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The first song, according to Jonas’s block, is the minnow. Ophelia leaves nothing to chance. The dance floor is full but not crowded. And from the far wall, it’s easy to spot the two of them. Nico with his dark hair and features, hers so pale. The music begins. And I’m counting the steps for her in my head as if she can hear me. But instead it’s only me who can hear.
“Her dances are full. Not a single break. The poor little human is going to be exhausted,” an older male says behind me.
“Do you blame them? If what they say is true, those who never thought they could mate will have a bed with a female.”
“And when the commander is gone, and the grand dame duchess paid, she’ll be prime for any dome.”
I grip my fists, my nails cutting into my palm. I exhale. Ophelia wants Annabelle for one of her own sons, not to be sent off to another dome. Just because it’s said doesn’t make it true.
“She’s lovely.” I recognize the voice as a friend of Druin, Castor’s papa. “The Drakos don’t need to sell favors. They have plenty of gold.” Druin raises his glass.
The older Permula shakes his head. “But I wouldn’t put it past them if it brought them more power. I don’t see how it couldn’t.”
Druin walks away from the old man, and I move along the side of the room too. Belle really is lovely. She’s doing the dance well enough. But with her hair bouncing along with other things, no one is watching her missed steps.
The music crescendos and stops. Nico pulls her into his arms and kisses her. It happens with newly mated couples. Public displays of affection are common. But everyone’s eyes are on Annabelle. When the kiss breaks, she gives him a final hug before turning to the partner waiting for her, a Vitrom dome male with brown hair. He’s tall and lanky, and if Nico bumped into him wrong, the male would break in two. It makes me wonder why Ophelia would choose such a male for Belle’s first dance.
Halfway round the room, I’ve discovered that people are talking less about Belle and more about the trial and what the commander’s fate will be—and if they will let Belle mate before they execute him. The death of my friend is sealed in the minds of most of the masses.
The third dance isn’t much better for Belle, and her dance steps are all over the place. But Kai is staying near Belle, and for the most part she’s getting by. When a male of fifty comes for her hand, Belle steps back, and I’m ready to charge across the room. But he’s introducing his son. Parents can be so odd. But the male glides Belle across the floor like she knows what she’s doing, and for the first dance since Nico, the pained look on her face is gone.
When I’m most of the way around the room. I find Nico standing by himself in his typical pose, arms crossed, scowl in place.
“If you’re trying to find her another mate,” I say, “you might want to stop looking at the suitors as if you’re going to show them the sharp end of your trident.”
“I might.” He holds his block out for me to see. As a mate, he can veto any partners. So can Belle, as far as that goes. A mermaid doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. The list of names gets more complicated as the evening progresses, with the serious candidates at the end of the evening.
“Ophelia has a plan.”
“Certainly. Look who’s after her drink break.”
“Eros Herod.” I stare at the floor. “This isn’t the right time to tell you this, but he was the one who gave me a ride back to Glyden after the docking ceremony. He’s rather intent on meeting her. It looks like he’s found an in. Are you going to veto him?”
“I’ve had my hand on the button.” Nico shakes his head. “But he’s got connections. And if I’m gone, he can protect her. We have our history, but that’s between us. He’s too close to the government. As long as she’s in Glyden, you’ll be there to make sure she’s safe. And Castor’s doing his job?”
I nod. Because while Castor is destined to be king, that doesn’t mean he’ll live in Glyden forever. I can’t think of a single mermaid he wants in Glyden. Well, maybe one. The same one I want to wait to have me when she can bring ageminaeinto her pod.
21
Annabelle
My armpits are sweating, and I’m convinced this dress is made out of gold for the effort it takes to swing it right and left. I’m on my third round of small talk, or is it fourth? While my partners are up to idle chatter, I’m not. I’m hearing the memory of Castor counting in my head. His breath on my neck. Nico holding me from behind. I don’t want to touch anyone but them.
“You’re doing wonderfully.” My partner is tall, with thick dark hair that waves like a stylist put every follicle in order. He smells of rich earth cologne. Any girl would be a fool to not look into his deep green eyes and become immediately smitten. I, however, am not a fool. If I didn’t know that before last week, it’s being beaten into me with each note the French horn plays. I still haven’t seen Castor. But Nico. Nico is there, arms crossed, glaring. I have a feeling if I so much as frown at my dance partner, he’ll drop them before the music ends.
I search the crowd for any signs of Castor or Holter. It takes me a while. Holter is near the wall. He smiles when he sees me looking. I want to wave, but dark and handsome has us twisting away to the other side of the room. This dance is called the octopus, and the handsome male in my arms reminds me of James Bond. I crack a smile. I’ll have a James Bond marathon when I get home.
Home. It’s getting harder to remind myself of it.
He leans into my ear and whispers, “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“Oh, yes. You’re a clever dancer.”
“And you are... lovely.”
I roll my eyes, because James here is doing his best. And I’m not going to burst his bubble.
The music ends and we bow. “I hope to see you again. I’m at your beck and call.”
