When Rhone released her hand, she fought the urge to rub it against her skirt.
The conversation had begun to ebb and flow around them. Alora had obviously invited Torin to Westmont for their marriage ball as well, since she was currently asking his opinion on who else from Ferradin they should invite. Keene was asking Ivan what it was like to be in one of Sibet’s legendary Wolf Packs while Elowen stood holding Ivan’s arm, a smile on her face.
Unsurprisingly, the tension in Rix remained. It was obvious enough that Ford and Torin were both beginning to eye him.
All of that faded into the background when Amryn felt the sharpest stab of grief. Breath hitching, she looked instinctively to Berron.
Carver’s brother stood frozen, a nearly empty tumbler in his hand as he stared into the crowd. Amryn followed his gaze and immediately found Carina.
The girl Berron had loved since childhood stood several paces away, wearing a deep purple gown that accentuated her willowy form. She was beyond beautiful, but Amryn’s stomach knotted when she realized Carina was talking to Chancellor Kulver. When he said something that made Carina laugh, she took his offered hand.
The young chancellor grinned as he led Carina toward the nearby dance floor. When his other hand cupped her waist, drawing her closer, Amryn felt the fierce punch of Berron’s agony.
“How are you, Berron?”
Rhone’s soft-spoken words snapped Amryn—and Berron—from staring after Carina.
Berron’s nostrils flared, his knuckles white as he clenched the glass in his only hand. “Nowhere near drunk enough for this.” He threw back the remaining contents of his drink and stalked away.
Rhone stared after him, startled by the harsh response and abrupt retreat.
Alora—who had cut off her conversation with Torin and Rix—started after him, but Cregon rested a gentle hand on her arm. “Leave him be,” he murmured.
Alora’s lips pursed, a pang in her chest that made Amryn’s own heart clench. But Alora heeded her husband’s advice, even as she watched her wounded son vanish into the crowd. She rested her palm over the hand Cregon had placed on her arm, pinning it there. The nearby firelight caught on her bracelet—the same one Amryn had noticed on her wrist before. Only now, wearing her own marriage bracelet, did Amryn realize the significance of it.
“I’m sorry if I made things worse,” Rhone said quietly.
“It wasn’t you,” Amryn said quietly, surprising herself.
The knight exhaled slowly. “That’s gracious of you to say. But I suppose I should have expected a cold reception, after all the trouble Rivard got him into.” He darted a look at Cregon. The hard stare on the High General’s face made Rhone’s throat bob. With one last offer of congratulations to Carver and Amryn, the knight slipped away.
Amryn expected Rix to cut to her side, but Torin beat him to it. “Amryn, may I steal a dance?”
Carver’s fingers flexed around hers, but Amryn nodded. “Of course.”
Cracking a small smile, Torin led her to join the other dancing couples.
Amryn was aware of the hard stares that tracked them. A stolen glance assured her the two men keeping close watch were Carver and Rix.
“He’s never going to stop worrying about you,” Torin said.
Amryn sighed. “I know.” Her uncle would always want to keep her safe. Torin just thought his intensity was solely because of Carver—not from the proximity of a knight.
Torin began to guide her through the steps of the dance. She wasn’t a very practiced dancer, but she moved easily enough with him, recalling long-ago afternoons spent in the empty ballroom of Ferradin’s castle. Torin had been the one to teach her to dance before her first ball.
“If Rix attempts to teach you, your toes will be bruised for weeks.”
Torin’s gentle teasing hadn’t been an exaggeration—Rix was a horribly uncoordinated dancer. Amryn knew that because her uncle had insisted on leading herthrough her first public dance. Her toes had indeed gotten bruised that night, but her heart had been full as her uncle had undertaken the honor usually reserved for a girl’s father.
Her throat tightened at the rush of memories. Saints, she’d been so lucky to have Rix and Torin.
“You love him,” Torin murmured. “Don’t you?”
There was no doubt who he meant.
Amryn looked for Carver, glimpsing him through the shifting crowd. He was still watching her, his blue eyes intent. Unable to lie, she said, “Yes.”
A ripple of apprehension went through the king of Ferradin. She also felt a muted pain, and a flood of uncertainty. But Amryn also felt his attempt to quell all of that as he said, “He must be a better man than we think, then.”
