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And when the music finally slows, it’s Riven who bows to me.
Riven lifts from his bow just to stride from the dance floor and to his throne atop the dais at the far end of the room.
I’m following him when Miriya and Daphne throw themselves in my path, squealing with joy.
“Gwyn! I think you’re his top choice,” Daphne says, bouncing on her feet and sloshing wine out of her chalice, “and I’m not even mad about it.”
“By Dagny, Miriya, I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching for her hands. “I had no idea he’d cut in like that.”
Except that doesn’t feel entirely truthful. Arkyn told me outright that Riven doesn’t like to share. Did I only agree to dance with him because deep down I thought—no, hoped—Riven would see and interrupt us?
Miriya pulls me into a fierce hug. “Don’t you dare apologize.” She releases me, keeping a light grip on my arms. “You don’t control the whims of the king, and as long as he follows his heart, his choice will be what’s best for his people. If that’s not me, I’m fine with that.” She casts a nervous glance over my shoulder. “Lyrielle, on the other hand…”
“Currently glaring daggers?” I ask.
She cringes. “Is there a step above glaring daggers?”
“Plotting murder?”
Daphne snaps her fingers and takes a sip of wine. “That’s it. That’s the look.”
The three of us dissolve into giggles.
Miriya leans in conspiratorially. “Why don’t we invite Elle to join us and gush over how stunning we all look?” Her gaze drifts downward, snagging on the embroidery along my skirts. “Wait—” She crouches slightly, tracing one of the intricate floral patterns with her finger, lips pursing like she’s solving a puzzle. “This isn’t from Thistle and Thread. Did you get it from Gild the Lily?”
“Um…” I wrack my brain for an answer, heart skipping. “Maybe? It was a boutique in—”
“Aeviternal?”
Considering Quill has a home there, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched to assume Rory sourced my gown from one of the city’s boutiques. And if I sound confident enough, maybe she won’t ask further.
“Yes! How’d you know?” I ask playfully.
“My cousin owns that shop.” Miriya straightens, beaming from ear-to-ear, proud as if she’d made the dress herself. “I’d recognize her work anywhere.”
Relief loosens my shoulders.
“Well, your cousin is incredibly talented,” I tell her.
“That she is.” She snags two glasses of wine from a passing staff member, handing me one with a little flourish. “Should we toast?”
“To your cousin?” Daphne asks, brows knitting together.
“No,” Miriya says with a laugh. “To...”
“...the future queen?” I suggest.
“Yes!” Daphne blurts, delighted. “Just let me grab Elle.”
She spins on her heel, rushing over to where the siren leans against a column, sipping wine, with her gaze fixed on the king and his throne.
Daphne grabs Elle’s hand and tugs, leading her over to us.
“What is it?” Lyrielle asks, extricating herself from the nymph’s grip.
“We’re toasting,” explains Miriya.
She cocks her head, curious. “To...?”
