Anders turned back to the painting of Queen Idalia as the two guards continued to bicker about the Princesses’ curse. He took in her kind eyes, the warmth emanating from her likeness, and felt a surge of determination. He would figure out the truth and save the Princesses—three-day deadline and missing princes be damned. He would do it for their mother, and for his own. And then he would return to D’Argentis a free man.
Chapter 6
Isadora
The royal cellist tuned her instrument in a corner of the ballet studio, filling the room with the soft strumming of strings. Issy gripped the barre and extended her leg, slowly flexing her ankle, followed by her knee. She pushed the aches and stiffness aside and began her warmup by stretching and prancing on the spot, to loosen her leg muscles and get her heart pumping.
She needed to lose herself in dancing, it had been a long few days—a long few months, if she was honest with herself. And now, her father had lost all his senses and invited that Silver savage into the palace. Had permitted him to watch her and Livia, to follow their every move and see where they went each night. The very idea of him being so close to her made her skin break out in gooseflesh.
By the time she had dressed and hurried down to the dungeon that morning, the prisoner had already been dragged in front of her father and the decision had been made. Livia had appeared almost excited by the news, but Issy was furious.
Foreign princes were one thing, they were well mannered and always chaperoned. Even the Northern Prince who had come on a state visit a few weeks earlier—Prince Hans, sherecalled. He’d been courteous enough, and almost handsome. But a commoner, and worse than that, a common criminal? She shuddered to think what would happen if he caught her in the corridor alone after dark.
She finished warming up and gestured to the cellist to begin playing the piece she had chosen to practice; a sweeping melody that built to a crescendo, allowing her to start off slowly and work her way up to the more challenging movements.
She felt the music in her bones, the notes vibrated in her chest and she closed her eyes as she moved in time with the beat. She rose with the high notes and fell with the low notes, her body lithe and liquid as she moved from pirouette to fouetté, from ronde de jambe to arabesque. Her heart thundered in her chest, the emotion triggered by the music surprising her with its intensity.
Images of a dark ballroom filled with shadowy figures flashed through her mind; the sensation of being chased, of being trapped, thrummed in her limbs. Her breath came quickly and tears pricked the backs of her eyes, but she danced on, determined to complete the choreography.
The piece reached its climax, the cellist strumming and bowing the strings expertly, filling the dance studio with exquisite music, all the way up to the rafters. Issy thought her heart would beat out of her chest as she threw herself into the final movements. She leapt, throwing herself into the air with complete abandon, some instinct deep down inside telling her she would be caught. That she wasn’t alone. A pair of light blue eyes and two strong arms reached for her.
She landed hard, her ankle giving way. With a gasp, she collapsed to the floor.
“Issy!” Livia’s voice came from the doorway, and Isadora’s sister rushed to help her up.
“How long have you been watching?” Issy hobbled over to a chair, with Livia’s help, and began to untie the ribbons of her ballet slippers. Her legs throbbed, her ankle sending shooting pains from her toes to her knee.
Livia gave her an apologetic smile. “A few minutes. You were so caught up in the music, I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so—”
“What?” Issy asked, when her sister trailed off.
The cellist approached, interrupting them, and Issy nodded in her direction.
“Pardon me, Miss. Shall I send for the physician?”
Issy shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She thanked the musician for the performance, and, with a quick curtsy, the woman gathered her instrument and left the two Princesses alone.
“I’m not sure how to describe it,” Livia admitted, taking a seat beside her. “Lost? Devastated? You were completely at one with the piece.”
“It was just a practice piece.”
Livia’s brows rose. “Just a practice piece? Don’t you remember?”
Issy shook her head. “Remember what, Liv?”
“That was the piece. The one from Asterina and Cethin. The one you were dancing to when the Silver boy caught you.”
Issy hid her surprise, but her younger sister knew her well enough to spot the smallest of tells. Livia’s face broke into a grin.
Issy felt irritation swell inside her. “What? What are you smiling at?”
Livia giggled and Issy’s irritation grew. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She danced away from Issy and began her own warmup, lifting a leg onto the barre and stretching her body over the length of it. Issy watched as her sister worked through the basic movements. Livia had the grace and poise required of a dancer;her understanding of the craft was second to none. And when she moved, with precision and confidence, Issy saw the ghost of their mother.
When they danced was the only time Livia was more like their mother than Issy herself. Issy’s own dancing was too emotional, too passionate and wild. Too like their father. That expression was what had gotten Issy selected as the Prima Ballerina; but it was times like now she wished she could hide her emotions, instead of having them written across her face for all to see.
Finishing her own practice, Livia wiped her rosy cheeked face with a towel and plopped down on the seat beside Issy. “What was she like?”
Issy knew immediately who her sister was asking about. “She was beautiful and graceful. Like you.”
