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So far, I’m not hopeful.
Just as Nor predicted, the servants start sweeping through the room to clear away empty dishes well before I’m finished with my food. The light fixtures on the walls are dimmed so that the unoccupied center of the room is a well-lit focal point, and he pushes his chair away from the table as a voice echoes through the room again. I’m so overwhelmed that I’ve yet to figure out who’s speaking.
“Everyone please remain seated as Prince Nor and his bride make their way to the middle of the hall for their first dance,” the voice says, and I suck on the inside of my cheek.
“I have a name,” I grumble under my breath as I get to my feet.
Nor unclasps the robe from his throat, draping it carefully over the back of his chair, and my eyes instantly scrape over his form. Even without the gaudy accessory, he’s massive, and through his finely pressed clothes, I can tell he’s all muscle.
I take his arm reflexively when he offers it to me, hating how natural the gesture feels already, and let him guide me around the table toward the middle of the room.
“I presume you know how to dance,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear.
With a huff, I fight the urge to roll me eyes at his skepticism.
“Better than you, I bet.” I let my lips move as little as possible when I speak.
Despite everyone being well out of earshot, I don’t like the idea of being watched as we banter. They’re probably judging us and thinking how silly we look standing next to one another.
He laughs, something I didn’t think he was capable of, and as much as I hate to admit it, the sound is better than the music dancing through the air.
“Just follow my lead.”
When we reach the middle of the room, he turns to face me so quickly that I run into his chest. My eyes climb his form and meet his. Ignoring his bullish appearance, his eyes are eerily human. Amber irises set around midnight pupils study me with apprehensive curiosity.
He takes my hand in one of his, and the other slides firmly behind my back, crushing me against him and taking my breath away. Is he always so forceful? I attempt to place my hand on his shoulder, the way I would with any dancing partner back home, but it’s comically out of reach. Instead, I let it rest on his upper arm and hope it’s good enough.
“Don’t step on my dress,” I breathe, already running through all the worst-case scenarios.
“Follow my lead, and don’t get in the way,” he answers, his tone low and serious again.
I open my mouth to argue, but instantly snap it closed again as the music changes to a slower melody. It’s soft and romantic, the antithesis of the minotaur in front of me, but it’s beautiful, something I might have danced to back home.
More gracefully than I would have thought possible, Nor steps to the side, then back, and forward again before spinning me a quarter-turn, and my feet struggle to adjust to the foreign dance. He’s patient and guides me effortlessly, like we’ve done this a thousand times, and I have to admit, I’m a little impressed by him. His strength, his grace. Maybe there’s more to him than I initially thought, and despite his beastly exterior, there’s a charming prince buried underneath.
As we spin around the floor, the crowd around us melts into a blur and I’m able to momentarily forget everything. The arranged marriage. The war. My mission. For a painfully brief minute, I’m able to shrug off the stress of the last few weeks and just live in the moment.
All it takes is one word for the fantasy to shatter.
“Smile.”
We quarter-turn and I cock my head to the side.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“I said smile,” he repeats. “You look like you’re being tortured.”
An angry flame sparks to life in my chest, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Sounds about right.”
He laughs again, and my anger swells. It’s obnoxious how the sound makes my knees weak, when it should make me want to punch him in the face.
“This is hardly torture,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “But we can arrange that, if you’d like.”
More anger. More fire. At this rate, he risks me making a scene like I gave the nobles back home. Consequences be damned, this man irks my nerves to no end.
“You know, I’m not just one of your subjects you can order around,” I say through gritted teeth. My neck is beginning to ache from staring up at him. “I’m not your servant. I’m not your property.”
