The crowd chuckled, and Bryn crouched to his level “I’d be honored.” She let him lead her in a clumsy jig, both of them laughing until she nearly tripped over her skirts.
Sven’s gaze followed her and she read the unmistakable pride on his face.
When she went back to his side, Sven bent close, his lips brushing her temple. “See? They already love you.”
Bryn swallowed hard and clutched her glass to hide the tremble in her fingers. She didn’t know if she deserved it, but for the first time since she’d arrived in Stagholt, she dared to believe that things might just work out.
The great hall was still alive with music when Bryn slipped out into the hallway. Sven had gone to talk to Lars, and her cheeks ached from smiling, her feet throbbed inside her heels, and her head buzzed from too much wine and too many voices calling her name. She leaned against the cool stone of the corridor and let the silence settle over her like a balm.
“Running away?”
She jumped. Sven stepped from a doorway, no longer the perfectly composed king but a man who had shed his crown for the night. His jacket hung open with his collar loose and a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead.
“Not running,” she smiled. “Just catching my breath.”
He moved closer. “You were magnificent tonight.”
Bryn huffed a laugh. “I tripped over a six-year-old during a jig.”
“And they adored you for it.” He brushed his knuckles over her arm. “My people saw you. The real you. And they welcomed you.”
Her throat tightened. “This is all so fast.”
“But so right.”
She met his eyes and what she saw made her pulse trip and stumble.
His hand slid down and curled around hers. “Walk with me?”
They moved through the castle’s quieter corridors to a small balcony that overlooked the courtyard. The night air was crisp and stars scattered like sparkles across the black sky.
Bryn leaned on the stone railing and drew in the chill to cool her overheated skin. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” he said, but his gaze wasn’t on the stars.
She turned her head and found him watching her as if she were the only thing worth seeing. Heat curled low in her stomach. The memory of their kiss on the train flashed through her, vivid and dangerous.
“Sven…” Her voice caught, and she wasn’t even sure what she meant to say.
He stepped closer and caged her in with his arms braced on either side of the railing. “I meant what I said. You are my future. Tonight made it official for the kingdom. But for me…” His lips brushed her ear. “It already was.”
Her heart pounded as she rose on her toes and her mouth found his. The kiss was slower this time, not the desperate clash on the train, but it burned all the same. His hands skimmed her waist, her back, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them.
Bryn’s fingers curled in his shirt. She wanted more, but then he groaned against her mouth and pulled back. He rested his forehead on hers.
“We can’t,” he whispered, voice rough.
“The ritual.”
He nodded. “If I kiss you like that again, I won’t stop.”
Bryn closed her eyes and willed the heat in her body to disperse. “We need to go back to the party.”
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “That we do.” He mumbled as he led her back toward the ballroom. “It’s going to be a hell of a ritual though.”
Bryn followed, her heart both lighter and heavier at once. Tonight, the kingdom had claimed her. But more dangerously, so had Sven.
Chapter Sixteen
