Page 5 of Accidental Alliance

She only holds my gaze from across the banquet hall, her expression composed.

The noise of the room dulls around the edges as laughter turns tinny and far away, and men speaking in low tones about shipments and votes and territory all but vanish.

None of it matters.

Not when her eyes are on me like that, steady and unflinching, fully aware of what looking at me does and choosing to do it anyway.

Then she turns toward her father, leaning in to murmur something in his ear.

Amos glances down at her briefly, too distracted by whatever political parasite is hovering at his shoulder to give her much attention.

He only gives her a brief nod before turning his focus away from her again, and just like that, she slips out from beneath his arm.

My pulse kicks once, hard enough to feel in my throat.

She glides through the crowd without haste, moving as though she is stepping out for a breath of fresh air.

The room moves for her without hesitation, stepping aside as polite smiles are thrown her way.

She leaves no obvious trail of where she is going, yet every instinct in me strains to follow her like a dog that has scented blood.

I wait long enough to know no one is watching, then I go, drawn by the invisible thread wrapped around my neck like a leash.

The corridor beyond the banquet hall is quieter, lined with gilded mirrors and oil paintings of dead men. By the time I find her, the venue feels like another world entirely.

The room she is in has been abandoned.

It is a private sitting room, perhaps once used for receiving favored guests before the main event.

Now it sits empty and moonlit, heavy drapes left half open over floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the gardens at the back of the property.

Silver light spills across polished floors and antique furniture with a cool tone.

Beyond the glass, a fountain glimmers in the center of the grounds, its waters catching the moon and breaking it into a thousand trembling shards.

She stands with her back to the door, unmoving as if she has been expecting me all along.

The door closes behind me without a sound until the lock gives a soft, decisive click against the jamb to announce my presence.

She remains facing the windows, her gaze fixed on the gardens beyond, her arms pulled loosely around her body.

From where I stand, I can see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes, entirely too calm for a girl alone in a locked room with a man like me.

It should irritate me, that calm. Instead, it wrecks me. Fear, at least, would put distance between us. It would keep me in check.

I cross the room slowly, feeling the distance closing like a hand around my throat.

My shoes make no sound against the rug, but she must sense me anyway the same way she had back at the banquet hall.

I stop a few feet behind her, close enough to smell her perfume.

“Running from the old men already, Principessa?” The endearment slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I almost curse myself for the weakness of it.

It is ironic, really, that the name has always stuck when Isabella is anything but fragile.

She is no sheltered doll to be placed on a shelf and admired from a safe distance.

There is steel in her.