When Lachlan first brought me up here, I spent a too-long moment mooning over them. But I need all the divine assistance I can get. Best not gobble up a god’s offering.
Still, they’ve caught my eye more than once. They’re more pleasant to focus on than the absolute death stare I am receiving from Lisande LaBeaumont.
I try—though not very hard—to not look smug that I am on my third dance with Torvil, all requested by him, and she has not been in his arms once.
Really, if I didn’t need to keep playing this game and win his proposal, I’d let her have him. With one hand at my waist and his other clamped around my own, I feel more trapped than I did yesterday when Lachlan was pinning me to that altar.
“You look different tonight,” Torvil remarks, the bonfires streaking red and orange through his silver hair. “Incandescent. Like you’ve been lit up from the inside.”
I can tell he believes he is the cause. I am not foolish enough to disabuse him of that notion. I dip my lashes, pull my lips into a coquettish smile. “I’m just so very pleased by the time I’ve spent here with you and your people.”
That last part is a bit of a stretch. The only time I’ve spent with any people outside the castle was with Aowen, not the duke himself. I wish I had more time to do so. Once I am queen, hopefully not Torvil’s, the people of Tír na Lune will be my responsibility. I regret not getting to know them better, learning what they desire in a ruler.
It’s hard to believe Torvil meets anyone’s qualifications. The arrogant smirk on his face as he twirls me across the dance floor, drinking in the adoration of his unctuous courtiers, tells me all I need to know about his philosophies on leadership.
“Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace, but what happened the other day with Mr. Stafford?”
Torvil tears his gaze away from his admirers to look down at me. “Who?”
“The refugee from Campan’s Vale. The man who allegedly stole from the butcher shop downtown. You said you were going to take care of it.”
“Oh, yes. That was settled last week.”
“He’s back with his family, then?”
A crease appears between his brows. “No, of course not. He was executed. The evidence proved he was a thief. Not to mention a stain upon my city.”
My stupidly hopeful heart plummets to my feet, and I choke back tears.
Torvil sighs dramatically. “See, this is why women are not placed in positions of power. One needs a strong stomach and an iron fist to maintain the respect of the common man.”
I’ve known it for weeks, but still, the certainty drops into my gut like a boulder.
Not only do I not want to marry this man, I do not want him to be king at all. The people of the celestial territories deserve so much better than Torvil Áine.
The song ends and couples part, clapping for the musicians.
“Come now,” Torvil says, pulling me through the crowd, “we’ve got happier news to impart.” He whistles, then snaps toward a valet, who summons three other servants toward the wooden platform. Two carry a large, wrapped parcel while the other holds the wooden box with his Bannrhorn fragment.
Torvil leaps onto the platform, but doesn’t pull me up with him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the valet shouts, “may I have your attention, please?”
At the other corner of the dance floor, Lachlan and Aowen have turned toward the stage. Vesper’s perched on Lachlan’s shoulder instead of Aowen’s, threading her tiny hands through his soft hair. Like she can’t help herself. I know the feeling.
Aowen offers an approving nod, and a sly smile.
When my gaze collides with Lachlan’s, my knees nearly buckle.
I used to think the man was stoic, hard to read. But after months in his company, I notice tiny tells of emotion. Pride in the gleam of his eyes. Relief in his relaxed jaw. Tenderness in the gentle curve of his lips. And something underpinning them all that looks a lot like yearning. Which would just be silly. We said we weren’t going to do that.
I tear my attention away, coward that I am, and turn back to the duke.
“Well,” he begins, placing a hand atop the parcel, “as you all well know, I’m not one for long speeches.”
I bite back a guffaw because I cannot tell if he’s joking. Wary smiles bloom around me; his courtiers aren’t sure, either.
“I will admit I was not entirely sold upon this Season’s candidate when I first laid eyes upon her, but I was intrigued enough to invite her here. It hasn’t been all smooth sailing, of course. There were rough seas several weeks ago, when she failed to deliver upon my initial intrigue. Not to mention it took her an absurdly long time to find my piece of the horn.”
