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He squeezes his eyes shut, chagrin pinching his features and replacing the mocking lilt to his voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
His earnest tone sounds different from the accented one he used before, but I’m too consumed by my ire to dwell on it. I am already failing tonight for reasons I don’t quite comprehend, the prince riling me up easier than any stranger has a right to do.
Then again, he’s not quite a stranger. I’ll be sharing his bed in two nights’ time.
That certain knowledge, coupled with his clear disapproval of me, and Einar’s unexpected arrival roil in my gut until I know that if I stay in his presence another moment, I will take out my deadly fan and lodge it in his throat.
“No, you didn’t,” I interrupt him. “If you’ll excuse me, I really shouldn’t monopolize your attentions this way.” I back away with another graceful curtsy, pretending like we mutually agreed on ending this dance halfway through.
He recovers quickly, bowing in response, a different sort of frown gracing his mouth now. I barely manage to maneuver off the dance floor before he is swarmed by waiting courtiers.
Take him, I want to tell them.I don’t want this anyway.
Any of it.
