Chapter 17 #3
Finn changed the subject. “And Zachariah’s introduction of you?
‘The sole power to fix the Veil’? Way to keep expectations low.
” That was probably the one thing he could have said to distract me.
Finn continued on, but I didn’t hear a word, the expectations of who I was supposed to be to these people crashing back down over me.
“That’s enough, Finn.” Griff stood at my side, so close his shoulder brushed mine as he exerted slight pressure on my back in comfort. “She gets it.”
Finn fell silent, realizing he’d crossed a line. I was silent, too, thoughts spinning around and around.
How was I going to do anything to make their lives better?
When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Lexie, I’m sorry I—”
“No, it’s fine.” My voice was short but I couldn’t help it. “You’re right. I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s just me against the fate of the world. What could go wrong?”
“You’re not alone,” Griff said firmly, his hazel eyes fully green in this light.
I stared up at him. “Aren’t I? Isn’t that what the prophecy says?”
“The prophecy says a lot of things—about destiny, and what will come to pass. Most of which we don’t understand and probably won’t until after the events happen.
” He had a point there. “But they say nothing about choice. And you, Princess, are probably the most obstinate person I’ve met.
If anyone has the ability to choose their destiny, it’s you.
” His thumb moved almost imperceptibly on my lower back.
“He’s right, Lexie,” Finn jumped in. “Besides, you have us. You have Kaia. Andrei. The soldiers you train with. Hell, even some of these overdressed peacocks would probably fight for you.”
I cracked a grin at that as the musicians started up their instruments.
Finn grabbed my free hand, tugging me away from Griff’s side. He plucked the glass from my other hand and shoved it at his brother. “Come on. The point of you being here is to be seen.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I giggled. “Let’s be seen.”
And with that, he spun me around so that my dress flared out in a spiral of crimson satin. I glanced back to where Griff was standing. He raised the glass to me in a toast, an unreadable look in his eyes before I was lost to the movement of the dance.
Finn was a good dancer, and kept us spinning in and out of the crowd, not holding me gingerly but not too tightly either.
Just enough so that I could follow his lead.
Which was a good thing, because while I’d attended country dances back home on occasion, they were nothing like the practiced movements here.
I had a moment of longing for those simpler times and easy dances, but then Finn twirled me again and kept me moving too quickly to be lost to nostalgia.
When we were both breathless, he took my hand again and led me back to where Griff now sat. Finn collapsed into a chair, grabbing a tankard and downing it, but I stayed standing as I sipped something light and bubbly.
“You don’t dance?” I asked Griff.
He took in my flushed face that probably matched the color of my dress, his eyes unreadable before he stood in a fluid motion. “All you had to do was ask, Princess. I told you I’d dance with you anytime, anywhere.” He held out his hand.
I stared at his outstretched hand. For some unknown reason, it felt like I was balancing on a threshold. This was so much riskier than the dancing we did with blades. I could stay here, safe, or I could take his hand and tumble.
What the hell—it was a party.
When I touched his hand, his rough calluses pressing against the skin of my palm, that jolt traveled up my arm again and rested in the center of my chest. He bowed over my hand and pressed a kiss to my fingertips, and the warmth in my chest spread further.
As he led me toward the floor, he looked over at me again, his eyes soft, a small smile playing on his lips.
When we reached the dance floor, he surprised a laugh out of me by immediately spinning me under his arm in a couple quick turns, my skirts flaring, the gold threads catching the light and glimmering.
His hand settled on my back, mine on his shoulder, our other hands clasped together, as he moved us into the sea of couples.
This was the same way Finn and I had danced, but somehow, everything felt different.
His hand was so large it spanned my lower back.
He was a wonderful dancer—to be expected with how fluid he moved while fighting.
The music stirred my soul, something rising within me to meet it, straining to be given over to the song and the movement.
I found myself grinning as he spun us around and around, weaving in and out of the other dancers.
An answering smile appeared on his face, softening the blank expression he usually maintained.
I felt that warmth bubble up and over and into a laugh, feeling freer than I had in a long time.
His eyes crinkled with a warm smile, and that made my laugh bubble out again.
The song wound to an end, and he slowed our movements.
As the music transitioned from the faster quickstep to a slower waltz, I started to stop, only for him to pull me into a closer embrace, the hand splayed on my lower back an immovable force holding me to him.
He squeezed where our hands were clasped, a question.
I squeezed back, giving him an answer, but to what question, I wasn’t entirely sure.
My palm felt sweaty as he looked down at me with those heart-wrenchingly soft eyes that appeared so rarely, holding my gaze so intently I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.
It was as if I was prey, caught between fight or flight, and he was either my savior or my captor.
“You truly are beautiful, Lexa.” It was said in a whisper, but those words seeped into me, etching themselves on my heart.
He swept us into the music, no longer spinning and twisting, but gliding and floating along in time.
I didn’t know the steps, but one thing I could do was follow a lead, especially since I had been following his lead since I came here.
The whisper of fabric on fabric filled the space between us, my skirts tangling around his formal black trousers with every movement.
Even though the hand on my lower back exerted just the right amount of pressure to lead me through the dance, it felt like a brand.
His thumb traced circles against the satin, so small they were barely perceptible, but I could feel the heat of it burning through the fabric of my dress, causing my breath to catch.
I knew I would feel the imprint of his hand long after he had removed it.
I was dimly aware of the other couples around us pausing mid-step, pretending to adjust their outfits or catch their breath so that they could watch the princess and her Champion.
Whispers rippled around us, like wind through the wheat back home, but I couldn’t focus on anything beyond him.
The way the collar of his formal, white shirt contrasted with his tanned skin.
His ocean scent mixing with the winter pine decorations.
With the eyes of everyone on us, including his brother and my grandfather, it felt like Griff had just staked his claim.
The other dancers began to drift to the edges of the floor, some pretending not to watch, others openly staring, until it was just the two of us, executing the intricate dance.
Even the musicians were drawn into whatever spell had taken a hold of me, unconsciously slowing the tempo.
We were creating a spectacle of ourselves, but I didn’t care. I never wanted this feeling to end.
He swept me through a turn that lifted my feet from the floor and I was levitating, moored solely by his hands on my body.
My bodice pressed against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating through the layers of formal wear, steady and strong.
He glided us through the whole space, leading me in movement after movement, just as fluidly as we did when sword fighting.
But this dance, this waltz, was raising my blood pressure in a different way.
There was something primal about this, something real, as the formality dissolved away, leaving just us.
The noise level in the hall faded until all that remained was the music and the whisper of our movement.
Even the servants had paused their duties to watch.
Glimpses of faces appeared in my peripheral vision, some nodding approvingly, some watching with fascination and envy, some muttering comments to their neighbors.
Finn was watching with a complex expression that I couldn’t quite read as we floated by.
Somewhere in that crowd, I knew Zachariah must be furious.
I was most blatantly flouting his “don’t make a spectacle” rule.
And yet, with Griff’s hands on me, burning through the layers of satin, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
When the dance came to an end, he gently disentangled himself from me, releasing his grip on my back, stepping away just far enough that my skirts swirled once more around my legs and not his, until just our hands were touching.
He turned my hand over and pressed a kiss to my palm.
And then, without meeting my eyes, he released me and walked away.
He didn’t look back.
I knew, because I stood there watching him, adrift after the loss of his anchoring touch. Something monumental had shifted between us. That threshold I’d felt before I took his hand? I had tumbled straight over it and was falling.
Why had he walked away? Where was he going, leaving me stranded here on the floor after such a beautiful, sensual dance? Was he heading back to Aine, whoever she was? Was the dance simply part of his duty as Champion?
Was he that good of an actor, to make it seem so real?
Had I done something wrong?