My hand tightened around the stem of my goblet. Mav watched me. He had said little since we sat: a small smile, an occasional brush of his fingers against mine when he refilled my wine or passed bread.
“Oh!” Mav said, placing a small plate in front of me. “I made sure to grab one of these for you.”
My brows furrowed as I studied the slice in front of me: bright fuchsia berries, flaky crust, and a sugar dusting. “Dewberry pie?”
Mav’s smile could have chased a storm from any sky. “A little bird told me it was your favorite, or used to be a long time ago.”
“Ahem!” Vesper gave a pointed, false cough. “It wasnotabird, it was a very thoughtful, selfless cat. A cat who would now like the rest of your fish if you’re through?”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Seems the least I can do for such a thoughtful, selfless gesture.” I piled my remaining pieces of fish onto Vesper’s ever-growing plate. I pressed a soft kiss to Mav’s cheek. “Thank you. It was very sweet of you to remember.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I have no idea if the pie is any good,” he chuckled.
I lifted my fork and took the first bite of dewberry pie I had taken in centuries. My eyes closed as an explosion of tangy sweetness washed over my tongue. It tasted of winter solstice gatherings with my family, of tradition, of childhood. Tears rose as a sense of homesickness swept through me for a time and place I could never return to.
Mav placed a hand on the small of my back. “You’re crying? Is the pie that bad? You don’t have to eat?—”
I placed a hand over his. “It is wonderful.”
He rubbed slow circles on my spine as the night continued.
Across the table, Thistle was mid-strategy. “All we need is a proximity window,” she said, flicking a glazed carrot from her fork. “I ‘accidentally’ splash a little wine on the king’s boots—nothing permanent—and then, bam, we’re in a conversation.”
Branrir spoke with the confidence of a man experienced in such things. “Or we follow the designated audience block after the opening dances. As the invitation outlined.”
“Where is the drama in that?” Vesper grumbled in between sampling every plate within reach.
“This is court,” Branrir replied. “There’s already sufficient drama, and we’d be better off avoiding it instead of causing it.”
“Stop licking the silverware,” Thistle chided, waving a hand at Vesper.
Branrir set his knife through a slice of roast with the patience of a man mentally counting to ten. “Focus.”
Alas, I could not. The king was here, fifty paces away. Soon I would ask him to untie what his blood had knotted three centuries past.
Mav leaned closer to me. “Are you all right?”
“I am thinking.”
“You always are.” He nudged my foot beneath the table. “Try to enjoy the evening, at least until the groveling starts.”
I smiled, if only halfway.
The orchestra shifted to a gentle, sweeping tone.
“May I have this dance?”
I turned. Mav already stood, hand extended. Hope and a touch of fear mingled in his eyes as they peeked out from his mask.
“Yes, Mav, you may.”
Relief softened his entire frame. I slid my hand into his. He led me through the thicket of gowns and finery. I felt curious eyes follow us, but they became unimportant the moment he turnedto face me. He stepped in, one hand to my waist, the other guiding my fingers. We began to glide across the floor.
“I am continuously impressed by how well you dance,” I murmured as he turned me, the skirt flaring around my legs.
“Now that you know I’m a Hum, my being able to move in time with music should be less of a surprise.”
“That feels suspiciously close to cheating.”
