“Come.” Nemea took my hand and pulled me toward the dais. His grip was too tight, his body stiff, his long strides plodding. He stepped onto the dais, and I barely cleared the riser after him. Myhand crushed in his grip as he took his ruby-studded goblet and drank. “What more did he say?”
“He complimented my dress.” I fought to give him a warm look. I imbued my voice with as much gratitude as I could, but I did not dare take my hand from his. “He praised the feast. And I agreed. I can’t thank you enough, Your Majesty, for giving the captain and me such a celebration.”
His hold on my hand grew even tighter. The ring Captain Ianto had given me dug into my flesh. “You didn’t truly think all of this was for you, did you?”
I shook my head, trying to keep the pain from creasing my face. “No, of course not, Your Majesty. I only meant to express my gratitude. As you’ve said, I’ve been given far more than I deserve.”
He grunted at that, and my knuckles crunched with the force of his grip. But his voice—his voice was soft as a feather’s touch. “You were meant to defang him, Imogen. To placate him. The last thing I need is a war with that arrogant twit.”
Wet, sticky warmth filled the tight space between my fingers. “You’re hurting me,” I finally whispered.
But Nemea paid me no mind. His attention was now on Captain Evander Ianto, who stood before the dais looking formidable and hopelessly disarrayed. He held his black helmet to his hip. His sand-colored hair was windblown and sweat beaded over his tanned skin.
“There you are,” Nemea snapped. He finally released me, and I curled my fingers into a fist to hide the blood he’d drawn.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Evander bowed. Exertion colored his cheeks. There were clumps of wet sand stuck to his boots. “I got delayed in Port Helris. The ships kept coming and my men needed help.”
Nemea gave him an approving nod. His captain was nothing ifnot a good soldier. “Take her.” He dismissed me with a quick wave of his hand.
My curtsy was deep, reverent. While bowed, I mastered the pain that might have rippled my face before stepping to the edge of the dais. Instead of helping me down, Evander tilted his head back and took me in. He did not look at me like Nemea did, to assess whether I was sufficient. Nor did he look at me in the unsettling way the king of Varya had—haunted, dissecting, and scowling. No, he looked at me with solemn, surprising adoration.
I basked in it. Stared back. I’d always found the captain handsome, with his amber eyes, and the creases ringing them like sun rays. I liked the smatter of light freckles that sat on the bridge of his nose, the exceedingly pleasing cut of his features. The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You look… beautiful.” He let his gaze slink down my body and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And very uncomfortable in that dress.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot dance a reel in it.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll waltz.” He extended a hand to help me down, and when I stood before him, almost chest to chest, I froze. The scent of the sea clung to him. Salt spray coated his armor, his skin, and it wove itself straight into my nostrils. An intoxicating heat rolled through my body, like a wave ravenously lapping the shore.
“I’m not in my fancy clothes,” he said, apologetically. “Would you like me to change?”
My stomach swooped. “No.”
I set my stinging hand in the crook of his arm, and then he began to amble us around the outskirts of the room, watching the revelry with a smirk on his face. I’d known of the captain for years, though we’d rarely spoken. It had been only a fortnight since I’d been told of our engagement, but my tight muscles unspooled at hisproximity. The knot that Agatha’s disapproval had left in my gut loosened, fluttered.
“Shall I guess how many pounds your dress weighs?” he asked.
I gave him a full smile.
He stopped us. “Again.”
“Again, what?”
“Smile like that again.”
Our gazes locked and an ache began in me. I wondered what his touch might feel like. I wondered if his skin tasted like salt. “You’re incorrigible tonight.”
He gave me a wicked look. “Every night.” His warm fingers wrapped around my hand, and I flinched. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a cut.”
He took it and turned it this way and that, inspecting the weeping wound on my middle finger. His brow knit. “How did this happen?”
“It’s nothing. His Majesty didn’t realize…” Evander knelt and stuck his hands beneath the hem of my skirt, where he fumbled with the petticoats. I glanced around the room with wide eyes. “Gods, stand up—”
“Wait.” He looked up at me with a crooked smile on his lips. A quick jerk, fabric ripped. He rose with a strip of white linen pinched between his fingers. “Give me your hand.” Gently, he wound the fabric around the cut. “Can you keep a secret?” he said, his graveled voice filling only the small space between us.
Startled by his question, I looked up into his desperate gaze. I felt as if I were made of secrets. “Yes, I can.”
“If he were not my king…” Evander tucked in the loose end of the linen, then kept my hand in his. “I’d run him through for hurting you.”
