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And then it’s over. The formality is done. I sigh, ready to run to my uncle, to Sigurd, anyone to get me out of here.
But before I reach the bottom step, fae swarm me.
One touches my shoulder. Another asks a question I don’t quite hear. A man with strong perfume looms inches from my face just before another dares to touch my waist.
I’m blocked every way I turn. Their tall forms loom above me. My dress is suddenly too tight, and I can’t breathe. A scream fights against the knot in my throat, aching to break free.
And then the crowd parts.
A soft breeze wraps around me, clearing my lungs and teasing tendrils of my hair that have fallen free.
Sigurd holds out his hand to me. “As my cousin’s mate’s family, and thus my own, I request Wren’s first dance.”
Formal. Indifferent. As if he’s fulfilling an obligation.
But I see it for the saving grace it is.
It doesn’t matter that he barely looks at me as he leads me in a slow dance across the floor. With his arm around me and the hypnotic fae music that sinks into my very soul, I can almost forget where I am.
It’s a pardon from the other fae demanding my attention.
It’s sanctuary, if only for one song.
Uncle Mark claims the next dance. Then Hawke, who is a surprisingly good dancer. By the time Moria steps in to take his place, I’ve finally begun to calm down.
“I thought I’d get some lustful stares for my gown but not for dancing with you.” She winks.
Dancing with a finalist is some kind of honor apparently. Galen and the other finalists have been passed from one partner to the next, though I’d wager most of theirs are not the familiar sort. Galen’s posture is stiff, almost robotic, and the look on his face says he’d rather be anywhere else.
“How long do I have to keep this up?” I ask.
“Oh, not too much longer.” She twirls me around, leading me expertly through the steps.
Good thing, since I have no idea what any of these fae dances are. Some of them seem a little close to dances on the ballroom dancing reality show Gran and I used to watch, but they’re different too—more fluid and natural. Maybe it’s the music’s fault, but I have no trouble following along.
“So, who were you hoping would notice your dress?” I can’t help but glance at the plunging V that—maybe magically—stays in place.
She shrugs mid-move.
“No potential mates?”
Moria snorts. “I do appreciate the male form.” She glances meaningfully at a towering, well-built man at the edge of the dance floor. “But I prefer my conquests on the battlefield. There’s nothing quite like a well-matched duel. Anticipating their moves. Meeting them blow for blow. Working up a sweat.” She spins me again, and when I return, her gaze is far away. Still, she doesn’t miss a step. “There’s a feeling when you finally get an edge on your opponent, find their weak spot, and get them on their heels.” The moan she elicits catches the attention of several onlookers and sets my cheeks aflame. “It is the sweetest ecstasy.”
Right… I fumble a few steps before she guides me back into the rhythm. “Why the dress then?”
“I like the attention.” Another half shrug. “Oh, look at how flush you are.” She gives a dramatic pout. “We fae sometimes forget how much more delicate you humans can be. It would be a pity if you were to faint.” Her pointed look speaks volumes.
Thank you, Moria.
I stumble during the dance, pulling her to a halt with me.
“I’m suddenly… I feel…” The back of my hand finds my forehead as I swoon in a display so dramatic Scarlett O’Hara would be proud.
I let my legs go limp as Moria swoops in with perfect timing to catch me.
Dancers halt mid-step. Fae gasp and clammer toward us.
“Wren?” The concern in her voice is impressive. “Back off, give her space.”
