“I suppose I have,” I say, more unease crawling beneath my skin.
“So, I see.”
I move my hand toward my sleeve to fiddle with the bracelet that I’d forgotten no longer lives on my wrist, and as I search for Carys on the dance floor, her sudden absence surprises me. I turn back to Lord Iywan. I want so much to excuse myself from this uncomfortable interaction, but he hasn’t dismissed me.
Please dismiss me.
“Impressive work on the princess’s dress,” he tells me. “A… bold choice going with such dark colors rather than one more suited for a royal maiden.”
I resist laughing at hismaidenstatement.
“I…” All words elude me. I’m not sure what to say. That the princesswantedsomething bold?
Iywan leans in a bit closer, sizing me up. “You…?” There’s something mocking on his face.
I run my fingers along my empty wrist again.Say something, Durvla.
An arm loops through mine, and though I startle, the flash of a red dress beside me quells my nerves.
“The princess has requested the presence of Miss Garrick. My apologies, Lord Iywan. Excuse us.” She nods to him, and he nods back, his jaw clenched.
Ellynne whisks me away and doesn’t speak until we’re halfway across the ballroom. She releases my arm. “You looked like you needed some rescuing,” she says.
I huff out a relieved laugh. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I know Lord Iywan can be… intense.” She shrugs. “Come. Let’s get you a glass of wine.”
Wine sounds great. I follow her to the refreshment table, and she lifts a crystal wine flute from among the others, handing it to me. Just a sip. I have to prepare for my travel back to the Grounds tomorrow morning. I have no intention of nursing a hangover as well.
CHAPTER 36
Carys
Moments before the Feast,I seriously considered locking myself in my bedchamber. Surprisingly, Alys never made an appearance beforehand, but thank the gods for Ellynne coaxing me out of my nervous stupor. Because of her, I manage to put on my best future-heirface and make my grand entrance when expected.
There are even more people than I imagined. As I descend the stairs, everyone gapes in wonder. I’m swarmed by admirers as soon as I touch the floor. Everyone is stunned by Durvla’s handiwork. I take joy in the yearning glances, and even more joy in the silent disapproval from nobles who need to get off their bloody high horses.
While the food is still being prepared, I’m faced with my suitors one by one. They’re all an absolute bore.
Prince Morand of Caldeon reeks of every flower in existence—as if hebathedin cologne before stepping onto the dance floor. I greethim by sneezing, and he responds to it by speaking in rapid Caldeon and flamboyantly whipping out an elaborate handkerchief from his breast pocket. We proceed to dance, and he’s the embodiment of a horse competing in dressage. I get away from him as quickly as I can.
Lord Bevin of the Outer Isles is probably Ellynne’s age and paler than the bloodsuckingDearg Dueof folklore. But rather than fangs, Lord Bevin is missing two godsdamned teeth, front and center. I’d have preferred it if theywerefangs because I cannot, for the life of me, stop gawking at the gap as we dance. I reflexively jerk my head away every time he speaks and his tongue snakes through the gap, tossing spittle onto my face. My impatience has long escorted my conduct to the exit, so I excuse myself with a painful smile and a curtsy.
Only to collide with bloody Lord Jamie.
As I dance with the Duke of Darragh, my stomach is in knots. He’s basically an older version of Wynn—same tan skin, same smile, same gentle mannerisms. It’s disturbing. My face is no doubt red as I avert my gaze constantly and shove away lewd thoughts of everything I’ve done with his son.
I’m ready to call it quits when a low voice sounds from behind me. “May I interpose?”
Jamie stares up somewhere past me before bowing and making a swift retreat. Prince Odgar takes his place. Like me, he’s in dark colors. A black suit with what appears to be leather peeking out from beneath his collar. Four neat braids are attached to his scalp down the center of his head, the sides shaven to reveal multiple whorls and symbols inked into his flesh. I stare at them as he gives a slight bow.
He steps into my space, one hand clasping mine, the other going around my waist. His callused fingers brush against the valley of open lace at the small of my back. I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the roughness of his skin.
“You seemed bored with your dance partner,” Odgar tells me.
“Absolutely.” I grin at him. “Was it that obvious?”
He twirls me seamlessly, and when I face him again, his rugged smile makes my stomach take a silly little dip. “Painfully so,” he says.
