Chapter Twenty #4
“You’ve only been here a short while. It would pay you to consider your long-term options. Royals and servants have relationships all the time.”
“As soon as the assassin is caught, there’ll be no need for me to stay.”
“Not with that attitude.” She leaned forward and pinched my cheek hard. “You still work for me. You’re here because I allow it. If I assign you work, you’ll complete that task. Whatever it is. Don’t forget that.”
She patted my cheek with condescending flair, then walked away.
There were footsteps beside me. “What did she say?” Wren asked as she handed me a golden (of course) goblet of wine.
“She suggested I seduce the prince.”
“Of course she did. But don’t.”
“Don’t plan to.”
A bell rang through the room. Talia—looking very much the palace steward, with hair pinned back and tidy dress—appeared at the top of the staircase.
A hush fell over the entire room, and all eyes turned to her in anticipation.
“His Royal Highness, the Western Prince of Carethia, Cassander Ashketh Nikalos Lys’Careth.”
He stepped into view at the top of the stairs, and the crowd murmured appreciatively.
He wore dark blue tonight, only a shade darker than his eyes.
A coat with a short collar fell nearly to his knee-high boots, with gold embroidery of a tiger and mountain lily entwined (very clever) across the hems and placket.
His hair was loose, his eyes cool as they surveyed the room, giving everyone a moment to stare at the man at least a few had believed was dead.
This was no ghost, but a living, breathing soldier who looked strong enough to beat any foes—but smart enough to foil them before the fight began.
“You’re blushing,” Wren whispered.
“You can see him same as me,” I said. “You know why I’m blushing. Same reason half the women in this room, and some of the men, are doing the same. He’s gorgeous.” Which, in that moment, I found infuriating.
“Lys’Careth,” she reminded.
“Aware,” I said, and there was more heat in my voice than I’d meant it to carry. “I can acknowledge that tigers are beautiful without wanting to keep one as a pet.”
“He does look like he’d be a good bounce.”
Slowly, deliberately, I slid my gaze to her. “Excuse me?”
She lifted her goblet. “It’s the wine.”
“And he’s the tiger,” I reminded her, and didn’t like the possessiveness beneath my words. He wasn’t my prince. “If you want an easier challenge, go dance with Galen.”
That had her nearly spewing wine across her dress. At least the colors would have matched. “The Eonish Sea will freeze over first. I’m going to get more drink,” she said, and stalked toward the table.
I needed to improve my suddenly sour mood. A few strides away, Galen stood against the wall—arms crossed, lip curled, and his gaze trained on Wren.
I’d found my mark. I walked toward him. “Hello.”
He shifted his gaze to me, then back again. And grunted.
“Why are you glaring at Wren?”
“I’m not glaring.” But he shifted on his feet, uncomfortable at having been caught.
“If you want to dance, go ask her.” I said it to tease him—mostly I wanted him to quit giving her sour looks—but I’d have sworn there was a blush high on his cheeks. And the noise he made to show that he found the idea ridiculous wasn’t entirely convincing.
“I don’t dance. I’m a soldier. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be with her.”
“Too much for you?” I looked back at her. “I can see how you might find her intimidating.”
“I’m not intimidated. She’s a thief.”
“More a thief’s assistant.” And thank the gods she wasn’t near enough to hear me say that.
“That’s actually worse.” But his gaze still followed her as she moved around the room, looking at the windows, the ceilings, the people, as she sipped sweetwine from her goblet.
“Your loss.” But I leaned forward. “She could probably teach you a few things.”
The blush deepened.
“About clomping,” I said with a grin. “What did you think I meant?” And didn’t bother to wait for his answer.
With Wren occupied, I walked to the table laden with food—each gold or silver or ceramic vessel worth ample coin in the market. If you could find a buyer for an obviously filched pot.
One silver bowl held small sweets shaped like fruits—apples and pears. Along one side of the vessel, an engraved archer aimed; on the other, a woman slept beneath a flowering tree. The deer and flowers were done in gold. It was very pretty.
I gave it a good look, then put it down again and found the woman behind me eyeing me like a fox sneaking around a chicken coop.
“It’s very attractive,” I said in the poshest tone I could manage.
The look she gave me said she’d seen through the hair and the dress and knew who and what I was. I could feel the dress tighten around me like rope.
I managed to walk away with my head high and shoulders back, but that look stung. She hadn’t even used words; a single insulting look had my confidence withering like a worn-out flower. I hadn’t known I had that kind of cowardice in me, and I didn’t like learning it.
Fact was, there was nothing to be gained from spending time with people who thought they were better than me because their fates had been woven differently. They weren’t people I wanted or needed to know. Since I’d done my duty and come to the ball, it was time to make my exit.
I strode to the far door through which we’d entered, and had nearly reached it when the prince stepped in front of me.
“Fox.”
“Your Highness.” I kept my eyes on the door.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“The room is very beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so. I was trying to impress you.”
I snorted. “You’re a prince. You don’t have to try to impress people. You can command it.”
“Commanding people to emote is very unsatisfying. If you’re enjoying the—where are you going?”
“To my room. I’m…very tired.”
“The sun has barely set.”
I faked a yawn. And not very well. It was harder than it seemed.
His expression was bland. “And the truth?”
I sighed. “I don’t belong here, and everyone knows it.”
“As it turns out, I’m the prince and this is my palace. I’m the only one to judge whether you belong. And I say you do. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
The players started up again. The prince held out his hand, his eyes gleaming like sapphires in the candlelight, a smile playing at his lips. “Dance with me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’ve danced with me before.”
“In a foreign country without your hangers-on watching and judging.”
He took my hand and looked down at me with a frown. “You’ll chase a murderer through the woods, but a dance in front of wealthy strongholders scares you?”
“I’m not scared.” I glanced back at the dancers. “I don’t know this dance. And you’re the one they’ll terrorize for dancing with a servant.”
“You don’t look like a servant.”
And that was a grift. I thought it, but didn’t say it, since he’d apparently managed to scramble up dresses for Wren and me. “This isn’t my kind of party.”
“Let me guess—you prefer a loud inn beside the market, plenty of sweetwine, and a little thievery.”
It took me a moment to realize where he’d gotten that. “Wren told you about Springmarket.”
“She did.” He leaned forward; while we were in a shadowed corner of the ballroom, there were undoubtedly guests wondering who he was having an intimate conversation with.
And about what. “How about this? Dance with me, and you can show them who you are. That it doesn’t matter whether you have coin or not, and that you don’t care what they think. That I don’t care.”
I watched him for a moment. If he was going to try to be a better prince, maybe I could try to be a better Fox. “Do you want to use that favor you asked for?” (Still Fox, though.)
He considered. “I’ll trade a dance for half a favor.”
“Half?” I snorted. “No. Whole favor or nothing. It’s not a coin; you can’t just shave away a bit of edge and try to spend it.
” There probably wasn’t a single coin in the stronghold with its original edges.
Not when they could be pared down, the slivers melted and remolded to make new.
Not legal, but that only mattered if you were caught.
He pointed to the other side of the room. “You notice there is literally a line of women hoping for a dance with me.”
Even Foxes are susceptible to the right bait. I glanced over. Easily a dozen women waited for his attention. That made me suddenly furious. “Surely they have better things to do than compete for a man.”
“A prince,” he corrected, then cocked his head at me. “Why do you refuse to admit that I want to dance with you? Are you afraid?”
I knew he was daring me. I could see it in the glimmer in his eyes.
I hated that I wanted to shrink away from the question—and the reminder that I’d tried to slink away from the party. I was better than that. I was braver than that. And maybe, just a little, I wondered what it would be like to dance with a prince in a place like this.
“One dance,” I said. “In exchange for your favor. And don’t complain to me later about the gossip and rumors.”
“I expect you enjoy collecting gossip nearly as much as coins, but I agree.” He offered his arm. “Madam.”
I put my hand atop his like I’d seen others do, and we walked toward the guests assembled on the dance floor. They parted as we walked through, and while I could feel the whispers behind me, I kept my focus on his warm hand beneath mine as we moved through the gauntlet.
We took a spot in the middle of the other dancers.
I moved to face him, and he put a hand at my back and held out his other hand.
“Give me your hand, and do what I do. And remember”—he lowered his head to whisper in my ear—“an audience wants one of two things: your joy or your pain. You get to decide which you offer them.”
And we began to move.
He’d danced well in Vhrania, but that had been a walking dance and hadn’t required much finesse. But here, with the soft and sweeping music, he moved like he’d danced all his life. He kept his eyes trained on me, his look so intense that gooseflesh rose on my arms.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked.
A corner of his mouth lifted, but he didn’t look away. “I’m trying very hard not to look at Wren. I can feel the daggers in my back.”
“She’s going to have thoughts,” I agreed. Very loud thoughts.
“But does she have daggers?”
“I gave her the Vhranian windblade.”
“Oh, good.”
I happened to catch the Lady’s gaze as we turned, her eyes hungry and shining with opportunity.
“The Lady is watching,” I said quietly. “She’s already suggested I sleep with you.” To his credit, he didn’t so much as flinch. “You don’t look shocked.”
“Do you think she’s the first person to suggest bedding a royal to get ahead in the world?”
Not when he put it like that. “She’ll try to use this dance against you.”
“Fox, she doesn’t scare me; she’s motivated by coin, which means her satisfaction can always be bought, as long as the price is high enough. Wren, on the other hand, is motivated by loyalty. That’s much more dangerous.”
“So don’t step on my feet.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
He moved me an inch closer, swirled me a bit faster, and I let myself relax in his capable hands, my head spinning from the movement, the music, and the nearness of him.
“What if I asked her to buy your bonds?”
“No.” I turned on him. “If she thinks you’re interested, she’ll never let us go. When the Aetheric practitioner is caught and we go back, she’ll up the price and we’ll never be able to pay it off.”
There was pity in his eyes. “That’s a difficult situation.”
“It’s a shit situation. But it’s the life we’ve got. And I’d much rather discuss other things. You’re a very good dancer. Did you learn to dance in the City of Flowers?”
“Princes learn all manner of things.” His voice was low and wicked, and sent a shiver down my back.
I kept my expression mild, even though my heart raced. “I agreed to a dance. Not a flirtation.”
He clucked his tongue. “I was referring to swordsmanship, calligraphy, languages.” But the gleam in his eyes didn’t diminish. It seemed a dare to match his outrageousness. Disobedient prince indeed.
The song became faster, the steps more staccato, and I missed more than one. He dropped the hand at my back and shifted so we stood beside each other. “Watch my feet,” he said, and demonstrated a move.
I repeated it. Not gracefully, but in the correct order at least.
“Good,” he said. “Now with me.”
We did the steps again, our hands linked as we took steps, then turned, then swept around each other and joined hands again. As the music sped further, I matched my steps with his, until we were both laughing and nearly stumbling, but somehow managing to stay upright.
The song ended with a flourish, and we stopped, hands still linked together, breath coming fast. His eyes were bright, his smile wide.
And with my hair coming loose from its comb and my dress constricting my breathing (why did people wear these?), I wanted to kiss him. To stretch up on my toes and touch his beautiful face and press my mouth to his. The hunger in his eyes said I wasn’t alone.
And then the guests burst into applause, and the moment shattered, as they always seemed to do. I looked around; we were the only dancers left on the floor. The others had slipped away to give us space to move—or to give the audience a clearer look.
He lifted a hand to acknowledge the shouts of approval, then took a step back and gave a very courtly bow. I returned with a curtsy as tidy as I could manage.
Then we walked back into the crowd. I could still feel their eyes on me, wondering who I was and how I’d managed to snag a dance.
And found he was right—not that I’d ever admit that to him.
I was the same person, whether dressed in cloth of gold or patched linen.
Whether they had issues with me, or my right to dance with the prince, was none of my concern.
So I met their gazes and smiled as brightly as I could.
I made the mistake of meeting the Lady’s gaze again. Her smile was wide and satisfied, like a cat who’d just caught a very satisfying lunch.
I wasn’t sure which of us—me or the prince—was the mouse.