Alice Arvel's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The balcony air did nothing to slow Alice's heart. She gripped the stone railing and leaned over it. Her stomach heaved. Nothing came up but a thin, sour taste. She had kissed her murderer. Her whole plan lay dead behind her in the ballroom. "Stupid," she whispered. "Stupid, stupid girl." She dug her nails into the veil at her throat and yanked it loose. The silver mask followed. She hated the cold, clever face she had built. It had failed at the one thing that mattered. "Talking to yourself already? And here I thought the party had just started." Alice froze. She was not alone. A man leaned in the shadowed corner of the balcony. Gold rings caught the moonlight on his fingers. Gemstones hung from his chest, half bared under an open coat. He watched her the way a cat watches a hurt bird. This was the prince. The real one. Crown heir Narcisse Renouard, the man she had meant to kiss tonight. The man who had ruined her in another life. Her body knew him too, and it filled with old, blinding hate. She wiped her mouth and stood straight. No mask now. Let him see her. "Enjoying the show, Your Highness?" "Immensely." His smirk did not move. "Most girls save their tears for their pillow. You do it hanging over a railing." "And most princes hide in corners." She stepped toward him instead of away. "Watching. Waiting. What are you hoping to catch?" His eyes sharpened. Something in her pushed at him, and he pushed back. "Careful," he said. "You don't know me." "I know your mother was crown princess." Alice let the words fall soft and sure. "Until her father's treason. Now she's a mistress with a ruined name, and you chase a throne while you dance for noblemen. But congratulations, i heard from a little birdy you have enough backers to win the crown." A deadly sentence: if noblemen knew about him being a sure win, they’d come for his pretty head. And his own allies would silence his own siblings to keep it a sure thing. A bloody disastrous game the Crown Games were. The smirk died. He moved fast. Steel flashed, and a dagger pressed cold against her throat. His face was close now, all warmth gone. "How," he breathed, "do you know that?" Her heart slammed. But her mind stayed clear. She had learned this life not to run. Alice raised her gloved hand and closed it around the blade. The edge bit through silk into her palm. Blood welled dark against the white glove. She did not let go. And then she acted. Unprepared for her movement, she had kicked his knees out from under him and pushed him back to the railing where she’d stolen the dagger out of his grip. She grinned at his shocked expression—the blade skimming over his delicate skin until snapping the mask’s ties. The mask fell between them. For a long moment neither moved. Then she lowered the dagger into his hand. His stormy eyes searched her, unsure for the first time. He hated her. She could see it. But now he feared her too. "You’ll bleed for this treason," he said quietly in an enraged growl. "Not before you do." Alice peeled the ruined glove from her hand. "Let me introduce myself to you, my foolish prince." She purred, “I’m your future queen and if you touch one hair on my head before your coronation, i will burn everything you love to the ground.” She turned and walked back inside, leaving him alone with his secret and her deadly price for keeping it.