These Hollow Vows (These Hollow Vows 1)

Could it hurt? To indulge in another dance before I risk everything in my search for my sister? Could it hurt to give myself just a few moments to imagine a life where every day wasn’t a struggle, where I could live like these faeries—dancing and drinking wine, laughing over petty nonsense?

My body and the song become one, and as the orchestra picks up the beat—as the bows move faster over the strings and the flutist’s fingers race over the keys—my muscles anticipate every note and rhythm. I’m passed from one partner to the next, and I feel as graceful as the fae. I dance and dance and dance until I can hardly breathe, until my lungs burn and my feet ache.

The faces of my partners are a blur. I don’t care who or what they are as I’m lifted away from my problems and out of my wretched life by this magical movement and song.

Smiling and feeling lighter than I have in months, my hips swish to the beat, my shoulders rolling languidly. Before I know it, I’m in the center of the floor, dancing and letting faerie after faerie lead me. I lift my arms over my head and wave them in the air to the beat. The tremendous weight of all my responsibilities lifts from my shoulders. I’m free for the first time in years. Maybe for the first time ever. This dance is freedom.

Someone shoves a glass of wine in my hand, and I contemplate the liquid while I continue to move. I feel so good, and I know the wine will make me feel even better. All I have to do is drink.

Something nudges the back of my mind. Something about this wine. Something I’m supposed to remember. But . . . I lift it to my lips. I want more dancing, more joy, more delicious freedom. The goblet is yanked away before it can touch my lips, and then I’m wrapped in strong arms and pulled off the dance floor.

I fight against him, trying to return to where I belong—to the music, the beat, the comforting sway of hips and blur of motion, the quickening arpeggio.

“Enough,” he whispers in my ear.

“No.” The word is a plea.

He drags me away from the dancers and the lovely melody and into a quiet hallway outside the ballroom. At the end of the corridor, a window reveals the sun sinking into the horizon, casting the land in the yellow-orange glow of twilight.

The music loosens its grip on my mind, and I swallow hard as my senses return. Drop by drop, like water filling a cup, my thoughts fall back into order.

Jas. I need to save Jas.

I’m trapped in a faerie’s hold. My arms are pinned to my sides. He’s too strong. Too big. I can’t fight him.

“You need to catch your breath,” he says against my ear.

I yank out of the male’s arms and spin on him. It’s the silver-eyed faerie I first danced with. “Is that . . .” I force myself to draw in a deep breath and stare dumbfounded at the window at the end of the hall. “Is that sunset?”

He scoffs, narrowing his eyes at me. “Did time get away from you?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing myself. I should’ve known better, but I let myself be drugged by their music. I lost hours that I was supposed to be using to search the castle—to get to Jas. And I almost drank faerie wine. Fool. “I’m fine.”

“You are now.” He nods to my wrist. “That’s an interesting scar.”

My heart squeezes at the reminder of Jas. She always called my scar my “moon and sun.” One side looks like a crescent moon and the other a glowing sun. “I was caught in a fire as a child. I’m lucky I survived.” I snap my mouth shut. I don’t need to tell him anything, but his charm nearly unravels me. He can’t seem to take his eyes off the mark.

“But was it—” He snaps his gaze down the hall, tensing. “The queen is coming.”

I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a warning or if he simply doesn’t want me to miss it. I wave toward the ballroom. “Please, return to the party.”

His eyes flash. “Don’t let her see your scar.”

What? Why? I don’t have a chance to ask, because he bows from the hips—a full bow from a fae noble, a gesture reserved for their highest ranks. Then he disappears into the crowd inside the ballroom doors. Part of me wants to follow him and demand that he explain what he means about my scar, but I won’t risk returning to the ballroom and that music. I can’t waste any more time.

I pull a pin from my skirt, and the dress falls away, leaving me in the simple thin silk I arrived in. I back into the shadows, breathing a sigh of relief that the encounter is over, even as I catch myself replaying what it felt like to dance in his arms and the look on his face when he whispered So beautiful. Did he mean the music? The dance? Why do I want to believe he was talking about me? Why do I care?