Chapter 36
Carys
Moments before the Feast, I seriously considered locking myself in my bedchamber.
Surprisingly, Alys never made an appearance beforehand, but thank the gods for Ellynne coaxing me out of my nervous stupor.
Because of her, I manage to put on my best future-heir face and make my grand entrance when expected.
There are even more people than I imagined.
As I descend the stairs, everyone gapes in wonder.
I’m swarmed by admirers as soon as I touch the floor.
Everyone is stunned by Durvla’s handiwork.
I take joy in the yearning glances, and even more joy in the silent disapproval from nobles who need to get off their bloody high horses.
While the food is still being prepared, I’m faced with my suitors one by one. They’re all an absolute bore.
Prince Morand of Caldeon reeks of every flower in existence—as if he bathed in cologne before stepping onto the dance floor.
I greet him by sneezing, and he responds to it by speaking in rapid Caldeon and flamboyantly whipping out an elaborate handkerchief from his breast pocket.
We proceed to dance, and he’s the embodiment of a horse competing in dressage.
I get away from him as quickly as I can.
Lord Bevin of the Outer Isles is probably Ellynne’s age and paler than the bloodsucking Dearg Due of folklore.
But rather than fangs, Lord Bevin is missing two godsdamned teeth, front and center.
I’d have preferred it if they were fangs because I cannot, for the life of me, stop gawking at the gap as we dance.
I reflexively jerk my head away every time he speaks and his tongue snakes through the gap, tossing spittle onto my face.
My impatience has long escorted my conduct to the exit, so I excuse myself with a painful smile and a curtsy.
Only to collide with bloody Lord Jamie.
As I dance with the Duke of Darragh, my stomach is in knots. He’s basically an older version of Wynn—same tan skin, same smile, same gentle mannerisms. It’s disturbing. My face is no doubt red as I avert my gaze constantly and shove away lewd thoughts of everything I’ve done with his son.
I’m ready to call it quits when a low voice sounds from behind me. “May I interpose?”
Jamie stares up somewhere past me before bowing and making a swift retreat.
Prince Odgar takes his place. Like me, he’s in dark colors.
A black suit with what appears to be leather peeking out from beneath his collar.
Four neat braids are attached to his scalp down the center of his head, the sides shaven to reveal multiple whorls and symbols inked into his flesh.
I stare at them as he gives a slight bow.
He steps into my space, one hand clasping mine, the other going around my waist. His callused fingers brush against the valley of open lace at the small of my back. I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the roughness of his skin.
“You seemed bored with your dance partner,” Odgar tells me.
“Absolutely.” I grin at him. “Was it that obvious?”
He twirls me seamlessly, and when I face him again, his rugged smile makes my stomach take a silly little dip. “Painfully so,” he says.
“Well, that’s unfortunate.” We glide across the dance floor. Odgar is unexpectedly light on his feet. “I thought you’d have stepped on my feet about a thousand times by now.”
He grins. “There’s more to me than meets the eye, Princess.”
Obviously … “Don’t tell me the Warrior Prince of Uldarvik takes dancing lessons.”
His face lights up mischievously. “Fine, then I won’t tell you.”
I squint at him, and he winks. I swear my skin heats.
Clearing my throat, I reach up to pinch the leather that’s peeking out from under his collar. “Tell me this, then,” I say. “Are you wearing armor beneath your formal attire?”
He barks out a laugh so sudden and loud that it draws the attention of people around us. Odgar clearly doesn’t care. “I’m always in armor, Princess.”
“Always? Even while you sleep?”
He spins me out and back in again. “Even while I sleep.”
I raise a brow, dubious. Then a playful smile turns up one corner of my lips. “Certainly not while you bathe?”
He grins at me. “You’re just trying to think of me naked.”
I let my eyes roam his broad chest. “I will neither admit to nor deny that statement.”
He dips me and I yelp, making him chuckle. I hold on to him, afraid he’d let me fall to the floor, but he sweeps me up into his arms again and across the dance floor. “You will be more than welcomed in Uldarvik if ever you decide to step out of this castle, Princess.”
“Call me Carys,” I say.
“Carys.” His deep voice reverberates in my chest, and the way my name sounds rolling off his tongue makes my skin tingle with delight.
My lips part to request that he repeat my name—purely to ensure that he says it correctly, of course—but Tiernan rushes from wherever he was standing to where we are now.
Seconds later, he focuses somewhere in the distance, and I follow his line of sight to … Durvla.
She’s leaving tomorrow, and I had Tiernan remain on duty tonight rather than give him the night off. Granted, he didn’t want the night off, but I should’ve insisted.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I tell Odgar. “I need to have a word with my sentry.”
Odgar flourishes, bowing so deeply that the leather armor beneath his shirt creaks. “I’ll be waiting, Raven Princess,” he says.
I hesitate for a moment, questioning the nickname. But then I roll my eyes, even as a smile creeps onto my face. I stride toward Tiernan. “Major Kilkenny?”
He bows slightly to me. “Your Highness.”
“You’re dismissed for the night.”
He blinks rapidly. “I’m—I don’t … what?”
I can’t recall ever seeing him at such a loss for words. “Dismissed,” I repeat. “You’re officially off duty for the night. Change out of your armor and come back. As a guest.”
He balks, battling internally. After a moment, he asks, “Is that an order, Your Highness?”
I scoff at him. “If that’ll get you to shut up and get out of that damn armor, then yes. Also, I have one more order, and it’s nonnegotiable.”