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“The future queen,” I answer, lifting my glass as the four of us gather close, crystal chiming softly as we clink our chalices together.
The wine is sharp and sweet on my tongue, the moment bright and foolhardy—like we’re daring fate to listen in.
Two hours later, my feet ache from standing all night in these dreadful heels as I watch Riven slowly make his way through the eager line of potential brides.
One by one, he claims them for a dance—always courteous, always composed—while our little quartet lingers together at the edge of the ballroom.
Daphne keeps up a steady stream of commentary, Miriya claps and cheers whenever Riven lifts his partner into the air in one of the dances we learned during etiquette lessons, and Elle watches with sharp, calculating eyes.
By the time the king finally crosses to her, her lips curve into a knowing smile.
“Told you,” she says under her breath, her voice low but triumphant as he extends his hand. “The last dance is always more important than the first.”
She floats into his arms, radiant, leaving the rest of us in her wake.
Riven’s gaze meets mine, and it’s dull, as if every encounter since ours has dimmed his shine, like each step since has been a performance, not a pleasure.
I try to smile along with Miriya and Daphne, but my chest feels knotted. I can’t stop replaying the way Riven appeared out of nowhere to cut in on my dance with Arkyn, like he couldn’t stand to see me in someone else’s arms.
Why?
Why interrupt us at all?
The question gnaws at me as the music swells and Elle spins across the floor, exactly where she wanted to be all along.
I can’t watch this anymore.
“Gods,” I blurt out, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night. I’m going to retire to my room.”
“Sleep sounds so divine right now,” says Daphne, stifling a yawn. “I’ll come with you.”
“Seriously?” Miriya laughs. “The night is still young, and you’re both just going to leave me with the wolves?”
“Shouldn’t you be used to that?” Daphne teases.
Miriya sticks out her tongue, and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles.
I take that as my cue to wave goodbye and slip from the ballroom. I’m halfway to the door when a thin arm loops through mine, and Daphne’s beside me, guiding us through the crush.
In the hallway, I take a sharp right.
“Our rooms are this way, Gwyn,” Daphne says, pulling me to an abrupt stop.
Shit. The brides are all staying in the west wing.
I blink a few times as if I’m disoriented or had too much to drink. “This palace is a maze, I swear.”
Not quite a lie. It is a maze, but it’s one I know by heart.
“It really is. Thankfully, I haven’t had that much to drink tonight,” she says, dragging me along. “I’ll get us to where we need to go.”
Ten minutes later, she deposits me in front of my fake suite and we say our goodnights.
I wait half an hour just in case she comes knocking and then slip into the staff corridors, replaying the night’s events with every step.
The alcove.
The interruption.
