Clockwork Kiss

Definitely Not in Chicago Anymore

I was ushered out of the room, and the Lavender-Eyed Woman pointed me down a long glittering hall. The music was deafening now. A complex, orchestral piece played on instruments I couldn’t name. I stepped through a massive arched doorway draped in snow-covered evergreen boughs and was instantly hit by the sheer magnitude of the ballroom.

It was a cavern carved of ice and winter magic. Crystal chandeliers hung like captured snowflakes, casting rainbows of vibrant light along the walls. Hundreds of guests - most of them sharp-eared, some with wings, a few even had horns and tails, but all of them elegant and otherworldly - danced in synchronized, swirling patterns. The smell of pine and spiced wine was overwhelming.

I tried to hug the perimeter as I took in the impossible. This display didn’t just feel like a party, it was a performance. I was so focused on avoiding eye contact and deciphering the strange, graceful patterns of the waltz that I didn’t see him.

I rounded a large column wrapped in white ivy and the collision was sudden. Jarring. I stumbled, my breath catching. A strong, cold hand gripped my elbow, steadying me before I could fall.

He was tall with an intense gaze that didn’t match the soft lavender of his eyes. His angular face was framed by long black hair mixed with strands of silver. His features were sharp and otherworldly, distinctively not human. Far too beautiful to be human. His expression was one of cold irritation, and I couldn’t be sure if it was irritation at me, or just in general. His green, silver-trimmed cloak was immaculate, lined in crimson silk and fur around the collar. He moved and the cloak gave way to a matching tunic and pants. A sword was attached at his hip, held by a black leather belt with silver buckles, and his knee-high black boots matched.

His presence was cold, authoritative, and absolutely captivating. My lips parted in a small gasp, my brain devoid of any thought.

“Watch where you’re going,” his voice was a low, resonating baritone that cut through the music and carried a thick, archaic accent. He didn’t let go of my arm though. His eyes tapped mine, even behind his simple black mask.

Then his gaze flicked over me in a quick, dismissive pass. He paused, his grip tightening. There was a look of recognition in his eyes, though I knew neither of us knew each other. It had to be the dress. Who did the dress belong to and what trouble was I in now for wearing it?

“You,” his voice was now dangerously quiet as he pulled me back against the shadow of the column. “Who are you? And why do you smell of the ordinary world?”

I blinked up at him. The sound of the music receded in my head until it felt like it was coming from some other place. He was scrutinizing me, his eyes narrowed over the black lace of my mask. The coldness radiating off of him felt like a physical chill.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the lie caught in my throat, along with my pounding heart. “I am a guest.”

His mouth, set in a severe, beautiful line, didn’t move much, but his gaze was ruthless. “Do not lie. The stench of stale metal and manufactured heat clings to you. You are not from Aethelgard. You are mortal.”

The word ‘mortal’ wasn’t just an insult, it was a classification. An accusation. The grip on my elbow became a steel band. Not painful, but utterly immovable. I risked a quick glance around the column. Guests were dancing nearby, but they were too absorbed in their perfect circles to notice our tense, quiet exchange. But I couldn’t scream or run. I wasn’t sure what good it would do me either.

“It was an accident,” I pleaded, the fear clear in my tone. “I came through a…a door, I think.” A light actually, but that sounded insane. Granted, in this place, would it sound insane? Perhaps I had fallen off my stool and cracked my head open. Maybe I was bleeding out on the museum warehouse’s floor, and this was the afterlife. A scary, strange afterlife. “I need to leave.”

He let out a sharp, quiet noise that was almost a laugh. “Accidents of this magnitude don’t happen. They are calculated risks, or catastrophic failures. It’s obvious you are not of this plane, and if my guards discover you before I decide what you are, they will assume the worst.”

He leaned closer, and I swallowed. Every muscle in my body tightened with tension and fear. I could smell the faint spice of pine and something cold and elemental on his cloak. “The dress you wear belongs to the Lady Lysandra. She is…expected. If you are found in her robes, you will be questioned. You will likely not survive those questions either.”

Panic spiked, and I thought of the woman who dressed me. Was this a trap?

“I didn’t know…I tried to leave, but this woman,” I was whispering, my fear lending to the truth, “she insisted I be dressed appropriately.”

He studied my face. Even with the mask, perhaps he saw the fear in my dark eyes. The sheer, overwhelming reality of this place must have lent credibility to my words. He was clearly noble, and likely dealt with lies daily. Maybe he would recognize pure, unfiltered panic.

The orchestra’s music swelled, marking the end of the waltz. The couples separated and the crowd around us thinned momentarily. His gaze darted to the edge of the ballroom where a group of men watched us with keen interest.

His decision was immediate and final.

“We are moving.” His cold fingers moved to wrap around my wrist. “If you wish to survive the night, you will not speak, you will not flinch, and you will not look lost.” His breath was cool against my ear. “For the next three hours, you are my intended. You were delayed by a trifling illness. Now, you will dance with me.”

I wasn’t given the option to object. I wasn’t sure that I could have anyways. I was still processing the shock of his commands as he pulled me away from the column, out of the shadows and directly into the marble dance floor.

The next song began, a swift, complex tune, and he placed his free hand on the small of my back. He drew me in to a dizzying step that I had no choice but to let him lead. I was trapped, dancing with an unknown nobleman, pretending to be his intended with no knowledge of how to get home.