“Let’s go, then,my wife.”
Evelyne’s rolled her eyes, the faintest exhale slipping from her nose as she rose beside him. He led her onto the polished floor, their fingertips barely brushing as the musicians struck the first chord. A hush fell over the hall, thick with breathless anticipation.
First touch.
He caught her hand, spun her. Silk flared like a sigh, her skirts blooming with light.
Touch gone.
They drifted apart once more, a graceful orbit marked by the sweep of her gown between them. Her chin stayed lifted, composed. Yet he caught the faint flutter of her lashes when his attention lingered past decorum.
“So…” his voice was low, meant only for her ears. “How was the kiss? Did I meet your expectations?”
She looked at him sharply, blue eyes glinting. “It wasn’t terrible.”
“Glowing praise.”
Second touch.
His hand settled on her waist. Her hand found his side on the other side. They locked gazes swirling in slow motion.
She arched her brow, half-amused. “Don’t look so happy with yourself.”
“Oh, I am happy,” he murmured. “And ready to kiss you again just to provoke a gasp from Lady Malren.”
Her lips twitched, something between amusement and disdain. “Men are so easy to please.”
“Whereas women,” he mused, “enjoy watching us struggle.”
She swirled once, twice in his arms as he guided her in circle, as though they had danced together a thousand times before. “Because we have standards and dignity.”
“Ah, yes, of course. How foolish of me to forget. Standards and dignity, the bane of men everywhere.”
Evelyne rolled her eyes.
“You certainly love rolling your eyes at me, don’t you, my wife?”
“It seems to be an unconditional reflex in your presence. You’re talking nonsense.”
“I thought my words were pure poetry.”
She snorted.A sound he could get addicted to. “My Prince, I am afraid you’re delusional.”
“I pour my heart and soul into my words, and all I get is ridicule.”
“Better get used to it. I am supposed to be honest, to advise you, to question your judgment. That is the role of an empress. If you crave flattery, you’d best hire a bard.”
His smile widened, the dance brought them apart. A sweeping motion, a turn. They circled one another, step by deliberate step, skimming the edge of the dance floor like stars caught in slow orbit. Her veil flowed behind her like a ribbon of blood and silk. He watched her with something almost reverent, eyes never straying from her face, even as the music lifted them into another arc.
Then the pattern shifted once more, drawing them back to the center, palm meeting palm, air shared between them.
“Hire a bard, you say?” He murmured, his voice a playful drawl. “Or… perhaps you could offer a healthier remedy for my wounded ego. A simple compliment, for example.”
“If you earn it,” she quipped, “you might get lucky.”
Third touch.
His fingers ghosted up the curve of her shoulder, to the soft warmth of her neck. He felt her shiver.
