“Come, beloved,” she said. “It’s time for our dance.”
“Ah yes, dance, of course you must.” Farin rapped Samson on the back. “Sweep her off her feet, boy.”
“Of course,” Samson said through tight lips.
Elena shared a look with Leo, and he gave her an encouraging nod, as if to say,I’ll handle him.
“Enjoy your dance, young ones,” Farin said, and he bowed, gears whizzing and whining the brutal song of a body forced into mutation.
Elena took Samson’s hand and led him to the ballroom floor. Other couples acknowledged them with bows and curtsies, clearing the space for them. When they reached the center, she turned to Samson.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“Just dance with me,” Samson said and took her hand. He placed the other on the small of her back and drew her close. She could smell cologne on his collar, see a flake of stray kohl on the top of his cheek. But his eyes did not meet hers. He looked over her shoulder to where the kings stood.
“You’re glowering,” she whispered and felt his hand tense.
“If there’s war against Jantar, what will you do?” he asked. The question took her by surprise as the musicians plucked the tune of the Phoenix dance, a fusion of Ravani sarangi and sitar with tabla and pakhawaj. The harmonium sounded as her guru, dressed in a fine chiffon sari, sang the tune.
She missed the first beat, stumbling over his feet. Samson quickly turned her so now she could see Farin over his shoulder.
“If peace talks fail,” he said, his breath tickling her ear, “how far are you willing to go to win the war?”
Elena glanced at his face, and there was a cold, calculating look in his eyes that she had never seen before. His hand tightened around hers. “How far, Elena?”
“Far enough to protect my kingdom,” she said, eyeing him.
They twirled across the floor as onlookers watched. Samson held out his hand, and she dipped underneath his arm. She spun behind him, her hand slinking across the small of his back as he drew her back in.
“Just yours?” he asked.
“I only have one,” she said. “What’s the meaning of all this, Samson?”
But his dark expression was gone, replaced by an easy smile. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I meant nothing by it. Farin just unnerves me sometimes.”
She nodded, though she could not shake off the unease snaking through her. “We will attempt peace first, Samson. We must. If we go to war now without proper cause, the other kingdoms will abandon us.”
“Of course.”
The guru sang higher, the beat quickening. They fell into the rhythm of the dance, their feet skipping over the floor as roses shed their heady scent. Samson twirled her, and her skirt flared like the petals of a lotus.
“Though first, I have to get him drunk. I can’t let him think he can drinkmeunder the table.” Samson grinned.
“Oh really?”
“It’s serious work,” he said as she turned back into him.
“Am I to marry a drunk?” she teased.
“No, but as the first decree of our reign, we will order barrels and barrels of wine. Mountains of them.” He grinned. They swayed, and his hand dropped back down to her waist. “And we’ll ship them out to Farin so he and his metal friends will drown in it.”
She bit back a smile. “Attack by wine is your master plan?”
“The most refined type of subterfuge,” he said, and this time she actually laughed. It surprised her. After Ferma’s death, she had not thought it possible to laugh again. She still didn’t.
The music swelled, nearing the end of the dance, as Samson spun her out and held out his arms. When he nodded, she leapt into his embrace, spreading her arms as he lifted her into the air. Slowly, they turned. But his hands were too hard, his nails digging into her skin. Elena flinched in his hold and tried not to wince, tried not to think of how Yassen, when he had held her, had been careful, gentle. But then Samson set her back down as the onlookers clapped.
Elena stumbled back and then corrected herself, managing a smile as Samson caught her eye. They bowed as the music slowed. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her waistline.
