Wicked Chase

♚ Chapter Seventeen

[dedicated to Isla, for the spine-chilling cover below. it looks brilliant!]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Presenting Genevieve Salvatore, the Princess of Deidrif and heir to the Deidrif throne."

More than a million eyes stared at me after the man who was dressed elegantly in a suit and bore a passive expression as he stood beside me had introduced me.

Everything was dead quiet after that small but piercing introduction. It was so silent that if a pin were to drop suddenly I was certain it would be heard by all ears. That's how silent the silence was.

The tense silence only managed to heighten my nervousness and I felt my heart begin to beat faster and harder against my ribcage, the tightness of my dress barely giving me enough space to breathe. My eyes scanned the room as they sought out anything familiar.

The ballroom was very far from familiar. Yes, it was the very ballroom that I had danced in with Alastair, that Alastair had kissed me in, but nothing that my eyes laid upon was familiar. The lighting was different. It was more dimmer and yet the whole place buzzed with liveliness except in that moment when all eyes had turned to me after my introduction. The ballroom was elegantly decorated with more fine drapes and curtains and with all the little, intricate details it looked like nothing like the ballroom in which I had danced with Alastair, in which he had kissed me in.

I mentally scowled myself for thinking about Alastair. Nothing was going to happen. No matter how much I pushed or prodded nothing was going to happen because Alastair valued his job far more that displeasing the King for some reason Alastair had not told me about. There was no reason that I should be thinking about Alastair, about his muscled torso pressed up against mine or his lips working its magic on mine. I should stop thinking about him but I couldn't. The kiss was still very vivid, the feeling of his slightly purple tinted lips on mine still lingered and I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine when my eyes caught on Alastair's across the ballroom.

He was standing next to the throne, a step below and he was watching me. His grey eyes were dark and he had a smile dancing on his face. I knew he wouldn't give me those small smiles of his now because we were now open in the public eye and he wouldn't ever dare pull a stunt as small as that because I knew he was afraid that it would arouse suspicion. And also the fact that Alastair didn't like showing his smiles to anyone. It made my heart warm when that thought crossed my mind because I was most certain that Alastair shared his smiles with very few people and I was one of those very few people.

The smile that was about to overtake my lips instantly fell away from the tip of my lips when Ronan, the King, stood up from the throne he was sitting on and stepped forward. The closer he walked towards me, the more I could make out his features and my heart started to beat rapidly against my ribcage, my blood started to boil and I thinned my lips to avoid any unnecessary words spilling out in the open. How Ronan could evoke such anger within me from just a glimpse of him was slightly frightening. The truth was I didn't want to be angry at Ronan. He was my father. But I was angry at him. I couldn't help it. He was my father, yes, but surely never acted as one.