Although I usually enjoy the thrill of a cheap insult, I know that Nikolai du Romanet is at my ball to assassinate me, and so I've decided that I won't grant him the satisfaction of small talk before he does.

"Your words usually wound me deeply." Nikolai pulls my closer by the small of my back to whisper into my ear as we waltz around the room, enveloped in a flurry of pinks, whites, and yellows as other couples twirl past. The short hairs on the back of my neck raise to stand on their ends, like the fur of a cat preparing for flight. "But I must admit, your silence hurts even more."

"I wish I could say that the feeling was mutual," I respond before I can think better of it, "But I confess, I find the sound of your voice quite tiresome."

Nikolai smirks. And God, how I despise that smirk, and how I despise that my heart stops when he smirks, and that I know exactly how to provoke that smirk and do so on purpose every time.

"There she is," he says. "Come on, there's no need to be cold. The night is young. Let's have some fun while it lasts." He laughs as I scowl at him. "Oh, darling. If looks could kill."

"I thought you'd prefer to do it the old-fashioned way." I reply.

"I suppose I do."

And I know I could pull myself out of his grasp and run, but the waltz hasn't ended yet and I don't want to cause a scene, not until absolutely necessary, so I let him spin me until I'm dizzy and flushed, and my heart pounds in my ribcage like a maiden in love.