I resist the urge to bring my fingers to the base of my neck, eager for the feel of my locket. But no, it won’t be the locket I’ll find but my crescent moon. The thought roots me to the present moment.I’m glamoured. I’m supposed to be a princess. I’m supposed to dance with the prince.
“What do I do?” I whisper. “I don’t know this song.”
He shrugs. “Nor do I.”
“Then how do we dance to it?”
“It’s an unseelie melody. It will come naturally to you.”
“What will?”
“This.” He begins stepping side to side, his movements stiff and awkward. “Trust me, you aren’t the only one who feels like they’re going to be sick.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“I can’t help it. The look in your eyes right now…you should see it!”
“It’s not funny,” I say, but the corners of my lips are already beginning to lift because now he’s shaking his hips.
“Just do what you do when you play.”
“How do you know what I do when I play?”
He begins to move his arms, swinging them lightly side to side. “When we spoke in my room, you were somehow able to play a tune that matched what I was saying as I said it. This time, move your body in a way that reflects the song.”
A flash of blue darts between me and the prince, weaving around us in a figure eight before coming to a halt before me. It’s three wisps. Ones I’ve become quite familiar with. “You again,” I mutter.
“Dance!” one urges. “You know you want to.”
“Move! Fly!”
“She wants to. She wants to, I can feel it.”
“Why are you always bothering me?” I say through my teeth, taking a few steps away from the prince.
“You’re of the wind. You’re like us. You want to dance.”
I glance at Franco, curious if he overheard the last statement about me being of the wind. He still believes I’m from the Sea Court. At least, I think he does.
Until I leave at midnight. Then what will he believe?
“Come on,” Franco shouts over the music, laughing as he continues to move and sway. His movements have lost some of their stiff quality, his arms swinging a little freer, his toes tapping a little lighter, keeping to the beat of the drum.
“Dance,” one of the wisps says, “or we’ll tell him how many times we spotted you on your balcony this week, hoping he’d come find you.”
I gasp. “I did no such thing!”
The wisps chortle. “She did! She did! She craved a journey.”
“But not on land. To a bedroom.”
“Hisbedroom!”
My cheeks burn hot. “Hush! Enough of that.”
“Then dance. Do it now!” With that, they rush over to Franco and urgency propels me forward.
I tap my feet. “I’m dancing, all right?”
