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“Stop.” She grabbed my arm. However, another hand grabbed her arm much faster, squeezing tighter.
Thelma stared her down, her hand locked so tightly it looked painful. Thelma, with her other hand, reached up and said, “I have a duck.”
I did not know what that meant, but two female guests came forward swiftly, flanking Sabina on each side. However, they looked very familiar. Sadly, I did not have to think about it as everyone’s attention now returned to me.
“We are sorry, Miss Wyntor,” one of the women said, holding her arm. “She is a bit drunk.”
“Odette?” At Gale’s voice, Sabina’s head whipped to him.
Her mismatched eyes were wide. “Ga—Adelaar, it was just a small misunderstanding. I spilled my drink on Miss Wyntor here. I apologize.”
Gale watched her for a moment before shifting his gaze to me. He scanned the length of my dress for signs of a spill but saw none, nor even a cup between either of us. The look on his face worsened. Instead of speaking, though, he reached out his hand for me, and I took it. He smiled toward her and nodded. “Accidents happen. It is fine. Please go ahead with your company. Odette, come, there are some people I wish to introduce you to.”
I let him lead me back up to the palace only because I did not want to insult him publicly. This was crazy. All of this was crazy. Why was I here? Why was I putting myself through these insults? Was it really worth it? I was an heiress. I could marry any Joe off the street and go live a luxurious, grand life on a yacht somewhere, where no one was ignoring, insulting, or pushing me. I could be living a dream without a crown. My father had worked too damn hard in life for me to begin to hate my own.
“Why am I here?” I whispered and paused right in the middle of the greenery.
When he looked back at me, it was clear he heard me, though how he did over the commotion of everything else I was not sure.
But his eyes were filled with shock and hurt as he just stared dumbfounded. He turned and stepped right up to me.
“Gale, there are eyes—”
“You are here because I am here. And you love me.”
“Gale.” I hissed, trying to remind him where we were. But for some reason, he was not paying attention nor seemed to care. So, I tried once more. “Please, people are watching.”
“Let us give them something to talk about then,” he snapped, pulling me to him, and before I could do anything, his lips were on mine.
The queen was going to snip off my fingers.
The press was going to crucify me.
Everyone at this party was witness to this scandal.
He should have stopped, but when I did not kiss him back, he pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me. I was pissed.
One, he destroyed all the effort I had put in for this event. Two, at this moment, the freedom I thought I was finding again vanished as I kissed him back. All of me ached from the press of his body against mine. My fingers tingled, and I could feel the heat rising in my neck. So, when he slowly lifted his head from mine and smiled, I wanted to punch him in the face. He knew the effect he had on me, and he was abusing that power.
“You are here because I am here. And you love me.” He repeated it as if it were law.
And I could not argue or yell in his face like I wanted to as the people around us began to clap.
We pulled back, our hands still linked, though, by his choice, not mine, I might add. Once more, I was forced to nod and smile at the gathering of people who were cheering—up until my eyes connected with the queens. She was not clapping. She was still as stone, glaring with the fury of thousand dead queens.
In the back of mind, all I heard was snip.
