Aristea kept the smile and moved to the next group, those who supported her mother. They were younger dukes who’d never fought in the war but had inherited titles and loyalties from their fathers.
“My lords,” Aristea greeted them.
They, too, exchanged brief pleasantries before they drifted away with thin excuses. Her stomach sank. If even her mother’s allies wouldn’t speak to her, then she had made a grave mistake coming out. Or was the wind of change blowing and rebellion stirring? The thought made her heart race, and rather than stand and allow the storm cloud of thoughts to gather, she kept moving, weaving through the crowd, greeting guests, with no destination in mind until her path dead-ended at the buffet table, but she had no appetite. Everyone seemed to be standing away from her—perhaps deterred by the veil obscuring her face, or perhaps by nefarious plots to remove her and her mother from the throne. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt tight in the way it had when she and Heinrich would fight, and he’d call her hysterical.
She couldn’t have an episode here in front of everyone. The shame would be too much to bear.
It’s because without me, you have nothing. Do you think they’ll let you rule, over your brother? the Heinrich in her mind mocked her. She shook off the specter of her deceased husband and turned from the banquet table, searching for the exit, but the room blurred around her. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and she feared she might faint here in front of all these people. Aristea gripped the banquet table behind her, bracing herself to catch her breath.
“Your majesty?” A soft voice cut through the buzzing noise in her ears. Jonathan looked at her with a calm, sympathetic gaze. Before she could speak, he grasped her gently by the shoulders and guided her from the crowded ballroom into an adjoining sitting room. By some miracle, it was empty. He turned her so her back was to the door and locked eyes with her. Her breaths were a wheezing mess, and she wished very much to run but found her legs were leaden.
“Take a couple of deep breaths; you’re going to be okay.”
She did as he instructed, breathing in and out slowly until her breaths resumed a normal cadence. The knot in her chest loosened, though the trembling in her hands had worsened.
“There, you’re okay.” His soothing voice calmed her. “Will you be alright if I leave for a moment to get you a drink?”
All she could manage was a nod, and he walked away, his cane thudding with each step he took. Aristea’s knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the nearby sofa. The buzzing had stopped, and she was feeling more herself once again.
Jonathan returned a few minutes later and offered Aristea a glass of wine. “Here, take a couple sips. It might help.”
His hands brushed against hers as he handed her the glass, and her stomach did a somersault. Her attack must have affected her more than she’d realized if she was feeling queasy. Jonathan’s smiling face filled her vision.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No need. I’m always happy to help a lady in distress,” he said.
“I don’t remember you being this gallant,” Aristea said as she sipped her wine.
“I’m not usually. But you make me want to be chivalrous.”
Her cheeks burned as her eyes darted around the room. She’d already mucked things up tonight. If Duke Mattison saw them together, he might get the wrong impression. Not that she should care. She didn’t want to marry him, but she wanted him to think she might. The thought made her chest squeeze tighter.
She stood up to leave, but her head spun, and her knees threatened to give out again. Jonathan grasped her by the elbow, and they stood frozen in time, looking at one another. Heat coiled in her stomach, and it had nothing to do with her panic attack. They couldn’t keep running into one another like this. She might start wanting things she couldn’t have.
Someone cleared their throat, and they stepped apart.
“There is our guest of honor. I’ve been looking all over for you,” Duke Mattison boomed as he approached her, bowing low.
“Forgive me. I was feeling a bit overheated and stepped away for a moment. Lord Sommerfeld was kind enough to bring me some wine.”
“A kind gesture indeed.” Duke Mattison’s eyes barely skimmed over Jonathan before coming to rest on her. His lips curled into a smile. “Come, I want to make a toast to you.”
Aristea flapped her hands, trying to dissuade him, but Duke Mattison pressed his hand into her lower back and was guiding her out of the room and back into the crowded ballroom before she could protest. It was much too familiar for such a casual acquaintance, but the words to protest froze on her tongue. He was a foreign guest and had foreign customs, and she didn’t want to upset him. They took to the stage at the front of the room, and he called everyone to attention with a clink of his glass. Another glass of sparkling wine was thrust into her hands as the crowd turned to look at them.
“A toast to our gracious Princess Aristea and continued harmony between our two countries.” Duke Mattison raised his glass, and the guests thrust theirs up in agreement.
Aristea looked at Duke Mattison, who smiled at her with malicious delight. The implication of such a toast was that they were courting. When her husband was a mere month in the grave. Even if she weren’t trying to court her traitorous husband’s allies, it was audacious to imply it publicly without discussing it with her first. But she couldn’t say anything on stage without making a scene, and so she smiled and turned from the crowd to lift up her veil enough to take a sip. The sparkling wine fizzed on her tongue and burned all the way down, turning her stomach sour. Though she feared his reaction, she couldn’t help but seek out Jonathan in the crowd. He was watching her from the back of the room, his brows drawn together.
His kindness meant nothing. He was a good person. She had to keep reminding herself of that, but she still felt the need to explain herself.
“You are a gracious host and a good friend, Duke Mattison.” She held up her glass to make a second toast.
His smile turned down slightly at the corners, but he made no comment. Everyone toasted to their collective good health, and then Duke Mattison insisted on Aristea sharing a dance with him.
She couldn’t decline after his overture of marriage, so she let him lead her onto the floor. When they were dancing close together, he whispered, “You look beautiful tonight, your majesty,” he said, his words dripping with honey. It reminded her, with a twist of her gut, of the way Heinrich would pour on sweet words after upsetting her.
“You’re too generous with your praise, with your words, and your toast,” Aristea remarked.
