https://youtu.be/YyknBTm_YyM

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CHAPTER 21

Amber Marigold

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The unknown number was someone in this room, and Amber had no reason to waste her time talking with Owen. There were only two people at the ball who could give her the answers she needed.

Taking deep breaths to clear the heat from her cheeks, her stomach led her through the crowd. The orchestra were atop the steps on the other side of the ballroom, and just below those steps were a row of buffet tables. Red roses bloomed in between all sorts of decorated delicacies. Crowning the centre table was a pyramid of champagne with sparkling bubbles fizzing in golden drinks.

Amber stuffed her face with the first thing she saw, chocolate eclairs. This bet was messing with her head. She had to focus.

After managing three eclairs in her mouth, she looked up, locking eyes with the person across from her.

Though she did not know the name of the tall boy, he was one of Blake's kin. With at least four eclairs in his mouth, he stared at her wide-eyed. Amber instinctively laughed, and the boy joined in. One of his eclairs fell out, bringing on another fit of laughter.

"I swear I'm not usually like this," the tall boy explained, swallowing the remainder of his food and wiping his mouth.

"Uh-huh, yeah, and what are you usually like?" she asked.

"For one, I'm intimidating."

"Strawberry blonds aren't intimidating."

Tears pooled in the boy's eyes. "You," he sniffed, resting his hand over his heart, "have no idea how much that means..."

What the hell?

Amber chuckled it off. "I don't think we've officially met," she said, offering a warm smile. "I'm Amber Marigold."

The boy rounded the table. Walking up to her, he took both her hands like she was a saint. "I'm first kin of the West, Calvin Castell," he introduced. "But please, call me Cal. It's a pleasure."

First kin's an important position, she noted. He was next in line to the bloodline and could easily come by any of the information Mr President had. Amber pulled her hands back.

"Do you want to dance?" she asked.

"I'd rather stay here and, uh, guard the food..."

"Mmm-hm."

He picked a strawberry from the table, popping it into his mouth.

"The West is dull company. Let us dance instead," another said.

Amber turned to the flirty blond of the East. Matt. He wore a grey suit with a salmon shirt beneath, only half buttoned up. The girl could imagine him as nothing but a butterfly.

"Why?" she asked. "You got something to say to me?"

Perhaps that you're the unknown number, she added in her head.

"I just felt like dancing, and my lovely date left me for another dessert. If you don't want to, I suppose that's fine too," he sulked.

Amber looked to Cal, but the boy already turned to the buffet table. Shrugging, she took Matt's hand, and he led her to the dance floor. Either boy could be the unknown number.

The orchestra began a new piece, and she recognised the music. Like she was taught, everyone on the floor formed a circle, turning to their partners and starting the routine.

They brought their hands up, circling each other but not touching. When Matt glanced at her hand, she almost pulled it away.

"They're nearly worse than Owen's," he commented.

"No need to point it out," she sighed.

The music picked up, and they embraced in a waltz, following the flow of the circle and spinning when everyone else spun.

"They do this dance every year," Matt groaned.

"You've been here a couple of times, right?"

"Every year since I turned sixteen. My father was first kin to Owen's father. It's a family thing. I'd much prefer a club."

"I hope you dance better there than here," Amber snorted.

Matt's jaw fell.

"Excuse you, I've had plenty of dance instructors!"

"You should get a refund."

The boy laughed as they turned. Hands on her hips, he hoisted her up for the lift and gently brought her back down. The circle split into groups of four, and when she brought her hand up to circle Matt and the other couple, she grinned at the familiar face.

Jessy winked, and Amber shook her head. Focus. Craning her neck to look back, she stared at Matt and thought of how to bait him.

"What?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed.

"So, I'm guessing you're not one to miss a party?" she asked.

A turn came, and Matt leaned in close enough for her to smell strawberries on his breath.

"Of course. It's usually where all the exciting things happen," he winked. Before Amber could properly react, the four of them turned and exchanged partners.

She looked up at Jessy's ex. Enrique danced stiffly, keeping the girl at arm's length. With his military cut, he looked like a soldier at attention. His eyes never left her cousin.

This guy was the last person she suspected to be Mr President.

So, instead, she asked, "You like Jessy?"

He only briefly glanced her way.

"Yes."

"What about her do you like?"

His jaw clenched, and he finally looked her in the eye.

"Jessy's different from the rest of you," he said. Amber cocked her head back but kept quiet while he went on. "In a world where everyone's out to hurt each other, she wants to heal people. She'd do anything for the people she... she'd do anything for her family. You have no idea how much she's sacrificed for you."

A smile crept up her lips. Too bad Enrique was in a bloodline.

"You break her heart. I break your face," she smirked.

He chuckled gruffly, his arms loosening up ever so slightly.

"Oh, I know," he said. "Jessy's always telling me stories. I basically know everything there is to you."

Amber's smile dropped, but before she could ask more, they exchanged partners again. Not focusing, she bumped into a chest, a buttoned-up yellow shirt accompanied by a black suit. When she looked up, the blood drained from her face.

"Holy hell," she breathed.

"Well. This is awkward," Mr Dietrich said.

There was no way her partner was her English teacher. She had given him the cold shoulder ever since that incident with Blake and had hoped the graduation ceremony would be the last of him.

"Not to be rude, Sir, but, uh, why are you here?"

His brows turned up, dimples accompanying his small smile.

"I... I'm in a bloodline, Amber."

"WHAT? You're a teacher, Mister Dietrich!"

"Was a teacher, and please, call me Reiner. Dietrich was an alias."

They went through the steps of the routine. Mr Dietrich, or Reiner, was a good dancer, but Amber was much too stiff to do it any justice.

"Was?" she asked.

"I resigned. After the West and Eastern cyngs graduated, there was no point for me to hang around anymore. I just kept an eye for the South. I'm sure the North had someone too."

Amber thought about it. Whoever the North's spy was, was likely the one to drop her invitation off at art class. But more pressingly, Reiner was the first person from the South she met.

Could Mr President be...

She was about to ask more, but Reiner glanced at something behind her. As the music dipped, he twirled her out and into someone else's arms. She blinked up at the boy's infectious grin.

"Finally, I get to dance with a piece of the sun," Lynch beamed.

The girl forgot about all the conversations that had come before.

"Finally, I get to dance with the guy with the coolest hair."

Lynch lit up.

"I do have amazing hair."

They danced in and out of the circle, and though they were not as in sync, Amber grinned wider than she did with the others.

"I know we haven't known each other long," she said, "but you're the best person I've met since coming to this town."

In her heels, they were the same height. The boy stood on his toes when he spun her around, his feet getting tangled.

"But I've met you before," Lynch said, correcting his footing.

"What?" Amber's stomach twisted.

His eyes widened, and his ears turned red.

"I mean, uhm, well, it feels like we've met before. Maybe in another life or something," he laughed it off.

Amber's heart raced. Lynch just became her number one suspect. Though the number she texted him on did not match with Mr President, nothing stopped him from having a second phone.

Her necklace weighed heavy.

Amber took the lead this time. They did not make a single mistake, and the piece was nearing its end.

"Since we're both matching, I guess this is what happens when gold meets gold," she said straight-faced.

The boy blinked, looking around, his eyes fixed on something else.

"I have to go." he gave a brief bow as the song ended. "It was nice dancing with you!" He hurried off, disappearing into the crowd.

Amber stared after him.

Needing to clear her head, she walked over to where tall French doors led to the terrace. Some smokers leaned against the balustrade, and couples chatted over a glass of champagne. Stepping out, eyes followed her. She exhaled and took the stairs down to the gardens. Perfectly trimmed hedges followed the curved pathway. The same roses from inside grew here, a red so dark in the night, they could have been black. She walked further, to the centre of the garden, where a large pavilion overgrown with ivy called her.

Amber stepped inside, her hand trailing the marble pillars. Candles danced in the summer breeze. A thick column stood in the middle, and when she squinted her eyes, rows of framed faces adorned it. She stepped closer and circled the structure, her finger tracing the compartments behind each portrait.

This was a cremation wall.

Her legs froze at a familiar pair of faces. Then, slowly, a chuckle crept up her throat. Did she actually remember how they looked? Those goons?

"That's messed up," a voice said.

The girl spun around to a figure sitting on a bench. The boy stood up and stepped into the soft light. His eyes were shadowed by a dark fringe, but that pale face could only belong to one person.

"You scared me," she said to the East's driver.

"I'm not the one laughing at a grave in the middle of the night."

"True."

A wind picked up, blowing out a few of the candles. Amber tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't like crowds," the boy explained. "S'why I'm out here."

She bit her cheek, desperately trying to recall his name. When nothing came to her, she caved and asked the inevitable question.

"I'm so sorry, but what's your name again?"

He huffed a ghost of a laugh and looked up at her, half smiling.

"Don't stress. It's Seane Alswerd. I'm pretty forgettable."

Her hands shot to her face.

"No, no, no, no, It's not you, it's me! I swear! I'm just really terrible with names and faces. Believe me!"

"I'm just messing with you," he said, waving her off. "It's a bad habit." He turned, aiming to leave, but the girl had to take a chance.

"We've all got bad habits. You're human."

It was all she had, but now she wished she had said it where the light was better. Seane only slightly turned his head. His expression stayed shadowed.

"Yeah," he said. "The worst monsters usually are."

The boy left, disappearing past the hedges, and Amber sighed. She glanced back at the column. Some of those faces were likely sent here after the night Blake and Owen came to rescue her. Her heart shrunk, and she turned away, closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds. With leaden legs, she made her way back to the house. Easier said than done.

The light from the party was up ahead, but the girl kept walking herself in circles. It was not even a maze. When she passed a scythe-wielding statue for the third time, she cursed herself.

"You seem to be lost," came a deep voice.

Amber stiffened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. And when she turned around, her heart stopped. There, in the darkness, stood the cyng of the North. Dressed in a crisp maroon suit with not a cufflink out of place, he looked surreal. Carved like the statue behind her.

"Have you come to show me the way?" she asked.

He grinned.

"Not for free, I won't."

Amber almost laughed but remembered what she was told. This person murdered their own family. And likely...

"Your price?" she asked.

"A dance," he said.

She crossed her arms. Though the thought of touching this man was unsettling, he was someone who could give her answers.

"Lead the way," she said.

Xavier offered his arm, and Amber reluctantly took it. Walking through the gardens, she snuck a glance up at him. A jaw that could cut, jutting brows, and with eyes that were either bored, amused, or both, he had a face fitting of his nickname. He looked down. Caught staring, she averted her eyes.

For every rose the garden held, there were ten more thorns.

As promised, Xavier brought her back to the light. They walked up the steps and through the French doors just as a new piece started playing; a lonely harp accompanied by a shy violin.

The girl was sure every single head turned their way.

Gulping, Xavier's arm was the only thing that kept her moving. At the very centre of the floor, he turned to bow, his eyes pinning her where she stood. The music was familiar, a famous piece, and suddenly eerie.

"You know how to tango?" he asked.

"You know how to keep up?" she retorted.

His smirk was answer enough. Taking her hand, he placed it on his chest and caressed her cheek with the other. They stayed in the pose, waiting for the dance to start. Amber burned from his touch. It was like her body recognised the poison he was made of.

"You look stunning," he said.

"You're quite the trendsetter with that suit," she replied. "It almost matches your hair."

"And it brings out my eyes," he added. Those poison green eyes bore into her, and as a sudden violin cried out, Amber looked away as though it was part of the routine.

The pace of the violin quickened, and with it, he twisted her face back. His gaze was numbing. All this time, she thought of herself as a wolf among sheep. But even wolves can get bitten by snakes.

Violins dropped, giving way to luring flutes.

The dance started.

Xavier was different from the others. They were not in sync because they were both excellent dancers. They matched because he controlled her. His hold on the small of her back steered her where he wanted.

She was a puppet, and he knew precisely which strings to pull.

He pushed her out, spinning her so violently she lost her balance. Just before she could fall, he whisked her back, slamming her into his chest. Her back pressed against him, and his lips brushed her ear.

"Look," he said, lifting her jaw to see the room. A sultry violin surfaced. "We're the couple to be."

Amber could not move. They were the only pair dancing. Everyone else watched from the outskirts. The East... West... Jessy... And even Tan Cam? Dressed in black, the dark-haired girl was glaring, and it was then that Amber recalled her brother was from the North. Perhaps Cam was the second spy Reiner mentioned?

"We'll never be a couple," she snarled as strings and flutes fell into a tug of war. She willed herself to move, shaking off Xavier's grip to continue the dance. Kicking her feet up around his legs served as both routine as well as a reminder of what she did the last time they met.

Xavier arched a brow as though he got the message.

A brazen violin broke out. He seized her waist and lifted her up, whirling, birling, spinning her around him. She could do nothing but trust this man would not let her fall, and as if he knew, he did just that. As the music dropped, so did Amber.

Before hitting the floor, a hand coiled around her back. She stared up, breathless, and caught in an arching dip. Reduced to a ragdoll, the girl ricocheted into his arms when Xavier pulled her back up. By instinct or accident, her leg swung at the motion and wrapped around him. The way the cyng grinned suggested it was planned.

Without even knowing it, Amber played right into his hand.

Their faces were so close she smelled that musky cologne he wore. She blinked, paralysed by his stare, the music. It seemed that every stringed instrument was pulled and plucked at once.

"Are you set on falling for one of these boys then?" Xavier asked.

Amber snorted, whipping her head away. She tried her best not to appear at the cyng's mercy as he led them around the chequered floor, but everyone they passed must have noticed.

"I'm set on finding answers," she replied.

The crowd watched their every move. As the music rose, Xavier nudged her heel with his foot, and the girl slid into a split. If not for the slit, her dress would have torn. At the last second, in time with the orchestra, she was pulled up. Embraced. Amber clung to him like a kid.

"And what answers could you possibly want?" he asked, his hand trailing up her thigh. If he went any higher, she would be in trouble.

At the music's dip, soft strings steered the pair around the room. Xavier's scorching hand returned to her back, pressing the girl close enough for her to feel his heartbeat. Slow, steady, in control. A stark contrast to the quivering mess in her chest. She was sure if she fainted, he could still make her dance as he wanted.

But Amber was not going to let Xavier get what he wanted. The girl had tiptoed for answers long enough. She could bite back.

"My parents," she said. "They were... attacked last year. I'm trying to find the culprit."

"And you think I know who did it?"

Her jaw locked. The piece was slowly picking up again.

"Yes," she said, glaring at him. "I think you know exactly."

Xavier chuckled.

"Why, Amber Marigold, would I bother with your parents?"

She had to fight the urge to clobber him right there.

"My parents worked for Sterling. You bloodlines needed weapons, and my family said no."

Xavier's brows rose. A wolfish glint gleamed in his eye, and when his lips pulled back to reveal a perfect set of teeth, he looked ready to dig in.

"You want answers?" he asked.

The way he said it, accompanied by the sudden sinister switch of strings, Amber thought she might actually not. This was it. He held the box. It was her choice to reach out and open it.

A sombre violin borrowed the music.

"Yes," she whispered, unsure if the word even came out.

Xavier gripped her hips and spun them around. Letting go, Amber's head fell back, her arms unfurling behind her. She let the whirling, conflicting notes move her, and when the cyng brought them back up, circling the floor, a gust of ominous strings blew in like howling winds.

"Firstly," he said, "your parents did not say no. Being a major weapons manufacturer for the military, as well as having a monopoly on all illegal arms trading, they could do as they pleased."

Amber's brows knotted. The orchestra rose.

"That doesn't... They..." She fumbled. "That makes no sense."

The box was opening, and Amber shuddered at what came crawling out. Every nerve in her burned when Xavier pressed them close, his hands on her back, her nape. His breath teased her ear.

Trumpets duelled the violins.

"Sterling isn't the name of the country's top defence contractor," he revealed. "It's the name of the largest bloodline."

The box opened.

The notes slipped.

Amber's heart fell with the music. So far down, she thought it could never return. Before she could figure out how to react, deny or cry, Xavier spun her out and twirled her on the spot. Round and round. Her eyes were cast down on her dress. It bloomed like golden fire. She glanced up, trying to figure out what the notes wanted to be. All around, the crowd became a blur. Distorted faces watched her, laughing. Laughing? She threw her eyes up to where Xavier held her hand above, spinning her. She blinked, and blood came dripping down her arm. She blinked again, and it was gone. Closing her eyes, the girl let the momentum take her.

Xavier's lying, she told herself. He's a liar.

Wailing violins mourned something they never had.

Eyes stayed shut, even as Amber got pulled back in. Her face was buried in his chest, unable to pull back. She bit her cheek hard enough to taste blood. The music grew again, more violent than before, and the notes started running up a cliff.

"You thought you were special because of who you were. That it was your charm that pulled everyone in," Xavier whispered. He glided them around the room, a hand stroking her hair almost lovingly. "But you're only special because your father was first kin of the oldest living bloodline. From the very start, you were but a piece on the board. Valuable, but a piece all the same."

She wanted to deny it, to yell he was a liar. But the words would not leave her. Memories swelled with the music. Hours of fighting, training, shooting... That vault with two million euros she could not explain...

"And, for my plans, I intend to claim you for myself."

Were the notes running away from something or towards it?

The answer was always there. She chose to stay ignorant.

Xavier brought her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. She saw herself in them, and when she tried to look away, he held firm.

"Accept it," he said.

"I won't fall for your trap," she sneered. "West and East... They won't fall for your trap either."

The notes kept falling and getting back up. Running, stumbling, tumbling to the edge of that cliff.

"Oh, dear Amber Marigold," he grinned. "They already have."

"What do you mean?"

He inclined his head to the crowd, and when she followed his eyes, a deathly cold soaked her down to the bone.

"Look at how distracted they are," he said. "Look at how they can't take their eyes off you."

Cymbals struck like lightning.

Clanging. Clashing. Over and over.

All around them, not a single person could tear their eyes away. Blake... Owen... Everyone was either staring or glaring.

And this man... He might as well have just admitted his guilt.

"Let me go," Amber breathed, drowned out by the piece's climax. She had to stop this. She had to stop whatever he had planned.

The notes reached the edge of that cliff but paused, stopped to contemplate the jump. A violin regretted the path they had chosen.

"Why would I do that?" Xavier asked. "We're the distraction."

He shoved her back. She tipped and almost fell, saved by the hand he held on to. Entirely at the mercy of the devil, she stared up with a trembling heart, suspended.

"I told you, you were going to be my weapon," he smirked.

Her breath hitched, and he slowly reeled her back in. With leaden legs, she fell right into his embrace, fell right into his trap.

"Let the show begin," he whispered as the music ended.

The notes took their final step, and all around, chaos ensued.

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