Alex Lidell - The Cadet of Tildor

Renee retreated, her eyes beginning to sting. I enjoy being a girl, she yelled inside her mind while pleading with the gods to make her disappear.

Savoy hopped down and caught her elbow before she reached the door. Mirth she did not share danced on his face. “Renee, you look . . . feminine.”

“I am a girl.”

“Figures,” he said dryly. “I thought there was something odd about you.”

He held her gaze until her mind resolved to smile at the boys’ stupid humor. She twisted, turning her back to the crowd. “Will one of you tie this, please.”

At first, nothing happened. Several seconds later, she felt pointless tugging on the back lace, and losing patience, turned her head.

Savoy winced. “Must it be tied?”

“I think that hooks there,” Seaborn suggested, while Alec came up to lend a third set of hands. She twisted back around and endured more tugging. On the fourth “let’s try this,” Renee thanked them for their efforts and went in search of a female. Any female.

She returned to find Savoy dressed in flowing black pants and a dark shirt that she and Seaborn had picked out for him. The outfit accented his athletic build and blond hair, which brushed the back of his shoulders. Wearing a suffering expression, he listened to Seaborn’s lecture.

“Connor, shut up, please.” He massaged his temples. “A description of a waltz won’t help. I’ll manage.” He faltered and looked toward Renee, his face growing serious. “Plus, I don’t believe we’ll be spending much time on the dance floor.”

She picked up the cue. “The hosts will expect you to dance with me at first and then yield me to other gentlemen. You’ll have free rein for a while before you come back to ensure my well-being.” Ignoring his rolling eyes, she continued. “When you do, I’ll feel faint. We’ll make our apologies as you take me to get fresh air, at which point we’ll enjoy minimal scrutiny while walking the grounds. We can’t bring swords in, but perhaps Duke Leon’s halls have something to . . . borrow.”

He repeated the instructions back to her and rose, addressing their companions. “We’ll see you later tonight. Alec, if you find a way to release Khavi inside the estate gardens, it would help narrow the search.”

Alec nodded but kept his hands buried in pockets and eyes on the floor. Renee swallowed a sigh. It wasn’t as if this was a courtship outing or one to which Alec could come instead. Nodding a thank-you to Savoy, who opened the door, she headed out of the room.

Walking to Duke Leon’s estate, Renee tingled with excitement. This was her plan. Even Savoy had listened, approved, and now heeded her lead. In a way, she had done the job usually reserved for him, and they were about to test how well she had done it. She opened her mouth to bring up the topic, but the tension in his face deflected her thoughts. “Are you nervous?” She touched his arm. “I can back-lead you in dance, and since you’re but my escort, no one will pay attention to you. It all sounds grander than it is.”

Steering himself away from her touch, Savoy gave her a sidelong glance, but kept silent.

The seductive voice of a violin escaped through the gilded doors. Beside them, a tall, weedy butler examined invitations.

“A pleasure, my lady.” He bowed without so much as looking at her companion.

She murmured her thanks and glided into the marbled hallway, noticing that Savoy’s were the only footsteps making no sound on the glistening stones. In the ballroom, flickering candle and lantern light reflected off the polished dance floor. Flowers poured from wide vases, bright ponds of color amidst the green velvet drapes.

Renee shook her head to reject a boy’s offering of honey wine, and glanced at Savoy. His face was void of emotion.

“I need to thank the host,” she whispered.

“Of course.” Savoy bowed and stepped back at once, while she navigated among dresses and long coats, many of them green, to make the prescribed greetings. The noble guests unlikely belonged to the Vipers directly; the choice of color was tribute. Was the tribute offered in respect or fear? She marked the thought and, her introductions made, held her hand out to Savoy.

He materialized by her side and bowed again. “If I may,” he said, and led her forward, dignity filling each motion.

The music started. Renee felt the strength of his frame the moment she laid her left palm on his shoulder. She smelled the soap in his hair. His hand gripped hers and pushed away, engaging a gentle tension between them. He swayed, weight changing from foot to foot.

One, two, three. One, two, three. The music called in high, flowing notes.

Savoy shifted his weight once more, and with the next strong beat, stepped through her, propelling them down the dance floor. The chandeliers spun, the room swaying to the song while they circled, rising and falling with the pulsing rhythm of the waltz. Renee’s heart pounded, exhilaration filling her chest.

Humility claimed her when, several songs later, they returned to the sideline chairs. Savoy’s eyes, on the other hand, sparked with impish amusement.

“You did that on purpose.” She glared. Dance instruction was typically limited to noble circles; it had been reasonable to expect Savoy ignorant of it. “Where did you learn?”

“My father. I don’t know where he learned it. Did I spoil your fun?” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You were enjoying having the upper hand on me.”

Recalling the comments she made earlier, Renee blushed and stroked the velvet armrests. While she searched for a way out of her self-dug hole, Savoy moved on to a different topic.

“You seem at ease here.” He waved his hand to encompass the room. “Why the Academy?”

She brushed the velvet again, used to the question and embarrassed of the answer. “I wish— wished —to make a difference. To keep Tildor safe.” She squirmed and flickered her fingers in dismissal. “Just a childish fantasy.”

Savoy snorted. “Horse shit. Why? ”

She sighed. “The Family destroyed a wagon carrying my mother and brother when my father refused to pay tribute. I should have been in that wagon . . . ” Her fingers touched the scar and she clamped her hand shut around it. The career she pursued to honor their memory was gone now. “I don’t wish the likes of it to happen again, anywhere in Tildor.” Holding her breath, she awaited his laugh at what her father dubbed delusions of self-importance.

Savoy leaned his chair back until it teetered on its hind legs. He studied her, his face unreadable. “Don’t let yourself feel shame for living,” he said quietly, glancing at her closed fist. “As for changing the world, that begins with deciding you can.”

She lowered her face and nodded. The night was bowing to introspection. “What about you?” she asked. “Why do you do it?”

“I fit. I like the freedom of running missions in the middle of nowhere.” He paused, shrugging, then jerked his chin toward the dance floor. “You better go meet some suitors. It’s getting late.”

She rose but paused and spun toward him. “Horse shit, sir,” Renee whispered. “Why did you become the Crown’s Servant?”

The corners of Savoy’s mouth twitched. “Because otherwise,” he said, letting his tipped chair return to the floor, “I’d be its criminal.”

“Prlink:[]eened-out peacocks,” Savoy said under his breath as they stepped into the snow-covered gardens behind the ballroom.

“They didn’t see you come out?” Renee waited for his nod and let out a breath of relief. “Here comes Khavi.” The approaching dog’s white fur reflected shimmers of moonlight. She fingered her pale pink dress and cringed at her color choice. Dark fabric better melted into the night.