Aeron did not waltz. He waged a rhythmic, terrifying war across the marble floor.
His hand on Kaia's waist was a steel band, his fingers digging into the amber silk with enough force to bruise her ribs. He steered her backward, cutting through the swirling crowd of aristocrats with a brutal efficiency that sent Countesses scrambling and Dukes pressing themselves flat against the pillars.
"Aeron," Kaia gasped, struggling to keep up with his long, furious strides. "People are staring. Victoria is—"
"If you mention your sister's name right now, I will throw her into the lake alongside the Grand Duke," Aeron snarled.
He didn't look at the crowd. His silver eyes, blazing behind the snarling wolf mask, were locked onto the spun-gold domino mask covering her face. He hated it. He hated the color, the craftsmanship, the blatant, shining proof that another man was staking a claim.
They reached the open French doors leading out to the terraced gardens.
