Chapter 1
“Iwish I had known that Allysian women were so bewitching.” The man leaned over Isa, breathing down her neck as they danced. “I would not have wasted these last seasons in Iseldis.”
Isa stiffened as he pressed himself closer. He had stopped trying to hide the fact that his gaze was constantly drifting from her face to the bodice of her elaborate ball gown.
This was her seventh dance partner of the evening, and all but one of them had made her skin crawl. The other had been endearingly tongue-tied, stumbling through the dance as though unable to believe she had consented to dance with him.
Her current partner tightened his arm around her waist, forcing her body closer to his. She instinctively leaned her shoulders back to create as much distance between them as possible.
“Smile for me,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you not enjoying this dance?”
“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I am not.” She pressed her free hand against his chest to remove herself from his embrace.
He fought her resistance for a moment, smiling inanely at her as though she were playing a game or flirting with him. Eventually, he must have realized that she was not only serious but also not above causing a scene in the middle of the crowded ballroom. His eyebrows narrowed and he released his firm hold.
An excuse to leave was on the tip of her tongue, but Isa chose not to condone his overbearing behavior by feeding him a complacent lie. Apparently, the men in Iseldis were no different from those in Allys. Not that she had expected otherwise, but it was disheartening. Ignoring the voice in her head that also told her to smile in farewell, she turned away from the confused look on the man’s face and made her way toward the edge of the dance floor.
“Are you unwell?” He was at her heel, following her through the swirling couples. “Do you need something to eat or drink?”
She shook her head, keeping her eyes trained on a spiral staircase that promised a quick escape from the stifling dance floor.
“Surely you will dance with me later this evening?” He grabbed her wrist as she stepped onto the staircase.
Isa’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the uninvited contact. “No.” She twisted her wrist free from his grasp and hurried up the steps. She did not miss the way his confused expression began to contort into anger.
Thankfully, though, he did not follow her.
She slowed her pace as she reached the second-story balcony. The Iseldis ballroom was a beautiful sight, even if her dancing partners had failed to impress. The magnificent hall was lit by large candelabra overhead that spread a soft warm glow on the elegantly dressed nobles below. It was far more lovely to enjoy the view from above than to be among the confining crowd.
Unfortunately, the balcony she had climbed to was still quite crowded. Considering that Ian, the Crown Prince of Iseldis, was choosing his bride from among the women in attendance tonight, it made sense that even the spacious ballroom was filled far past its capacity.
Isa stepped back onto the spiral staircase and continued spiraling up to the highest balcony in the room. She wondered if it would be rude to leave the ballroom and search for the castle library. Surely they would have something new she had never read before.
Despite climbing so quickly, her breathing eased as she neared the top. Windows and doorways around the back of the highest balcony were open, allowing the fresh evening breeze to clear the air. Exiting the staircase, she slowly wound her way through groups of chatting older gentlemen and tired matronly women. Her shoulders relaxed. She would find no uncomfortable dance partners here.
Reaching inside a hidden pocket on the skirt of her amethyst-colored gown, she pulled out a small hardbound book and opened it to a marked page. Now this was how a proper evening should be spent.
Having taught herself the invaluable skill of walking while reading, she skimmed the open page while keeping a practiced lookout for an empty area to enjoy a moment of peace. It helped that she had already read this particular tome multiple times and could practically quote the entire story from memory. Noticing a quiet corner at the far end of the balcony, she made her way through the light crowd with only two accidental shoulder bumps. Muttering her apologies, she never lifted her eyes from the page, where Andrew was about to declare his undying love for the princess Amelya.
Making it safely to her destination, Isa leaned against the balcony railing, soaking in the words of her favorite story. The princess, tired of her constant stream of selfish suitors, had recognized the true love offered to her by the swineherd Andrew and declared that she loved him in return.
Isa closed the book, keeping her finger between the pages to mark her place. She loved that moment. It was early in the story rather than at the ending. The two young sweethearts had many trials ahead, but at least the reader knew that they would face them together from this moment onward.
As she let the happy feelings inflate in her chest, her eyes dropped to the room below.
On the center dais, Crown Prince Ian was dancing with a woman in a light-blue dress. Everyone else wore the darker jewel tones that were popular in Iseldis. In her own kingdom of Allys, it was too warm to wear dark colors, so Isa felt an instant connection to the girl in blue. The prince was chatting with his blue-gowned partner in an animated way, but the young woman soon stepped off the dais and greeted another young man. Her face lit up when the young man placed his hand at her back.
Interesting. Isa herself had danced with the prince early in the evening, and though polite, he had not been nearly as animated with her as he had with the girl in the sky-blue dress. It seemed the one woman in the room that the prince had any interest in was already interested in someone else. Isa wanted to know more. A romantic story was taking place before her very eyes. Without any additional information, though, the only story she could consume was on the pages in her hands.
The sounds of music and chatter disappeared as she returned to her book, losing herself once again in her favorite story.
“I disagree,” a young male voice said from somewhere nearby in the real world. “Aphronsius was not speaking of art itself, as any cursory glance would tell the reader. He was referring to labor.”
Isa drew her mind back to the present, intrigued by the voice. However, it was not the youthfulness or the maleness of the voice that intrigued her; it was the mention of one of her favorite writers.
“Only you would argue against the inherent value of something beautiful,” another male voice scoffed.
“On the contrary, I am the greatest proponent of the beauty of art, as you well know,” the original voice continued with a sniff. “I merely think that Aphronsius was either wrong in his calculation or veiling his true point.”
