warning, Tristan fell against me, his mouth moving against mine.

I froze, shocked at the intrusion. I’d never been kissed, and immediately found myself repulsed by the his lips, wet to the point of being slimy. When his tongue snaked out to claim my mouth, I bit it hard enough to taste his iron.

Tristan yelped, letting go of my hand to stumble out of the shadows. Heads turned as he cursed. “How dare you!” He hissed at me, touching his tongue and checking for blood, pulling away red fingertips. “Do you even know who I am?!”

Quiet filled my ears as more heads turned, the music stopped abruptly at his continued shouts. Do you even know how I am? How ostentatious.

Tristan repeated himself, louder this time, gaining even more attention as our hosts were forced to intervene.

“Out of my way.” Reginald Rensfield ordered, shouldering his way towards us. “What is the meaning of this?”

Tristan pointed an accusing finger at me. “I demand that this woman be escorted immediately.”

“On what grounds?” Lord Rensfield looked between the two of us, his eyes searching mine for the answer.

“I bit him.” I said quietly, “He forced his mouth upon mine, so I bit him.”

Reginald looked aghast, rounding on Tristan with surprising speed for his age. “Is this true Lord Kayn? Did you dare force yourself onto Lady LeMont!?”

“LeMont? No, that can’t be—” Tristan’s eyes widened in horror, sudden realization sinking in. The unmistakable color of my eyes that’d already commented on. Eyes that every Bloodbound mage shared. Panic seeped through his pores as beads of sweat formed along his brows.

“Lady LeMont, I apologize! If I’d realized who you were I wouldn’t have—”

“—Wouldn’t have what?!” I kept my voice even, but firm. “Wouldn’t have danced with me? Or you wouldn’t have tried to kiss me?” I touched my lips, a wicked thought coming to mind.

He followed my fingers and paled even further. “You—you bit me.”

“You kissed me.” My mouth curled into an ugly scowl.

“A Bloodbound bit me!” His voice rose with an edge of hysteria as he rounded on Lord Rensfield, grabbing him by his lapel. “You can’t let her bind me!”

This is why I didn’t allow myself to hope at these parties, why I was content to watch from the wall. Bloodbound mages are incredibly rare among the Magebound. The LeMont family, my family is the only documented lineage to have ever possessed it. Touching the blood of another person can put them wholly in the mage’s control. The victims performing any number of sins on behalf of their master. They could be bound and never even know it.

I clenched my fists. All of the LeMont’s before me possessed the binding except for me. A fact that was not so well hidden within the Astalian court, but none of them believed it. It was why I had no prospects. Why no courtiers dared to approach too close. Even the Rensfields, who’ve known of my ineptitude from a young age still recoiled from me if I moved too quickly. Foolishly I’d thought that Tristan was brave enough to look past my name to dance with me, but as I watched him cower, I realized that he’d simply not known who I was.

Reginald was holding Tristan by his arms now, attempting to calm him. “Daelyn is not going to bind you Lord Kayn.” But I caught his furtive glance at me, Lord Rensfield didn’t know what I would do, because he thought that I could.

Astalians don’t understand Magebindings, and I had no patience to teach them. “Yes, why would I bind him when I can just as easily have Tristan Kayn arrested?” Stepping closer, I scrubbed the remaining spit from my lips. “But I didn’t need to bite you Tristan, all I needed was your saliva.” I wouldn’t have even needed it from the kiss. If I was truly a Bloodbound mage, I could’ve used the traces he’d left on the back of my hand minutes ago. I lowered my voice until it sounded like gravel. “I don’t want to see you again this season.” I commanded every ounce of power I could imagine into the words. “You will leave, immediately. Go to your home, and do not come out until all the leaves have died. You will not speak to me, and if I see you ever again,” My smile was sharp as daggers. “I will show you why even the Emperor fears us.”