Chapter 5
The journey home to Islandria was awash with warmth, from the sunlight spilling over the sea to the wind tangling my hair and Father’s words warming me more than any cloak.
“You’re a treasure, Truly,” he said with rare, unguarded pride. “Any father would be privileged to have you for a daughter.”
That same glow followed me into the castle, where Comfort and Mother had promised that our safe return must be celebrated with both a feast and a ball.
By evening, the palace had transformed into a world of music and fragrance.
The royal orchestra’s bright, nimble melodies spilled down every marble corridor, mingling with the mouthwatering scent of roasting meats and fresh breads that teased us for hours before the feast began.
Comfort swept into my chambers and insisted on choosing my dress—something pale and soft, with sleeves like clouds—and setting my hair into intricate coils I could never have managed alone.
Mother even permitted me to dip into her carefully guarded collection of cosmetics, the powders and paints imported from distant coasts.
I applied them with careful, reverent hands, as though each dab might disappear if I breathed too hard.
When the feast began, the long tables groaned under their bounty.
There were dishes of roasted deer, pickled herring, smoked cod glistening with lemon oil, mounds of saffron rice, delicate quail eggs, and, crowning it all, the bright, jeweled fruits of Avivia we had carried home with such care.
Comfort and Mother nibbled in their corseted restraint, each bite dainty enough to make a songbird proud.
I, however, was hungry enough to match Father bite for bite and almost kept pace with Curtis, though no mortal could truly rival his appetite.
After the last course, chairs scraped back, and the slow migration began toward the ballroom.
King Edmont offered his arm to Queen Evelyn, their stately procession drawing every eye.
Father and Mother followed, hands intertwined, eyes locked in that warm, unshakable devotion the court never tired of envying.
Comfort’s admirers clustered like bees at a blossom, each vying to claim the first dance.
She chose a broad-shouldered squire whose chest puffed like a victorious rooster as he led her away.
Prince Hubert, immaculate and cold as carved ice, claimed an earl’s daughter with equal absence of expression.
I wondered—did he think of his betrothal as he danced? Did any of these laughing girls know?
I moved to follow the stream of guests into the ballroom, but a familiar arm blocked my path.
“My lady,” Curtis said with mock solemnity, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Embarrassed but secretly pleased, I accepted his arm.
The ballroom glittered like something out of a storybook.
Its wide marble floor glowed under the chandelier’s hundred candles, the gold and crystal catching each flicker of light.
The air was alive with rustling skirts, the hum of strings, and the lingering perfume of sugared confections from the dessert tables along the wall.
Curtis and I had danced at dozens of balls before.
In the past, we had usually only engaged in wild, laughing sprints across the floor during the fastest reels, ending in dizzy collapses and sore feet.
But tonight, we danced to both brisk and slow measures, falling easily into conversation.
I told him every detail of Avivia and he countered with stories from his role as Commoner’s Ambassador.
“Do you ever wish you’d been given a different position?” I asked.
“I can’t imagine a better life,” he answered with a quick grin. “I can help people who truly need it, and I don’t have to act like Prince Stuffed Head.” His chin jerked toward Hubert, whose stiff steps and distant expression could have been carved from marble.
“What is the worst part?”
He considered, then his smile brightened.
“Recently, I was at a northern seaside village. There was a family with a dog that could’ve passed for a bear; it was massive.
Anyway, it didn’t like me for whatever reason.
I had to climb a tree and wait until they called it away, but it managed to jump up and rip a hole in my pants first.”
The image of Curtis clinging to a branch while the dog snapped at him sent me into a helpless fit of giggles.
“I like making you laugh,” he said softly.
I squeezed his hand. “I like when you do.”
We fell into a comfortable silence, watching the swirl of other couples.
Mother’s head rested on Father’s chest; his cheek against her hair, his eyes full of that same adoration I was sure he had worn on their wedding day.
Comfort was radiant and changed partners often but favored her chosen squire.
Hubert cycled through partners without a flicker of warmth.
“I didn’t know Hubert was betrothed,” I blurted.
“Oh, yeah. Him and Aria,” Curtis replied, unruffled.
“You knew? And you never told me?”
“What, are you interested in him?” he teased.
“Don’t be absurd! But Aria was asking about him and I didn’t even know I was talking about her future husband!”
“She’s met him. She knows.”
Still. The thought lingered. I wanted to ask Curtis if he was betrothed, but the question felt far too forward for just friends. Yet my mind spun with the vision of him whisked away to marry some joyless princess who would never understand the gleam in his eyes when he told a joke.
“Who decides betrothals?” I asked instead.
“The Council.”
My heart sped up. I couldn’t not ask. “Are you betrothed?”
He grinned. “Nope. I’m a free agent. It’s one of the many perks of not being first in line.”
Relief washed over me so strong I almost laughed aloud. The ballroom immediately seemed lighter and the music brighter.
“Does Hubert even care?”
“About being betrothed?” He shrugged. “I have no idea. We don’t have late-night brotherly chats. Isn’t that more of a sister thing?”
I pictured Curtis and Hubert clutching pillows to their chests, whispering and laughing into the wee hours of the morning. The image was so impossible my brain gave up halfway.
The candles burned low, and Curtis finally walked me to my family’s quarters. The muffled music and laughter faded behind us.
“Your dancing has improved,” I teased. “My feet aren’t even sore.”
“And you,” he said, “have always been a good dancer. I’m fortunate every time I partner you.”
At my door, he took my hand, bowing with exaggerated formality before brushing his lips across my knuckles.
“Lady Truly,” he murmured, “until tomorrow.”