Judging by Ronan’s white-knuckled grip on his glass, he didn’t receive the same instruction.
“Ah,” says Titus, catching my glance. “You know, there’s a rumor going around that you’re more to him than the woman who saved his life.”
He says it matter-of-factly, but it’s really a question he’s asking me. One that I’m definitely not at liberty to answer. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t,” he says. “I can’t say that I blame you. He’s him, and I’m, well—”
“A very talented fighter, the heir to a Great House, and quite a gentleman besides. There’s a rumor going around about us as well, I believe.”
He beams at that and takes my hand, leading me to the dance floor.
I can’t help but try flirting with him a little. He would be an excellent match for me under different circumstances. A better match than Ronan in many ways, not least of which is that he isn’t doomed to be assassinated, if not by us, then by one of the many others Ronan has managed to piss off.
Across the room, Ronan scowls.
“If nothing else, I’m grateful I had the chance to dance with someone as beautiful and gracious as you,” Titus says.
It’s nice to hear, but it doesn’t send my pulse racing, which is unfortunate. A part of me had hoped that it would. It would have allowed me to believe that what I’m feeling for Ronan is simply physical frustration, something that could be satiated by someone else.
But if I’ve reached the point where I can’t even flirt with someone else without thinking about Ronan, I’m in trouble.
The dance floor is full of courtiers—mostly the young, but some of the older crowd as well. I know most of the dances, having been trained by an instructor for my court debut at a time when things were going so well for us in the war that we’d believed we’d be holding our own court. Titus dances as well as he sword fights, with similar grace and fluidity. And better yet, he’s fun. He laughs and jokes with me much like Larus does, taking advantage of the moments when we’re near each other to point out where a cousin of House Nauta has spilled sauce down his shirt or to speculate as to why the Lady of House Modesto is smoothing her dress so much after returning from the latrines.
I do like him even though he doesn’t excite me. With him, I can almost picture a different future, one where there is no plan. Where I marry Titus, have a few kids, and eventually become the Lady of House Faber. It would be so much simpler.
It’s the life I was born to as the third child of a noble family, or the one I would have been born to if my parents hadn’t started a rebellion. When I was born, I wasn’t the heir or the spare. I was just there. I’m not needed to keep the family line going, and I’m not able to take up a common profession. As much as I would have loved being a traveling acrobat, to do so would have been a scandal. And it would have been a difficult life, estranged from my family and the resources they provide.
Because of that, like most younger sons and daughters, my only real option is to marry another noble, preferably someone with a higher status than mine. Much of my training, the parts that weren’t meant to be used on the battlefield, concerned the keeping of a fine house. How to entertain other nobility, how to be interesting enough to attract a suitable spouse.
Titus is exactly what my parents would have wanted for me, if he had been Nithyrian. He’s what Larus would want for me now, assuming that he survives the war that follows. If we execute Ronan and win, he’s the future I could have.
But I don’t want it.
I didn’t know it until I came here, having never spent much time thinking of anything but my duty, but I don’t want an ordinary life, war or not. Not now that I know that something better is possible.
All the danger, all the intrigue of the palace. It should terrify me, but it’s the first time I’ve felt alive. How can I be content with the ordinary when the extraordinary exists?
I can’t be with Titus. And not just now because it jeopardizes the plan. Not ever.
Because of me.
Because I can’t stop feeling Ronan’s eyes on me as I move. When I dance, it’s for him. When I laugh at Titus’s words, it’s Ronan that I look to, wishing he could share in the joke.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about the plan or Adria or Larus. I don’t know how I feel about what I came here to do or what it will mean for my people if I fail to do it.
But I know one thing: I’m done pretending. I don’t need to pretend anymore. Maybe I was never pretending at all.
I want Ronan.
He arrives at my side the moment after I think it.
“Excuse me,” I say, curtsying to Titus, who bows to Ronan, understanding without explanation.
“I was wondering if you had forgotten me,” I say, moving off the dance floor.
His jaw twitches as he leans in closer so we’re not overheard. “Me? When you’ve spent the entire evening with someone else?” There’s heat in Ronan’s words, more than I had expected.
I haven’t been with Titus for long, really. Four dances, maybe five, all of them fast with minimal contact. I’m reminded of his reaction to me thinking of Taran in his sitting room. “Are you always this jealous?” I ask. I hate to admit that it thrills me a little if he is.
