Upon Nesta, this once-human female who had conquered death, who now glowed as if she had devoured the moon, too.
Between one beat and the next, Eris lifted Nesta’s arm above her head and whipped her around with such force her heels rose off the ground. She’d barely finished the rotation when he spun her again, her head turning with such precision it took Cassian’s breath away.
And her feet …
One spin after another after another, moving across the now-empty dance floor like a night storm, Nesta’s slipper-clad feet danced so fast they were a near blur. He knew that Eris turned her arm, but her feet held her, propelled them. It was she who led this dance. On the seventh spin, she twirled so swiftly she rose fully onto her toes.
On the ninth spin, Eris released her fingers. And Nesta, arm still stretched above her head, rotated thrice more. Each one of the sapphires atop her tiara glimmered as if lit with an inner fire. Someone gasped nearby. It might have been Feyre.
And as Nesta spun solo—on the toes of one perfect foot—she smiled. Not a courtier’s slick smile, not a coy one, but one of pure, wild joy, brought by the music and the dance and her wholehearted yield to it.
It was like seeing someone being born. Like seeing someone come alive.
By the time Nesta finished the last rotation, that absurd defiance of basic laws of movement and space, Eris had her hand again, spinning her three more times, his red hair glinting like fire as if in echo to the unchecked, dark joy bursting from her.
Nesta’s mother had wanted a prince for her. Cassian now thought she’d undervalued her daughter. Only a king or an emperor would do for someone with that level of skill.
She was seducing Eris within an inch of his life. The murmuring of the Hewn City confirmed that Cassian wasn’t the only one noting it.
Eris’s eyes gleamed with wanton desire as he drank in Nesta’s smile, the glow about her. He knew what Nesta might become with a little ambition. The right guidance.
If he learned that the Dread Trove answered to her, that she’d Made his new dagger …
It was a mistake, to bring her here. To dangle her before Eris, the world.
Emerging from her cocoon of grief and rage, this new Nesta might very well send entire courts to their knees. Kingdoms.
The music rose and rose and rose, faster and faster and faster, and as its last few notes sounded, Eris again released her. Nesta spun solo once more, three more precise, perfect rotations as Eris dropped to a knee before her and held up a hand.
The final note blasted and held, and Nesta halted with preternatural ease, taking Eris’s hand in the same movement that her back arched and she flung up her other arm, the portrait of triumph.
The next dance began, and Nesta did not hesitate when Eris led her into it. It was a lighter, easier dance than the first, whose music had been a song in her blood.
Her partner might be a monster, but he knew how to dance. Had known how her body screamed to do those extra, solo turns, and let her go free not once but twice, and even then it had not been enough. If she hadn’t been wearing the heavy dress, she might have begged the orchestra to play the song again so she could just execute spin after spin after spin by herself, knowing when to throw in doubles and triples by instinct and ear alone.
She was drunk on the music. But the second dance required no wild spinning or excess of emotion. As if the conductor of the orchestra hidden in this room wanted her to have a breather. Or at least talk to her partner.
Eris’s amber eyes studied hers. “Trust Rhysand to keep you hidden away.”
Right. She was to flatter him, keep him on their side. “I just saw you the other week.”
Eris chuckled. “And as riveting as it was to see you send Tamlin scrambling off with his tail between his legs, I didn’t see this side of you. The time since the war has changed you.”
She didn’t smile, but she met his stare directly as she said, “For the better, I hope.”
“Certainly for the more interesting. It seems you came to play the game tonight after all.” Eris spun her, and when she returned to him, he murmured in her ear, “Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”
Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”
“Why?”
“Because she is afraid of it.”
“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”
“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”
Nesta’s mouth twitched to one side. “And you? Who do you love?”
His smile sharpened. “Are you inquiring after my eligibility?”
“I’m merely saying it’s hard to find a good dance partner these days.”
Eris laughed, the sound like silk over her skin. She shivered. “Indeed it is. Especially one who can both dance and tear the King of Hybern’s head from his shoulders.”
She let him see a bit of that person—see the savage rage and silver fire he’d witnessed before Tamlin. Then she blinked and it was gone. Eris’s face tightened, and not from fear.
He twirled her again, the waltz already coming to a close. He whispered in her ear, “They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you outshine her tonight.” His hand stroked down the bare skin of her back, and she arched slightly into the touch.
Nesta made her throat bob, let a hint of color rise to her cheeks.
The waltz finished, and they seamlessly fell into the next dance, a little more demanding this time. She remembered this one from her lessons with Mor—it was lovely and sweeping and like being in a dream, until its final minute became so grand it always knocked the breath from her. Anticipation thrummed through her, brightening her eyes.
“You’re wasted at the Night Court,” Eris murmured as she twirled, skirts enveloping the two of them. “Absolutely wasted.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Another chuckle. Motion lurked at the corner of her eye, but she didn’t break her stare from Eris’s, didn’t halt her steps until—
“Move.”
Cassian’s cold voice cracked through the spell of the music, halting her. He stood before them, amid the sea of people twirling around and around, and even though most wore black, his armor and blades made him seem … different. Like a true piece of the night.
Eris looked down his straight nose at Cassian. “I don’t take orders from brutes.”
Nesta stifled her snarl and said coolly to Cassian, “Am I to understand that you would like to dance with me?”
“Yes.” His hazel eyes were burning with violence. Had he really believed what he’d seen on this dance floor?
Eris bared his teeth at Cassian. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”
It took all her concentration, every moment of Mind-Stilling, to keep from ripping out Eris’s throat. But Nesta shoved her fury down, to the place where she’d stifled her power. “No one likes a selfish partner, Eris.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian. Didn’t trust what she’d do if she beheld pain in his eyes at Eris’s insult. Feyre and Rhysand had given Eris one of her blades just to ensure his continued alliance. She wouldn’t jeopardize it. So she added with a croon, “Time to share.”