“What consequences?”
The Goblin King shrugged. “Goblin glamour has no effect on you. You see things as they are.”
“How is that a consequence?”
“Depends on whom you ask.” He ran his tongue lightly over his pointed teeth. “Your sister,” he said, nodding toward Käthe in the crowd, “would prefer pretty enchantments to the stark ugliness of reality, I think.”
My sister danced with not one, but several of the tall goblin men. They spun her from man to man, pressing their lips to the inside of her wrists, up her arms, along her collarbone, up her throat. She laughed and tried to kiss one of them on the mouth, but he turned his face away.
“Don’t we all?” I thought of the uncounted days spent at my klavier, before I had come to my senses, before I had come Underground. “Sometimes it is easier to pretend.”
“It is,” the Goblin King said in a low voice. His words vibrated all the way down my spine. “But aren’t we too old for our games of make-believe, Elisabeth?”
There was a wistful note in his words that belied his cool command of composure. Startled, I turned to face the Goblin King. His mismatched eyes looked vulnerable. Fallible. Almost … human. Those remarkable eyes searched mine, and in the space of a breath, I recognized the boy for whom I had played my music in the Goblin Grove.
A bright, musical laugh. I turned to see Käthe trip and fall into a dancer’s arms. She threw her head back, exposing her neck and bosom to his kisses. I wanted to rush to my sister’s defense, but froze at the touch of a hand upon my shoulder.
“Wait.” Fingertips brushed the skin of my neck. “Stay.”
“But Käthe—”
“Your sister will come to no harm, I promise.”
I held myself still, unwilling to face his eyes again. “How can I trust you to keep your word?” My voice did not sound like mine, husky and dark. “Are you not the Lord of Mischief?”
“You wound me, Elisabeth,” he said. “I thought we were friends.”
“You became my enemy the moment you stole my sister.”
It was a long time before the Goblin King replied.
“Tonight is for indulgence without consequence. Tonight you are my guest, Elisabeth, and your sister shall come to no harm. Tomorrow,” he said, arch and sly once more, “we can return to being enemies.”
The sound of my sister’s laughter returned to me, echoing about the cavernous ballroom. “Your word, mein Herr.”
“I said your sister will come to no harm,” he said. “Do not press me further than that. Now,” he said, turning me to face him. “Let us dance, Elisabeth.”
The musicians struck up another song, one I didn’t recognize. The tempo was slow and in a minor key, seductive and sinister. The Goblin King pulled me into his embrace.
He pressed his hand to my lower back, pushing our hips close together. Our hands met palm to palm, fingers intertwined. He was not masked and neither was I. Our eyes met. Despite the closeness of our bodies, it was the touch of our eyes that made me blush.
“Mein Herr,” I demurred. “I don’t think—”
“You think too much, Elisabeth,” he said. “Too much about propriety, too much about duty, too much about everything but music. For once, don’t think.” The Goblin King smiled. It was a wicked grin, one that made me feel unsafe and excited at the same time. “Don’t think. Feel.”
We swept around the ballroom floor, our feet keeping rhythm with each other, even as my heart kept a frenetic pace. I flinched whenever our legs entangled themselves within the folds of my gown, whenever a step caused his chest to brush against mine, whenever more of him touched me than necessary.
“Breathe, Elisabeth,” he said softly.
But I could not. It wasn’t the stays trapping my lungs in an iron grip; it was the Goblin King. His proximity, his unbearable nearness. I had wanted Hans to know me intimately, but I was familiar with him. I could imagine his body beneath my hands—solid, comforting, dependable, predictable, just like the rest of him. But I did not know the Goblin King, not as a man, not as someone with flesh and hands and hips. My soul thrilled with recognition at the sight of his face, but the reality of him frightened me. He was an old friend in myth and legend; he was a stranger in breath and body.
The Goblin King sensed my discomfort. After the dance was over, he stepped back and gave me a courteous bow, kissing the back of my hand.
“I thank you for this dance, my dear,” he said formally.
I nodded, unsure of my voice. I tried to pull my hand out of his grip, but he held on all the tighter.
“But we are not finished yet.” He leaned in, lips moving against the curve of my ear. “The game resumes tomorrow.”
With that, he released me and melted into the crowd. I stood, dazed, wanting to follow him, wanting to crawl back to my barrow room and hide. Every face in the room belonged to him; I found an echo of his cheekbones, his chin, his arched brows in the masks of the attendees.
“Wine, Fräulein?” A goblin servant materialized by my side, holding a tray with several goblets. I hesitated. Years of watching Papa struggle with drink had made me wary of intoxication. And yet, the burden of being Liesl, responsible older sister and dutiful eldest daughter, wore on me. I wondered what oblivion was like.
A responsible older sister. I scanned the room for Käthe. I found her straightaway; she was like a flame in darkness with her golden hair, her bright, pastel-colored gown. She sat upon an enormous carved throne at the head of the ballroom, surrounded by a bevy of fawning suitors. They fed her “grapes” and “bonbons” as she took sips of wine from a crystal-studded goblet. Her gorgeous gown was in disarray, her hair falling loose from its elaborate pompadour. She kicked out at one of them, giggling and showing quite a bit of leg. One of her swains caught her foot, and then ran a hand along her delicate ankle, slowly moving up her stockinged leg to her calf, then along her bare thigh …