39. Soren
Chapter thirty-nine
Soren
The band plays my mother’s favorite tune, and I settle into the easy rhythm of dance with her, grateful for the reprieve. Sometime during the second song, I lost sight of Enna. Last I saw her, she was sipping punch at the drink table and chatting with Lord Varik. But now, she’s gone.
Aris is occupied, thank the gods. Lord Varik has taken her off my hands, and for a sweet moment in time, I am absolved of her voice in my ear.
“Kind of you to share.” My mother spins into my arms, and I catch her, leading her into an arcing circle step. She nods toward the dance floor. “Tell me, son. Have you ever seen a waltz quite like that?”
I follow her gaze to the strange duo. He spins her quickly, much faster than I did, adding a new flair to the usual steps for this song. Aris grips his arms, skirts fanning out, her face tight.
“It’s an Abyssal thing.”
Mother clicks her tongue. “Look more closely, Soren. Watch her feet.”
Under the sprawl of her skirts, her feet stutter, adding beats out of pace with the music. Her heels stay lifted from the floor, never sinking to catch the downbeat. With the next turn, her ankle rolls, and she falls into the treasurer’s broad chest.
“Looks like she’s tired,” I say. “Poor thing.”
As we turn again, I scan the far wall and finally spot my missing piece. Enna surveys the dance, hugging the far wall. Her posture is composed and easy, her gaze sharp and focused. My mother’s hand squeezes mine, snagging my attention. “Soren,” she urges. “She cannot dance. How can that be so?”
We rotate, and the princess returns to my view. Lord Varik straightens his dance partner, his mouth visibly working to avoid a frown. Aris clutches his arms and blushes. It is odd, a princess without knowledge of a waltz. Even during the quickstep, she clung to me with the grip of a visefish, leaning on my lead to guide her through.
“Have you thought more of the pendant?”
To be honest, I haven’t thought much about the damned thing since I locked it in my desk.
“No,” I say. “What of it?”
“Use it.”
“Mother, this is your match. Do you rescind your good judgment, just because the princess can’t dance?”
“Yes, I do. We cannot risk falling victim to a ruse.” Her fingernails drum into the back of my neck. “Something isn’t right with that female.”
“The pendant is too risky. I could dismiss her quietly.”
“What if she has malicious intent? I will not lose you, Soren, not if I can prevent it.”
We turn in silence as we consider our predicament. My mother speaks again, hurried and hushed, “Maybe the king wants her out of his fins. There have been rumors of illegitimate royal offspring in the deep. Abyssals hate mixing blood. Perhaps, she’s one of them.”
“And if you’re wrong? If she’s harmless?”
My mother hesitates, her precise footwork stuttering half a beat.
“What are you hiding?” I whisper.
“Clio saw something, and I’m concerned the princess is…”
“Spit it out, Mother. We don’t have time for games.”
Her fingers press into my back with increasing pressure. “Aris brutally struck her handmaiden.”
I halt our dance. “What?”
“It was in private, during their dance lessons. She struck her cheek. Clio said the girl’s face turned red from the impact.”
“I need a drink.” With a quick bow, I leave my mother to handle the whispering crowd. Let them watch. Blood pounding in my ears, I push through.
Aris will pay for hurting her. I’d drain the sea before I let her touch Enna again.
Enna. Where is she?
I snatch a drink from the table, sipping the foam as I scan the crowd. I ache to hold her, to soothe her, to kiss her where it hurts. But Enna is gone once again. My frustration deepens. My list of duties for the night is complete, save one: find my missing shadow-guard. And when I do, she will never leave my sight again.
A small hand slips around my bicep, and I flex my jaw, bracing for Aris’s nauseating voice.
“I was starting to worry you’d met your quota for dancing tonight,” she says.
She struck Enna with these hands. It takes all my self-control not to slice clean through her wrist.
I extricate myself from her hold on my arm. “I have other duties to attend to.”
“Too busy for your future wife? This doesn’t bode well for us. We’ll be married in five days. Tell me, will you avoid me then?” There, in her eyes, flashes that familiar lust for power.
At first, I categorized that look as one of a younger princess eager for a throne of her own. But with my mother’s words weighing my mind, I study her with a new lens.
She trails her fingers across my chest, smoothing the silk of my shirt. Her touch is gentle. But the look in her eyes—that’s a feeling I’ll never shake.
I lean in close to her ear. “Tell me, Aris. Did you strike her?”
She throws her head back, crooning as if I just told the most ridiculous joke. “Darling, I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”
“The bruise on her elbow. It’s from you.” I curl my fingers around her wrist, and she notes my grip with a flick of her gaze.
“Look at me.”
“She’s still working out her land legs. Poor thing never learned to walk straight.”
“As a royal handmaid?”
Aris squares her jaw. Liar.
I could end her now. Wrap my hands around her throat. Shake her till she admits her fault. Till she screams, as I imagine Enna screamed when Aris struck her face.
But I am the crown prince, and we have an audience. I cannot confront her. Not now.
I release my grip on her wrist.
The scales at the nape of my neck prickle with awareness. I turn away from her, catching a glimpse of a silver skirt, nearly hidden in the dark shadows of a doorway. Enna peers into the room, her gaze assessing me. Her eyes shine in the darkness like beckoning beams, inviting me to a chase.
Found her. The satisfaction of it warms me from head to toe, then twists with a pang of irritation. Why is she over there and not here with me?
And why, when I take a step toward her, does she flinch and drop her gaze? Enna retreats into the shadows, once more slipping out of my sight.
My wicked dancer is afraid of me ? I will not have it.