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“Apparently so…”
He watched as she folded away the blade beneath her skirts.
“It’s a lovely dress,” he remarked. “Where did you get it?”
“Payment,” she said, “for watching your sorry ass these past two weeks. Almost worth it.”
“Your concern is, as ever, touching…” He whisked her out of the way as a couple of drunken mermen, stomping on their borrowed legs, came barreling past. “I thought you’d be better at dancing.”
Juliana’s grip on him tightened, and she twisted him round in three circles and stopped shortly. “Iamgood at dancing,“ she said. “I am just not so good at being led.”
Hawthorn grinned, flinging her in and out of his arms in a sharp, fluid movement, and dipping her towards the floor. Juliana stomped on his foot with the heel of her gold sandal, twisting him over and jerking them back together.
“I can’t tell if we’re dancing or fighting,” he said, his grin widening. “I like it.”
Juliana’s scowl darkened, her chest heaving against his. Her legs marched them across the dancefloor. “I hate it.”
“Then stop.” He twirled her under his arm. “There’re no winners in a dance.”
Evidently, this was not a statement Juliana agreed with. Her movement grew slicker, sharper, faster, as if she were trying to trip him up. It didn’t work. Hawthorn had put almost as many hours into dance practise as she’d put in with a blade. His balance was unparalleled.
“Give up?” he asked.
“Never,“ she snarled.
A shadow cut across them both. “My, my, my son. Do save some of that energy for your fianceé.”
Hawthorn dropped away from Juliana. “With all due respect, Mother, Serena and I have yet to come to any kind of understanding, seeing as we just met.”
“Then perhaps you better invest a little more time in getting to know one another.” Her curt look disappeared the minute her eyes settled on Juliana. “The dress becomes you, child. I knew the colour would suit. Your mother wore a very similar one when she was here.”
Juliana froze. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The Queen swept away.
“My mother bought you the dress?”
She nodded.
Hawthorn didn’t know what to make of that. He found himself strangely irked by the idea.
A second later, he saw that Serena had returned, and swept away to join her.
The evening wore on. He tried not to think any more about Jules or the dress, but both thrummed in his mind all night. Even in the glistening sea palace, the warm mint of her dress seemed to blaze.
It didn’t matter that Serena was a fine partner, as light as air, soft as a moonbeam.
He wanted the cold fire back.
He lost sight of Juliana at one point, which was just as well. But his eyes did catch on a couple of merrows by the punch bowl, stirring something white and creamy into the concoction and giggling.
He stopped his dance, pointed out what was happening to Serena, and marched towards them. “What are you doing?”
The merrows laughed. “A little harmless fun for our mortal guests,” explained one.
Hawthorn had no sword to draw, but he came close to summoning fire. “I require further explanation.”
“It’s a truth serum,” giggled the other. “Makes them instantly drunk and bypasses any wards they’re wearing. Completely harmless.”
