Avalon Tower by C.N. Crawford & Alex Rivers

Author:C.N. Crawford & Alex Rivers [Crawford, C.N. & Rivers, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

Arm in arm, we enter a hall with soaring ceilings and walls made of what looks like twisted, bone-white tree boughs. The branches soar two hundred feet high, meeting above us in a Gothic-style rib-vaulted ceiling. Lights float in the air and glitter from the arboreal walls. Ivory white columns flank a stage with diaphanous curtains on either side.

Around the hall, some of the guests sit in chairs, drinking cocktails. Others stand on the marble floors, arms draped lazily over each other, watching the stage. A balcony sweeps above us, where people drink and dance.

I glance at Raphael and find his expression, as ever, difficult to read. He’s watching the stage, towering over me. Slowly, he glances down at me, and I wonder if he’s noticed that I’m still not relaxed. The trick here is to observe absolutely everything while looking like you’re half-drunk, swaying to the music and lost in the moment. The job requires me to be a placid lake on the surface with roiling undercurrents beneath.

Raphael gives me a lazy half-smile. Taking me by the hand, he leads me to a chair facing the stage, sits, and pulls me into his lap. Leaning against his broad chest, I breathe in his intoxicating scent—the rich, woodsy smell of him tinged with the leather of bound books. The feel of his sculpted body against me helps me relax, which was probably his plan. He slides his arm around my waist, breathing out with a soft, wistful sigh.

I try to focus on the show and discreetly keep an eye out for the prince. The show itself is enchanting. Twenty Fey dancers dressed in shimmering, translucent robes swirl on the platform, their movements smooth as liquid, their skirts flashing, showing a leg, a thigh, a glimpse of curves. Four of them hang from crimson ribbons that dangle from the ceiling, performing complex somersaults above the crowd. All is expertly accompanied by the orchestra, the music brimming with joy and ferocity. This place feels like a cathedral of lust.

Raphael rests his hand casually on my hip, and I am acutely aware of the heat radiating from his palm through the thin material of my dress. My mind slides back to our kiss in the lake. Was that the mead at work that night and the sultry summer air? The enchantment of the lake?

When I glance at him, for just a moment, his eyes dip down. His fingers flex on my hips, his jaw tightening with tension. He drags his gaze away, back to the stage.

Right. We’re here to be on the lookout, to search for those subtle signs of alarm among the Fey. A lapse of attention could mean death.

He shifts me slightly, then lowers his face near mine. “Do you see the guards?”

His whisper warms the shell of my ear.

I scan the hall and spot eight guards, dressed inconspicuously as staff but hiding short swords within their suits. Movement in the upper balconies makes me suspect that there are at least two more bowmen, their eyes trained on the crowds.

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