Jewels glinted from great crystal chandeliers. Groups gathered in beautiful silk doublets and diaphanous gowns. Wine flowed in a fountain at the buffet. A servant passed by in a golden mask similar to the one my would-be assassin had worn, sending shivers down my spine, but soon enough I happened upon a familiar face and felt myself ease.
The viscount lounged against a curved staircase, his attention fixed on a pretty girl with sparkling eyes. His dark hair was pulled back with a decorative ribbon, and he wore a silk doublet of deep maroon that complemented his sun-kissed complexion. The fabric was light enough for the coastal warmth, but fitted to emphasize his broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist.
He didn’t acknowledge either of us until his companion’s gaze drifted our way. Only then did he straighten, sparing us a glance.
“Lady Alana, Lady Winnie—may I introduce you to Miss Sofia Costa?”
“Costa?” asked Winnie. I could hardly believe this pretty young woman bore any relation to the portly Lord Marius. Sofia’s hair was thick and curled, and her rose-pink gown revealed a figure that was both graceful and full.
“Not for much longer, I’m afraid.” Sofia laughed with evident pleasure. When she spoke, her voice held such musical quality that I suspected she could captivate any suitor with only words. Then again, so could I. “I’ve just received a proposal from Marco Gargia. I’dplannedto say yes.”
There was an inviting note at the end of her statement that soared over the viscount’s head. “The Gargias are a good match.”
Miss Costa deflated for a beat, then excused herself. As she ascended to the next floor, Quinn caught Winnie’s disappointed stare and tilted his head.
“What?”
“You’re as dense as they come,” Winnie said. “She was leaving a space for you to propose.”
Quinn snorted, shaking his head while his expression grew nostalgic. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the carefully tied strands. I tried not to stare. “We were in love, once. Last I saw her, I was only sixteen. Time has changed me. I can hardly hold a conversation with the woman without wishing I was elsewhere.”
“You seemed quite enraptured,” Winnie replied.
“I was being polite. Plus, I may find her dull, but that doesn’t mean she’s unattractive.”
“Ah, so you’re a scoundrel as well.”
I presumed he was about to say something witty, but he paused just as his lips parted. He lowered his head for only a moment, and I knew right then that the prince was approaching.
Nicolas moved through the crowds with easy confidence, his hair swept back to reveal the strong line of his jaw. He wore a midnight blue doublet adorned with gold embroidery, a matching silk cape flowing from one shoulder and held by golden chains across his chest. His eyes searched, settling on me from across the room.
He could have crawled straight from the pages of a fairy tale…but as he neared, his gaze dipping to my exposed cleavage, I saw the wolf that lurked beneath the illusion.
He was captivated enough to remain silent. When he finally met my eyes, that carnal intent tamed. “Hadria becomes you, Alana.”
The musicians’ song faded to an end, only for a new one to begin shortly after: something slower, more intimate. The melody weaved itself around us as several couples moved to the centerof the room. They began to dance, a series of motions I’d never seen before. It was as if the pairs communicated solely with their bodies, spinning tales of devotion, lust, resentment, and betrayal.
Nicolas cleared his throat and extended a hand. “Will you have me?”
As much as I yearned to join the dance, I knew I’d make a fool of myself. I hesitated, looking to Winnie for assistance. Rather than helping, Winnie sharply turned away in deliberate ignorance, perhaps an act of revenge for dragging her out in the Hadrian gown.
My fingers shifted just out of Nicolas’ reach as I battled my fear of public ridicule.
“I promise not to let you fall,” he said, a quiet display of softness that made my pulse skip. At last, I folded my hand into his and followed him across the floor. We found our place directly in the center, where any misstep would go noticed by the entirety of the court, yet somehow his presence made the crowd fade away.
“Nicolas,” I said quietly, certain that my voice was drowned out by the commotion and music. “I’ve never…”
Nicolas’ free hand slid to my back, pulling me close. “Look only at me, Alana. So long as you hold my gaze, you will not falter.”
The rhythm deepened. We began to rotate, each step timed with a low note from the cello that pulsed through the marble floors and rang up into my bones. Nicolas raised our joined hands and spun me beneath his arm. I was suddenly, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his chest where my palm rested, the solid strength of him beneath my fingers. His cologne left me taking slow, savoring breaths.
Another spin. The motion stirred physical memories, awakening something long dormant. It wasn’t quite true that I’d never danced before; I remembered spinning around in the moonlit grass with my father, fireflies lighting the clearing. I could still hear Father’s singing, off-key and terrible, as he took my mother for her own turn and a different sort of love bloomed between them.
With that memory came the darker truth: the desperate longing that had flickered in my parents’ eyes when they looked at each other, the careful distance they maintained. All the restraint, all the passion buried because of my existence. I knew it then, and I remembered it now: the curse forced them to love at arm’s length, tosteal glances and brief touches like thieves within their own home, because if they slipped up and had another child, a son...
If it weren’t for me…
Nicolas searched my eyes with a determined intensity. Without breaking our gentle sway, he drew me incrementally closer until the space between us was nothing more than shared breath. He inhaled, leaning close and pressing his forehead to mine, and my thoughts began to ease, the painful memories dissolving like mist until the only remaining thought in my mind was of him.
