Jacks’s every movement was carelessly graceful, matching the musical cadence of his words as he murmured in her ear, “The key to a charade like this is to forget it’s an act. Invite the lie to play until you become so comfortable with it that it feels like the truth. Don’t tell yourself we’re pretending to be engaged, tell yourself that I love you. That I want you more than anyone.” He reeled her closer and ran a hand up the back of her neck, toying with the ribbon around her throat. “If you can convince yourself it’s true, you can convince anyone.”

He spun her around the floor again as thick berry-red ribbons twirled down from the top of the cage. Each one dripped feather-clad acrobats who tossed out handfuls of stardust and cut-glass glitter, covering the world in imitation magic as Tella and Jacks continued to whirl and twirl until everything spiraled into gold-dust and haze, flower petals, and fingers weaving through hair. And for a moment Tella dipped her imagination into the treacherous fantasy that Jacks had described.

She remembered the first time they met. She’d thought him insolent and indolent yet distractingly handsome. If he’d not been such a beast she might have wondered if he tasted like the apple he kept biting, or something else a little more dangerous. Then, for the sake of their charade, she imagined he’d felt the same attraction, and that from the moment Jacks saw her in that carriage, he knew he wanted Tella more than he’d ever desired any other person in his life.

This dance wasn’t about keeping his murderous reputation so he could win the throne; this was about winning her.

It was why he’d given her such a gorgeous gown.

Why he danced with her now.

Tella pretended love was a place she wanted to visit, and tested out a flirtatious smile.

Jacks dazzled her with an uneven grin.

“I knew you could do this.” He brought his mouth to her ear and kissed the tip of it tenderly, as soft as the brush of a whisper. Her chest fluttered as his mouth dropped lower, and he kissed her again with a little more pressure, lips lingering at the delicate corner of her jaw and her neck. Tella’s fingers curled into his back.

The music around them surged, violins dancing with harps and cellos in a decadent and debauched rhapsody, threatening to transport her to another time and place.

Every person inside the cage was still watching them spin with rapt interest. The ballroom teemed with eager eyes and sneering mouths as Jacks’s lips continued to dance over Tella’s throat the way their steps waltzed over the floor.

“Maybe we should give them something to really gossip about.” His knuckles brushed her collarbone, drawing her attention back to him. “Unless I still frighten you.”

Tella gave him a wild smile, even as her heart leaped against her rib cage. She needed him to know that she could do this. “You never frightened me.”

“Care to prove that?” Jacks’s bright eyes fell to her mouth.

A dare.

The blood in Tella’s veins surged hotter.

Tella didn’t usually think before kissing a young man. One moment she just found his mouth on top of hers, or hers on top of his, followed by tongues seeking entry as hands fumbled around her body. But she didn’t suppose kissing Jacks would be like that. She had a feeling his skilled hands knew exactly what to do, where to touch her, how hard to press. And his lips—they were being playful now but she didn’t know if they would be gentle with her mouth or a little rough, and her pulse raced at the thought of either possibility.

Jacks cupped her cheek and twirled her in another circle. “Help me convince them,” he whispered.

Tella didn’t know why she hesitated.

It’s just one kiss.

And she was suddenly very curious. He would be the emperor one day, and he wanted to kiss Tella while all of the most important people of the Empire watched.

She slid her hand up to his neck. His skin felt colder, shivering beneath her fingers. Clearly Jacks was not as serene as he appeared.

“It seems as if you’re the one who’s nervous now,” Tella teased.

“I’m just wondering if you’ll think differently of me after this.” Then his mouth was crashing against hers. He tasted like exquisite nightmares and stolen dreams, like the wings of fallen angels and bottles of fresh moonlight. Tella might have moaned against his lips as his tongue slipped between hers and explored.

Every solid inch of him pressed against every soft, curving piece of her. His fingers knotted and tugged at her curls. Her hands roamed under the hem of his shirt, discovering the firm muscles of his lower back. It was the way people kissed behind locked doors and darkened alleys, not a kiss for lit dance floors where everyone in the Empire could see. Yet Jacks didn’t seem to care.

His fingers found the ribbon around her neck and slid beneath it, crushing her lips even closer to his. He wasn’t tasting her, he was devouring her, as if he’d just found something he’d thought he had lost. Then his hands were sliding underneath the ropes of jewels crossing her bare back; he must have torn off his gloves because his fingers were icy and bold against her heated skin, clutching and claiming and making her wonder if this wasn’t a charade after all.

She whimpered.

He groaned.

It was the sort of kiss she could have lived in. The sort of kiss worth dying for.

God’s teeth.

A kiss worth dying for. Only one person in the history of the Empire had ever kissed like—

Jacks bit her, sharp teeth digging into her lip hard enough to draw warm blood.

Tella pulled away abruptly, shoving her hand against his chest. There was no heartbeat.

Blood and saints. What had she done?

In front of her Jacks seemed to glow. His skin had been pale but now it appeared otherworldly in its radiance.

The ribbon once tied around her neck dangled from his slender fingers like some sort of prize, and a drop of the blood he’d spilled when he’d bitten her now rested at the edge of his narrow mouth.

Tella was going to be ill.

“What did you just do to me?” she breathed.

Jacks’s chest heaved almost as much as hers, and his eyes had gone feverish around the edges, but his voice was lazy once again, almost dispassionate as he said, “Don’t cause a scene right here, my love.”

“I think it’s too late for that.” She wanted to call him by his name, the Prince of Hearts, but she wasn’t quite ready to utter the words out loud.

His dimples reappeared, cunning this time, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She waited.

Waited for Jacks to tell her she was wrong. Waited for his assurance that his kiss would not kill her. Waited for him to tell her she should know better than to put too much faith in old stories. Waited for him to tease her for being so gullible and believing that he was a long-lost Fate who’d returned. Waited for him to tell her that he was not the Prince of Hearts.

Instead, he licked the blood at the corner of his mouth. “You should have brought me Legend’s name.”

14

For a moment Tella’s entire world stopped breathing. Every person near the dance floor had ceased moving, their rapt faces frozen in exaggerated states of shock at Tella and Jacks’s display. For a heartbeat Tella could only hear the cut-glass glitter tinkling softly as it continued to fall to the floor.

The Prince of Hearts—the Fate famous for his fatal kisses, who had haunted both her dreams and nightmares, and cursed her to unrequited love after drawing his card from her mother’s Deck of Destiny—was not merely a myth. He was real, and he was standing right in front of Tella. His pale skin glowed so unnaturally, if the entire ballroom hadn’t been frozen, she imagined they’d have all seen him for what he truly was.