The Duchess Cannot Sleep || ONC 2021

20 | The Finale, Part II

Andreya was so stupid. She was so incredibly stupid she couldn't even comprehend how stupid she was.

She stood pressed against the wall of a servant's closet, gasping for breath and desperately rubbing her tears away. Her palms were stained with the paint on her eyes and every part of her was shaking.

She didn't love Reide. She didn't love him. She didn't even like him, and she knew she was lying.

She couldn't forget how hard it had looked for him to ask her. Do you love me? She still remembered the desire in his eyes, still felt everywhere their skin had touched, electrified and terrified at once.

She cursed him just as the music in the ballroom down the hall changed.

The dance had begun.

Andreya spent another precious moment relearning how to breathe, collecting her emotions and trying to straighten her eye paint without a mirror. Then she settled her veil back over her face and started back to the dance.

The ballroom was gargantuan, and thus was the crowd also, but it was nothing like the streets of Esdantenella or Feledir—these were all adults in fancy gowns and uniforms, all well-mannered and hoping to impress someone or other. And with half of them now stepping in sync to an Isantadi waltz in the center of the room, it was not hard to pass through the congregations remaining near the walls.

Nasavtean dresses had many pockets, but this gown had close to none. Still, Andreya had managed to slip the note from the dress box into her bodice earlier, and swiped it out now, leaning against the wall for only a moment to read it again.

"A woman versed in ancient mythology and folklore," she murmured to herself. "Herbology... poison..."

She cursed, glancing about the room at hundreds of women, every one meeting the nonexistent description on the note. She couldn't afford to wait for them to find her—the last dance wouldn't end for nearly another hour. But they had made perfectly sure she couldn't find them. Maybe they weren't even here.

Her heart pounded so hard it was dizzying and Andreya leaned her head back against the wall in despair.

She didn't know what she wanted, but this was not it—this tension, this yearning, this confusion. And she thought of him again, the way he had looked at her. Had he always looked at her like that? Her chest throbbed.

"Andreya!"

Her eyes flew open and she cried out in surprise, startling several other guests nearby. "Reide!"

He stood only a few paces away, slightly breathless, his gloves tucked into his shirt pocket and his masquerade mask probably lost somewhere. He looked markedly distraught. "I thought I'd lost you."

Andreya thought she'd lost herself. She took a step back and he leapt forward and caught her hand before she could run again.

"Wait," he said, and fumbled over several words, glancing between her and her hand, which he was still holding. Finally, he decided upon, "Will you dance with me?"

She blinked at him for a moment and half wished to run. But the other half of her was completely frozen at his touch, at his look, at his offer.

"I don't know how," she managed, and he allowed a quirk to his lips.

"I'll show you, just follow my lead."

When the song ended and the next one began—a slower, softer, musical sigh—he led her out among the other dancers and set her hand on his shoulder, her other clasped in his. She resisted a shiver when he took hold of her waist, and his proximity alone made her hold her breath.