“We’re so glad you came, child.” Lady Rensfield said as she appraised 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 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 husband 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.

  His wife, on the other hand, lived for them. “Tell me, Daelyn. Do you have any special announcements that you’d like to share with an old friend first?”

  My face went blank with confusion. “Special announcements, Lady Rensfield?”

  She lowered her voice conspiratorially into a whisper, “I hear that Prince Soren has recently become engaged.” Despite the attempt at secrecy, her whisper carried across the room, causing the nearest heads to turn ever so subtly in our direction. “You wouldn’t happen to be aware of the details, would you? Possibly even as a participant? A Cassemir-to-be?”

  My heart stuttered as understanding dawned on me, followed by a small sadness that crept its way into my mind unbidden. Not for the prince. No, 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…” She paused, catching herself.

  Suspicious. That is the word she had wanted to say. I cringed internally as the unsaid word hung between us.

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

  “Oh child,” Lady Rensfield soothed. “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 may have aged and grayed, 50 years ago their lack of ambition saved their lives. With little to no political standing, the newlyweds were barely spared the axe when 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 eventually 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.

  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.

  Maneuvering on the outside of the ballroom, I found the refreshments at the very back. The table was beautifully covered in sweets and delicate glasses of wine. Reaching for a glass of red, 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 wine 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, which was on the edge of the dancefloor. But I wasn’t like the rest of the onlookers. They had friends to talk and gossip with. 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 in front 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!

  “Would you grace me with a dance?” He asked as I struggled to remember his name.

  My mouth dried at the sudden attention. Even the ladies to my left went still in shock. He held his arm out in invitation, a genuine smile painted on his handsome face as I took his arm.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I'd be delighted.” I said softly, hope blossoming in my chest.

  Guiding me towards the center of the ballroom, we waited for the next song to begin. Now that I was amongst them, the eyes of the other guests couldn’t avoid mine as apprehension turned into incredulity as 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 that 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 in fact. Enough to secure any potential match in attendance, enough to remind the court who the LeMonts really were.

  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 palm as our arms wrapped around each other like snakes. We moved slowly and in-sync as my muscles began to remember how to be graceful and fluid.

  My dance instructor had been torturous with his instruction. “To dance is to be art in motion.” He loved to say it as he’d correct the angle of my wrist or the 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 in that moment with Tristan, I was.

  The sonata was haunting as the other instruments accompanied the melody. It lingered 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 and with it, my enraptured soul settled back into my body. I looked at Tristan, breathless. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing equally as ragged. I was clay in a potter's hands, and while Tristan was no master of dance, he was still quite skilled. I longed for him to lead me into another song, but as the music began again he instead led us away from the dancefloor and 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.

  He lifted my bare hand to his mouth, and languidly kissed the back of my palm. “You dance divinely.” He murmured 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 to the dance floor.” My voice was light and playful, but internally 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 for a while.” His face leaned closer to mine until his breath grazed my face. I stiffened, realizing just how strongly of alcohol Tristan smelled.

  “I fear you will not enjoy knowing me, my lord.” Despite being trapped between his chest and the wall at my back, I refused to cower. 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 more than talented at other uses of the mouth.” His eyes lingered on mine a moment before speaking softly. “You have the most peculiar eyes—”

  Suddenly, as if he no longer cared enough to finish his own sentence, Tristan fell against me, his mouth moving aggressively against mine.

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

  He yelped and stumbled backwards out of the shadows, letting me go in the process. Heads turned as he cursed.

  “How dare you!” He hissed at me, touching his tongue and pulling away red fingertips. “Do you even know who I am?!”

  An unsettling quiet filled my ears as the music abruptly stopped. More heads turned. Do you even know how I am? How ostentatious.

  “Out of my way.” Our host, Reginald Rensfield ordered as he shouldered his way towards us. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Tristan pointed an accusing finger at me. “I demand that this woman be escorted out 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—” His eyes widened in horror. Somehow he missed the unmistakable color of the eyes that he complimented. Eyes that every Bloodbound mage shared. Beads of sweat formed along his brows as he realized his mistake.

  “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 forced your mouth on mine?” I touched my lips, a wicked thought coming to mind.

  He followed my fingers and paled even further. “But 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 Bloodbinding 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 when he approached me for a dance, but as I watched him cower away, 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.”

  Despite his words, I caught his furtive glance at me. The slight glint of fear.

  Most Astalians didn’t understand Magebindings, and I had no patience to teach the ignorant.

  “Yes, why would I bind him when I can just as easily have him arrested?” Stepping closer, I scrubbed the remaining spit from my lips. “But I didn’t need to bite you, Lord Kayn. All I needed was your saliva.”

  To be honest, 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 from his kiss merely minutes ago. Too bad I wasn’t.

  Despite my magic ineptitude, I decided to have some fun to salvage the night. I lowered my voice until it sounded like gravel.“I don’t want to see you again this season.” I commanded with every ounce of power I could muster 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…” I paused, giving him a smile as sharp as daggers. “I will show you why even the Emperor fears the Bloodbound mages.”