Chapter 68- princess #3
Her attention remained on the dancers.
She sipped.
I watched the crowd.
No visible threats.
Too many hidden weapons.
Three foreign guards near the western doors.
Two Elysian guards watching them.
Elias had doubled the servants along the walls.
The musicians were positioned too close to the northern exit, though not enough to create a blockage.
"Achille."
I looked toward Ophelia.
She was smiling.
Not politely.
Dangerously.
"I want to dance."
I looked toward the floor.
Then back at her.
"Very well."
Her smile widened.
She lifted the glass.
Drank the rest.
All of it.
Without pause.
I stared.
My wife did not drink often.
That did not mean she could not drink.
The first time I watched her finish an entire bottle of wine without losing the ability to walk, I assumed something was wrong with the wine. Elias informed me Kyrians treated alcohol less like a beverage and more like a cultural challenge.
Ophelia lowered the empty glass.
I lifted mine and took a small sip.
Only a small one.
She looked at the glass.
Then at me.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You are doing that on purpose."
"I do not know what you mean."
She rolled her eyes.
Then took my glass from my hand.
I allowed it.
She finished it.
Placed the empty glass onto the tray of the nearest passing maid.
Then took my hand.
"Come."
It sounded like an order.
I looked down at our joined hands.
"You are becoming commanding."
"You like commanding."
"Only when I am doing it."
"That sounds like a personal problem."
She pulled me toward the dance floor.
People moved aside immediately.
Not subtly.
The space opened around us as though the court feared being caught too close when the emperor attempted normal social behavior.
I noticed.
Ophelia noticed me noticing.
"Do not glare at them."
"I am not glaring."
"You are."
"This is my face."
"Make a different one."
"I have limited options."
She laughed.
The sound drew more attention than my title had.
I placed one hand at her waist.
She settled hers against my shoulder.
The musicians adjusted the rhythm.
Around us, nobles began moving again, though they left enough space that no one risked stepping near Ophelia's gown.
I led her into the first turn.
Court had taught me to dance before it taught me to read military maps. Dancing was politics made physical. Every step measured. Every touch controlled. Distance communicated familiarity. Eye contact communicated favor. Partners were chosen for reasons rarely connected to affection.
I had danced with queens I disliked.
Princesses I did not trust.
Daughters of nobles attempting to purchase influence through proximity.
I had never enjoyed it.
Until Ophelia.
She followed easily, her body warm beneath my hand. The wine had placed color in her cheeks. Candlelight caught the blue stone in her ring each time our hands moved.
"You look miserable," she said.
"I am dancing."
"That does not answer me."
"I dislike crowds."
"I know."
"I dislike celebrations."
"I know."
"I dislike most of these people."
I looked at her.
The room became less important.
The music softened around the edges. The court remained, of course. Watching. Calculating. Remembering every movement.
For once, I did not care.
I tightened my hand at her waist.
She smiled.
Then rested her head briefly against my chest as we continued moving.
The court would discuss it.
They would call the gesture intimate. Improper. Romantic. Strategic. Proof that the Elysian emperor had softened. Proof that the Kyrian queen controlled him. Proof of whatever story suited them best.
They could believe what they wished.
I had spent my childhood learning how to exist beneath their eyes.
How to hide pain.
How to command before my voice finished changing.
How to make every expression unreadable.
No one had taught me how to stand in the center of a crowded room with my wife in my arms and permit myself to be happy.
That, I had learned from her.
Around us, the ballroom glittered with crystal and gold. Kings drank beneath imperial banners. Queens whispered behind jeweled fans. Nobles turned in carefully measured circles beneath chandeliers Elowen had spent the entire afternoon trying to steal.
Tomorrow, I would return to the council chamber.
Ophelia would return to her ledgers, inspections, petitions, and the thousand invisible duties that kept the palace functioning.
The private wing would remain guarded.
The nursery would remain protected.
For six months, the world had narrowed to one wing of the palace. Two cradles. Sleepless nights. Bottles warming by the fire. Ophelia's laughter in the nursery. Elowen's delighted cries. Lysandra staring at Elias as though planning his downfall.
Tomorrow, the doors would open.
Duty would return.
The empire would begin demanding pieces of us again.
But tonight, Ophelia danced in my arms.
Our daughters slept safely only a few corridors away.
And for the length of one song, I allowed the crown to belong to someone else.