Her father’s brows rise. “Yes and no,” he admits. “I hated it when I was younger.”
“What changed?”
“I met your mother,” he says with a rueful laugh. “And I realized sometimes people stare because they like what they see.”
Rapunzel finds Eugene in the crowd again. His eyes are still on her. The knot in her stomach dissolves into pleasant butterflies. “Oh.”
Then she’s spinning again, and if she lets the faces and lights blur, she can almost believe she’s back in the boat last month, swaying on the bay in the galaxy of lanterns. For a few more breaths, it’s just the box step and twirl, back and forth, left and right and spin, and then—
The music sweeps to a grand finish. The king lets her go with a smooth bow, and this time, when she curtsies, her knee doesn’t falter at all.
“Well done,” he says as the ballroom rings with polite applause. “It’s all easy sailing from here, so go have fun.”
For exactly four and three quarters of the next dances, the king is right.
She dances with an earl, a councilor, the mayor, a brigadier general, and now jolly old Duke Louis of Maenvale. He’s spent most of the lively gavotte extolling the virtues of his nephew’s vineyards. All Rapunzel knows about wine at this point is that it typically comes in red and white, but the duke is delightedto carry the conversation himself, and she can smile and nod and concentrate on the footwork.
And then they enter the final turn.
“…unless it comes from the Campina region, otherwise it’s just sparkling wine,” the ruddy-faced duke is saying. Then: “I say, what an extraordinary brooch, Your Highness.”
“Brooch?” Rapunzel looks down at her bodice.
There’s a coil of gold there, one she doesn’t remember pinning on. Just as she registers the pebbled surface, Duke Louis adds, “I can’t believe I didn’t spot it before. Is it a…dragon?”
“Pascal,”Rapunzel gasps. The duke blinks at her, bemused. She hastily fibs: “The jeweler! Her name was Pascale.”
“Wonderful craftsmanship,” says Duke Louis with a stout nod.
The gavotte bounces to an end. The duke bows and steps away. Rapunzel hisses, “Pascal, wetalkedabout this! You can’t be here!”
The chameleon cracks an eye open and lets out a stubbornbihrrrr.
“May I have the next dance, Your Highness?”
Of all the people here that Rapunzel doesn’t want seeing her talk to herself, Minister Cressien is probably at the top of the list. Minister Cressien is one of her parents’ most trusted advisors. Minister Cressien is in all things composed, polished, and unflappable; tonight, his peacock-blue velvet doublet perfectly sets off his cool brown complexion, the silver trim precisely calculated to complement his short-cropped gray hair. MinisterCressien, it is rumored, has been summoned for emergency meetings in the middle of the night and never answered the door in anything more casual than a three-piece suit.
And Minister Cressien, in particular, looked like he’d found a snail in his salad the moment her parents introduced her to their council of advisors.
“O-of course,” she stammers, her swift curtsy teetering precariously.
When she straightens, the minister has already risen from his bow. A dour pinch to his line-framed mouth defies the merry bourrée now soaring from the orchestra. The contrast is even starker as they skip sideways and back, his long silence making her wonder if he’s spied Pascal after all. But when Rapunzel sneaks a look, the chameleon is gone.
“I understand you’ve”—Minister Cressien glances down briefly—“accustomed yourself to shoes.”
In fact, the slippers may be giving her blisters. Rapunzel can’t help an awkward giggle as she tries not to panic. “It’s, uh, a work in progress, I guess?”
“Mm.” The minister’s slender mahogany fingers close around hers as they move forward one step, two, three. “I would encourage that progress to continue, Your Highness.”
They let go and face each other again. Rapunzel’s hands slip on the silk of her skirts as she briefly fans them out.Wheredid Pascal go? “I’m—I’m planning on it.”
Cressien fixes a grave hazel stare on her. “As minister of diplomatic affairs, I have found that the key to understandingis a common language, not just in words, but in deeds. Every member of nobility speaks etiquette. It would be in your best interests, Your Highness, to strive for fluency.Quickly.”
Rapunzel isn’t even sure how to respond to that.
The words evade her entirely, though, when she realizes Pascal is now clinging to the front of the minister’s velvet doublet.
“I—I agree.” She falters, trying not to gawk at the chameleon. “I would hate to beseen”—Rapunzel leans onseenas a load-bearing warning to Pascal, and his hide shifts to match the doublet’s deep teal as she tries not to frown—“as a stepbackfor my family.”
