The air in the long hallway leading away from the ballroom was significantly cooler, scented with the faint, metallic tang of floor wax and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies.
Chen Ying had moved with the silent, predatory grace she had perfected in the jungle, tracking the silver lace of Wang Bai's gown through the crowd until she saw the white-feathered mask disappear into a secluded alcove near the darkened conservatory.
"You're a long way from a prison cell, Wang Bai," Chen Ying's voice cut through the silence like a razor through fine silk.
Wang Bai spun around, her silver skirts hissing against the floor like a disturbed viper. Up close, away from the soft, forgiving glow of the ballroom's crystal chandeliers, her eyes behind the feathered mask looked frantic and bloodshot.
But when she realized it was only Chen Ying standing there, she straightened her back, her posture shifting into a familiar smugness that set Chen Ying's teeth on edge.
