Chapter 18: RebelsTHE POUNDING BEAT still rings in my ears. Gold sparkles and tiny feathers cover the pillow. A blanket drapes over the crimped remains of last night’s costume and smeared paints. It’s the first time I’ve woken alone—in days? weeks?—without Ravel bouncing into the room to call me back to the floor, or his attendants nudging me awake to paint fresh designs across my skin.
Bangles clink. They’ve left pale imprints in my skin, quickly flushing red as the blood flows back. I ought to stay awake long enough to strip them off next time. I sigh in relief as the weight of all that heavy gold lifts and my head clears.
My feet hit the ground, bringing a host of new complaints. Fresh blisters from ridiculous shoes. Sore muscles. Skin raw from being painted and stripped and painted a
