Chapter 200

Iris

Unfortunately, the champagne winds up doing very little to calm my frayed nerves as I weave through the crowd, staying close to the walls where I’m less likely to be noticed. Every few minutes, I catch a glimpse of Veronica’s glittering red gown across the room, and my stomach performs somersaults.

And every time I catch a glimpse of that gown, I also catch a glimpse of those cold gray eyes swiveling toward me. I swear she’s scanning the crowd, searching for something—or someone.

Me.

Just as her head turns in my direction, I duck behind a group of patrons. Veronica’s eyes sweep across the area, but thankfully don’t land on me, and I take the opportunity to study Arthur from across the room.

Ezra was right; there is something sort of… off about Arthur’s mannerisms. He’s nodding politely at whatever the person he’s talking to is saying, but he looks strangely mechanical and his eyes are glazed over, as if he doesn’t want to be here. Or rather, as if he doesn’t really know where he is.

I need to get closer to investigate further, but not too close. The last thing I need is for Veronica to spot me before Ezra and I have a chance to execute our plan.

Keeping my head down, I make my way toward the bar. The bartender doesn’t look twice at me as I order another glass of champagne, and I use the moment to scan the room again.

That’s when I notice something that makes my brows lift in surprise. My mother isn’t here. She should have arrived by now—the gala started an hour ago, and my parents are never late.

Curious, I pull out my phone to text her, but just as I’m about to do so, a familiar laugh cuts through the ambient noise. Veronica. She’s moved closer to where I’m standing. A furtive glance over my shoulder reveals that she and Arthur are talking to someone just a few feet away.

Suppressing a curse, I quickly shove my phone back into my clutch and turn away, pretending to study a nearby painting like I’m just another random guest. My mother’s absence will have to wait. Right now, I need to focus on not being discovered.

“The art program sounds wonderful,” Veronica is saying. “Arthur and I are so committed to supporting arts education in Ordan. Aren’t we, darling?”

Arthur and I. The words make me want to be sick.

“Yes,” Arthur agrees flatly. “Education is… important.”

Frowning, I glance at them once more and notice Arthur’s emotionless face. This close, he certainly does look like he’s in another world. While Veronica is happily smiling and chatting again, he’s now staring off into the distance, completely uninterested in the conversation.

It’s not like him at all; the Arthur I know would never seem so bored by a conversation, especially not in public.

Is she really drugging him, I wonder? The thought takes me by surprise; Arthur is the last person who would easily be drugged. He’s too smart, and his wolf would notice if something is off… right?

Suddenly, Veronica’s eyes flick toward me. I snap my head back around toward the painting, my heart pounding.

For a moment that feels like an eternity, I can feel her eyes burning holes into the back of my head. I stiffen, expecting her to come up and tap me on the shoulder, or perhaps worse—announce my presence to everyone and ruin the entire plan Ezra and I have hatched.

But, to my surprise, neither of those things happen. Either Veronica is actually oblivious to my presence, or she’s just choosing to ignore it, like I’m nothing more than a cockroach beneath the hell of her expensive shoe.

“Come, darling,” Veronica says then, pulling Arthur away. “We should continue to mingle.”

They move away, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. That was too close. Way too close.

From now on, I need to be more careful. Veronica is clearly on high alert, and she’s not stupid. If she catches even a glimpse of me…

“Excuse me, miss?”

I spin around, my heart hammering, expecting to find Veronica behind me. Instead, it’s one of the waiters, offering me a selection of hors d’oeuvres.

“Thank you,” I manage, taking a small piece of something—I’m not hungry, but to keep up appearances, I know I should at least try to look like a normal guest and not a complete nutjob. My hands are shaking slightly, and I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Are you enjoying the gala?” he asks politely.

“Very much,” I lie, which is a shame. Alice has outdone herself with the party planning and I wish I could be fully present, not engaging in romantic espionage. “It’s for such a wonderful cause.”

“Indeed. The mural is absolutely fantastic. I hear you’re the artist.” For a heartstopping moment, I wonder if he recognizes me, but then he adds, “Flora, right?”

My cheeks warm, and I nod. “Yes. That’s me.” It’s nice to hide behind my persona again, I have to admit. Nice to not be noticed as Arthur’s twice-jilted mate, but instead just an artist. It’s a feeling I didn’t think I would miss so much.

He moves on with a smile and a nod, leaving me alone again. I take a steadying breath and try to regroup. I spot Ezra from across the room, who gives me a faint shrug. This is taking a little longer than anticipated; we have to try and separate them, but Veronica hasn’t left Arthur’s side for so much as a few seconds since they arrived.

Ezra then jerks his chin subtly toward the dance floor, giving me a meaningful look, and I nod in response. No more dilly dallying, I suppose. It’s time.

I start moving toward Arthur and Veronica, staying in the crowd as much as possible. They’re closer to the dance floor now, chatting with a group of Ordan artists I recognize.

From the other side, Ezra begins approaching their group. I shuffle a little closer so I can hear what’s being said.

“Excuse me,” he says, curling his upper lip indignantly. “Miss Willford, we need to have a talk.”

Veronica’s eyes narrow slightly, but she maintains her public smile. “Ezra. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Can’t it wait? We’re in the middle of—”

“It’s about Iris,” Ezra insists, eyes flashing angrily, “I’d recommend you come with me. Unless you want a lawsuit on your hands, of course, and she’s getting very sue-happy as of late.” His eyes flick over her with disdain, and I know he’s not acting as he finishes, “Perhaps for good reason.”

The other artists gasp. Arthur moves to stand in front of Veronica. “How dare you—”

“It’s alright, my dear.” Veronica places her hand on his arm. Her smile is serpentine, but I can see a flicker of something that almost looks like panic in her eyes. It seems she’s realized that she can’t brush Ezra off without causing a scene, which is the last thing she wants right now. Her new status as Arthur’s fiancee is too fragile at the moment to risk anything. “Let’s chat, Ezra. I’d love to hear what my darling cousin has to say.”

Ezra nods and turns on his heel, escorting Veronica toward the bar. Arthur moves to trail behind them, and that’s when I make my move.

Before he can get far, I reach out and grab his hand. Veronica and Ezra are several paces away by now, a small crowd of event goers standing between us and them. Ezra is saying something to Veronica that has her full attention, so she doesn’t notice that Arthur is no longer following.

As Arthur turns to look at me, his eyes narrow, then widen. His gaze travels over my hair, my face, my dress. I swear, for the briefest of moments, that there’s a look of recognition in that gaze, hidden behind layers of confusion and… whatever else is clouding his mind.

In that moment, a profound sadness overcomes me. It’s mostly mine, yes—seeing my mate, the father of my child, like this—but it’s his, too. I can feel it through the bond we’ve shared since the moment we met.

Something is wrong. Arthur needs me. All this time I’ve spent being angry with him, and Ezra was right about all of it. She’s doing something to him; I’m not sure what or how, but I know it like I know the back of my own hand.

It breaks my heart more than the betrayal ever did.

And if I want to help him, I have to act fast.

“What are you—” he begins, but I act quickly, tightening my grip on his hand and pulling him toward the dance floor.

“Dance with me,” I choke out, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill. “One last time.”