Chapter 17 #2
Two fingers found my chin and firmly guided my attention to the sculpted face that was very close to mine. So close that if I leaned forward just a touch, our lips would meet.
“Etarla? Relax. Just move with me,” he said, guiding my hand to his shoulder and grasping my other.
Not just grasping, though, because his thumb swept across the skin there.
Then a big hand slid to my back, and even though there was a sliver of space between us, I realized that this was essentially a hug.
I was hugging Harthon.
Princeps Harthon.
Who would have ever thought I’d be here?
Definitely not me.
“People are staring,” I breathed in panic.
“Trust me, they’re too drunk to process what they’re seeing.”
And I was likely too drunk to dance, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He took a step to the left and I went with him, and then we did it again in the other direction.
“Like that,” he encouraged, his hand applying the slightest pressure to my back as we repeated the motion.
It was as if his touch seared through the leather.
“Step back,” he whispered, and he moved into me before guiding us back and then side to side again, rotating our position.
It wasn’t so bad.
My foot landed on his, and I froze. “Sor—”
He cut off my apology with another combination of steps, as if I hadn’t just stomped on his toes. “You’re doing great. Now step out and spin.” He didn’t really allow me a choice, because he tugged my hand over my head, forcing me into a spin that reminded me of this morning’s training.
“It’s not too different from those evasion moves,” I noted before clumsily crushing his foot once more.
He didn’t say anything, just continued to move us to the melody and brought me into another spin. This time, I stumbled as I turned, but he easily caught me back in his arms, saving my fumble.
“Dancing and fighting have a lot in common,” he said.
I thought back to the battle with the looters. “When you fight, it’s like you’re dancing. No wonder you’re good at this.”
“A good fighter balances strength and grace.”
The dancing was becoming easier, my steps more sure as Harthon followed the music like a map and gently guided me with him. I was as light as air as I twirled again, the wine-fueled fuzziness lifting me high.
“You’re beautiful to watch,” I admitted, belatedly realizing that probably wasn’t something I should tell him. But then he smiled down at me a little, and I didn’t regret it anymore. “How did you get so good at fighting?”
“A lot of practice.”
“Starting when you were a child,” I finished for him, voicing my suspicions without a single hesitation.
Another spin, and then, “Yes, starting when I was a child.”
Woah. He hadn’t told me a detail from his past until now. If not for his sure steps, I’d think the wine was loosening his tongue too.
“Is that good or bad?”
The music slowed slightly, and our pace followed suit.
“I still haven’t decided.”
There was a twinge of regret in his words that threatened my lightness. I didn’t want him to be sad. So I blurted, “Well, I think it’s good, because you wouldn’t be you without it.” Even I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.
“Does that mean you like me?”
“No,” I answered quickly, knowing it was the logical thing to say but not understanding why.
His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “I think that’s a lie.”
“Maybe.”
I watched as his grin widened, transforming all those hard edges into something devastatingly handsome.
I mean, he was always handsome, but smiling Harthon was…
beautiful. The kind of beautiful that was wrapped in those tall mountain peaks and the Domus walls he’d shown me because he thought I’d enjoy the view.
Wild, raw, and more overwhelming than expected.
A few steps later, he brought us to a stop, and I peered up at him in question. A strand of hair dangled in front of my eyes, having come loose from the braid. My breath caught as he released my hand to tuck it behind my ear, fingers trailing lightly over my temple.
He removed his hand from the shell of my ear, only to replace it with his lips, which murmured, “Our dance is done. No one will bother you now.”
Then the musicians started playing again, cuing us to move away. As expected, he guided me back up the stairs, which was good because they were swaying beneath my feet.
When we returned to the table, Ellan, at least seven cups deep in drink, flung his arms around Harthon. “That was beautiful,” he exclaimed without an ounce of sarcasm.
I collapsed in the seat, and as Harthon promised, no more party guests approached.
* * *
You’re beautiful to watch…
Do you like me, Etarla?
No.
I think that’s a lie.
Maybe.
I buried my face in the blankets, wishing the pounding in my head would shatter my brain and knock me unconscious forever.
I was never, ever, drinking wine again.
Apparently, it turned me into an absolute bumbling idiot.
I’d been two sips away from telling Harthon just how handsome and beautiful I’d thought he was in that regal ensemble and crown.
It was a genuine blessing that I’d gotten too sleepy to speak again after our dance and kept my mouth shut as he walked me to the inn and handed me off to Stefano.
When Harthon had told me I’d want to die today, he wasn’t wrong. Death was a far better option than facing him this morning.
I dragged myself out of bed and gulped my second cup of water.
The sun had yet to rise, but I managed to find my clothing in the darkness and get dressed.
Harthon had parted last night by telling me to sleep in and save training for the evening.
We were seeing Josenne today, and it was important that I was rested and sound of mind for that encounter.
As if we were entering a battle, but one of minds.
Shaking out my limbs, I took my fighting stance. Once awake, I could never fall back asleep, so I would use the time to practice my kicks and jabs. If anything, it would strengthen my confidence for the day ahead.
A time later, the sun rose, and a knock on the door thankfully revealed a bright-eyed Stefano rather than Harthon. Though I’d see him soon enough.
“How was the party?” Stefano asked politely, leading me to the inn’s exit.
None of the soldiers had attended, though all of them had been given the option. Wine, copious food, and even half-naked women hadn’t been enough to tempt them into that crowd.
“Well, I managed not to stab anyone with a fork.”
His floppy hair bounced as he trotted down the stairs. “Are the parties really that bad?”
“You’ve never been to one?”
He flashed me a sheepish grin. “I’ve been to our celebrations, and those are fun. But I’ve never come with Harthon to Fifth before, so I’ve never seen Ellan’s parties.”
“How is this your first time here? It’s not like you aren’t good enough at fighting to accompany him.”
The horses waited for us outside, and I caught a glimpse of Harthon saddling his black stallion. The hammering in my skull might have dulled to a light ache, but I still wasn’t ready to face him.
“I’ve ridden with him many times, but coming to Fifth is more of a diplomatic mission. It’s usually better suited for the older men.”
“Clearly, he thinks you’re suited for it too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here,” I told him.
He blushed at the compliment, the reaction completely wholesome.
“You could have gone to the party, you know.”
Scratching his head, he shrugged. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of thing.”
“Which part? The self-righteous guests, the drunken antics, or the beautiful dancers wearing hardly any clothing?”
The red marking his cheeks deepened at the mention of the women. “Uh, probably all of it.”
It was ironic how he could be so deadly in battle but so innocent and na?ve at the same time.
Taking mercy on him, I nudged his arm. “Well, I don’t think anyone should be cut out for that sort of thing. It was torture.”
“I’m sure you handled it well.”
I cringed. Getting drunk, drooling over the Princeps, and throwing intelligence to the wind didn’t exactly qualify as handling it well. “There’s room for improvement.”
“Always is.” He paused, seeming to get lost in my eyes for a moment. Then he scratched his head again. “Well, uh, I should go mount my horse. You probably should too. Harthon’s waiting.”
As much as I wanted to stall further, the dismissal was awkward enough that keeping Stefano any longer would be torture for us both. I spun to see that Harthon was, in fact, waiting on his horse for me, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling just so.
I grabbed the hand he lowered toward me when I approached and ignored the lurch of nausea when I landed in the saddle. I didn’t say a word, not wanting to invite any conversation that would foray into yesterday’s idiocy.
Harthon was the one to break the silence as we left Botton, and it was only to pleasantly say, “Do me a favor and give me fair warning before you vomit. The horse won’t react well.”