“Greaves.” The name sent the guard shadowing him off in another direction. I tried to mask my intrigue. Kallias would send a mere bodyguard after his son?
As the king guided me toward the ballroom’s center, I set my wineglass on a passing servant’s tray. He was leading me to the dance floor—where I’d wait for my betrothed to join me, if he managed to return in time. With jaw clenched, I flexed my free hand, struggling to steady my nerves.
The crowd parted before us, a hush falling over them. My pulse quickened, blood roaring in my ears, drowning out the music as the dancefloor cleared.
The notes blared, almost deafening against the nobles’ murmurs. They watched with eager grins and bright eyes. One misstep now, and my reputation would plunge further into the mire.
Kallias pressed forward without hesitation, heading straight for the cleared floor. My heart slammed into my throat.
“Your Majesty,” I croaked, ashamed of the way my voice faltered.
He dipped his chin, but kept his gaze fixed ahead, as though he were a bull set on the task at hand, intent on charging.
“Am I to share a dance with Prince Tallon?” I whispered. Uncertainty slithered beneath my skin. I despised it—not knowing how to carry myself, or what to expect. The first dance was meant to celebrate our engagement, the highlight of the evening. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me alone on the floor.
Kallias’ cheek twitched—a sharp, subtle movement that revealed his mounting frustration. I sincerely hoped it was not aimed at me.
“I will escort you in his stead.”
A cry of dismay rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back, keeping my expression composed. Once more, the king had to take his son’s place. Was this treaty truly between me and Tallon?
No, it was between Draconia and Radaan. I was Draconis, and Kallias was Radaanian. It was the same.
Except it didn’t feel that way.
“It will be my first Radaanian dance.” I lifted my chin, forcing another smile to mask the ache gnawing at me. “It’s regrettable that you’ve not shod your boots in steel,” I muttered, hoping he was more forgiving than his rough exterior portrayed.
“I fear you’ll not fare any better.” His lips twisted into a slight grimace. “It’s been years since I last danced with a woman.”
The agony in my heart softened a fraction. He wasn’t angry about my bluntness. He understood my discomfort, related to my pain.
I relaxed, the tension in my shoulders easing as he spun me into position. His grip firmed around my hand, holding me at arm’s length. My polite expression trembled and faltered, unable to hold against his severe frown.
He wore the look of a man resigned to his torturous fate.
Poor soul. Cursed to dance with his future daughter-in-law while his bodyguard tracked down his son.
His hair, streaked with silver, framed a jaw set with quiet resolve. Short stubble, gleaming with flecks of gray, dotted his chin. Dark brows dipped over troubled cornflower blue eyes.
I gripped his hand delicately, then lowered myself into a deep curtsy—deeper than I would for Tallon. Kallias demanded more honor from his station. And deserved more respect for attempting to set me at ease.
With a gentle tug, he pulled me closer as the harmony swelled, its rhythm in sync with my thudding pulse. His warm hand rested on my waist, and I shivered at the slight pressure.
His touch felt wrong—searing through the layers of my dress. Another man’s hands on me. Heat flushed my cheeks. I’d danced with other nobles, but always under my father’s watchful eye. Surely, my brother lingered in the crowd somewhere, but I had no idea where. I was on display, the center of attention at high court—dancing with a man who wasn’t my betrothed.
I peeked up at him and tried another shot at humor. “Have you danced with many men in recent years?” My hand settled on his shoulder, searching his gaze for some sign that he understood my good natured intent—that he wouldn’t dismiss me as a foolish girl.
“Who do you think I practice with?”
His grunted response clashed with his frown, and I smothered a genuine grin. He seemed far more unnerved than I. Strange, since I’d only been taught this dance in the privacy of my home, never before in public. Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t dancing with me by choice, but out of obligation.
Music cascaded over the room, stringed instruments singing sweet notes that mingled with the soft rustle of silken dresses and the rhythmic tap of polished shoes. The rich, melodic hum seemed to settle deep within, vibrating through the floor as if the very air were alive with the sound.
“Well, I’ll be living at the palace, in case you haven’t heard,” I murmured. “I’ve been bound to my room all day. Perhaps the next time you need a partner, I can assist you.”
His jaw twitched, teeth grinding as his gaze fixed on my ear. He guided me through the steps in silence, his movements sure but tense. I dropped my focus to the mantle on his overcoat, the golden chains swishing with each step. I matched their rhythm, letting the music wash over me.
Despite his evident unease and my inexperience with Radaanian dances, we flowed seamlessly. He led, and I followed, the steps becoming as effortless as breathing. A quiet reassurance settled in my chest—I was made for this. This alliance was no mistake.
