I’m dangerously close to dozing off, my chin in my palm, my elbow against the table, when something touches my shoulder. My head snaps to the side, my vision wavering. I blink over my shoulder at whoever is hovering behind me and meet captivating onyx eyes.
“Apologies for scaring you, Miss Garrick,” Kilkenny says formally. He doesn’t so much as crack a smile, but he holds his hand out to me, palm up. “May I have this dance?”
The discomfort that has been sitting in my chest all night starts to unfurl. Briefly. My brows knit together. At Carys’s table, a different knight stands behind her. “Weren’t you…” I slowly pull my focus back to Kilkenny.
He nods, his hand still extended to me. “Yes, I was,” he says. “And now I’m here. Am I going to have to stand here all night with my hand out?”
“No. Sorry.” His warm hand wraps around mine and he pulls me to my feet. He doesn’t move right away, waiting until I steady myself. He’s in a light blue suit with gold trimming along the cuffs, hem, and button panels of his long jacket. The shirt underneath is crisp white, matching the stockings beneath his knee-length trousers, which do absolutely nothing to hide his powerful calves.
I’m about to tease him about wearing stockings, but as my gaze trails back up to his face, his own lazily sweeps over me, absorbing every detail of my dress and hair. My face heats from the approval written all over his countenance. For a moment, his chill demeanor is gone, and his lips part as though he intends to say something, to compliment me perhaps, but then he turns forward and starts, gently tugging me along.
The moment dissipates
“Wait!” I call out.
He stops. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t dance. Newborn foal legs, remember? To make matters worse, I’m wearing these.” I lift a foot out from under the dress, displaying the ridiculous heels Ellynne forced me into.
There’s the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes and a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Be that as it may, Princess Carys ordered a dance.”
My heart drops into my stomach and, before I can filter my actions, I tug my hand out of Kilkenny’s.
He has the audacity to look confused. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes.” I turn to march away, but Kilkenny lays a hand on my shoulder again. I shrug it off only for him to gently catch my wrist. There’s an inexplicable emotion heavy on my chest. “I’m going back to my seat.”
“You’re being melodramatic, Garrick. Find your center, for Rhianu’s sake. There are people looking.”
Sure enough, I’ve drawn some attention. My face heats.
Kilkenny releases my wrist and extends his hand, a peace offering. As much as I want to just walk away from the man who’s dancing with me simply because he’s been ordered to, I have to make a good impression.
Why do I care about his intentions anyway?
“Found your center?” he asks.
“Yes.” My teeth are clenched in what I know is not nearly a convincing enough smile. I take his hand and follow him onto the dance floor.
He places a hand on my waist, and I stiffen. I’m still standing there firmly when Kilkenny takes my left hand and places it on his shoulder. He pauses, focused on me. Then he huffs and takes my right hand. “Do you need me to move your legs as well, Garrick?”
“No, I don’t need you to move my legs, Killjoy.”
He smirks. “Perhaps take some of that attitude and put it into actually dancing.”
“I told you I don’t know how to dance.”
“Not a problem. I’ve got you.” There is so much certainty in his eyes that I almost believe him. He starts to move, and I follow along, the epitome of awkward gracelessness. I go left when he goes right, I sway when I should stand still. Kilkenny’s face is pulled tight, but his gaze shimmers with amusement. When I trip over my own feet and crash against him, the inconsistent rhythm of restrained laughter vibrates through his body.
He steadies me and says, “You weren’t exaggerating.” But there is nothing insulting in his expression. His smile is even… friendly. For once. It stifles the offense that was quickly rising up.
“Told you,” I say, offering him a smile that is strangely foreign on my face.
We start to move again, the triple rhythm of the upbeat waltz pulsating beneath my feet, andagainI stumble into Kilkenny. He holds me against him, and something hard presses into my hip, making me go absolutely still as blood rushes to my face.
“Tell me that’s a dagger,” I say. A small crease forms between his brows. Confusion plays over his features for a moment before color blooms across his cheeks.
Tiernan Kilkenny is actuallyblushing.
