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Chapter Forty-Five
Aika
Remy bows at the end of our dance, his eyes refusing to leave mine.
I return the gesture with a curtsy, pulling my dance card from where I had tucked it into my fan, handing it to him to sign.
When his lips part, I wonder if he’s about to begin another string of ridiculous questions, but whatever he was planning to say is abruptly cut off.
My dance card is barely within my grasp when a throng of courtiers surround us, clucking at him like hens for their turn to dance. The one with the mouse mask elbows me hard in the ribs, and I resist the urge to return the kindness.
I flip the dance card irritably through my fingers and slide it back into my fan while Remy is accosted by the sea of women. The woman in the doe mask has convinced him that she should have the honor of the next dance, and the others slowly back away from the couple.
My anger with him is tinged with something more traitorous when he pulls her in close for their dance. He’s whispering into her ear, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes from me.
I should be glad that Mother’s plans are working, that I am succeeding in capturing his attention enough to have him seek me out or to watch me while he’s with someone else.
But everything is tainted here, with him and with me.
With us.
I turn away and head directly for one of the waiters holding a tray of champagne. Eagerly, I take one and have barely pressed the glass to my mouth when a deep, familiar voice sounds behind me.
“I’ll have one as well.”
Seven hells.
I take a breath before turning to face him.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Lady Delmara,” Einar greets me.
“You as well, Your Majesty,” I say, dipping into a curtsy, keeping my interactions formal for the sake of whoever is watching.
“May I have this next dance?” he asks, and I nearly spit out my champagne in response.
Swallowing it down, I shake my head in disbelief.
Of course, he would ask after Mother specifically forbade me to dance with him again.
She isn’t wrong about appearances, given the number of women throwing themselves at the king and the assumption that Remy had made. Still, I wonder once more if there’s something she doesn’t want me to know, something I could learn from him.
Then I’m reminded of the burning in my feet and how much we will all pay if my curiosity got the better of me.
“Forgive me, but I think I need to sit this one out.” I give him a terse nod.
“I think you’ll want to make an exception.” His tone tells me there is more he isn’t saying.
But I can’t afford to find out what it is. Already, heads are turned in our direction, people taking note of our interaction. Of course. Einar is even more eligible than their precious Prince Francis.
“You don’t understand,” I say, glancing toward the crowd.
Einar cuts me off. “That’s where you’re wrong. I think I do understand, more than you’d imagine.” He takes a deep breath, morphing his features into something less intent. “What if we grab a drink instead? Surelyno onewould think anything of that.”
I study his expression, turning over the curious emphasis of his words in my mind. Regardless, he isn’t wrong, and at the moment, we’re drawing more attention standing here than we would if we both happened to be at the bar.
“All right. A drink it is.” I nod tersely.
He follows me over to the less crowded bar, ordering a vintage scotch while I order yet another cinnamon sake.
