Downfall of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  It all reminded Lucy forcibly of the politics of who was dancing with whom at the Valorian couple’s wedding, only a few months before. She had been painfully aware of Eamon’s eyes watching her on that occasion. And although she had made it clear she didn’t want to speak with him, it had still rankled that he hadn’t even asked her to dance. Not that she had lacked partners. She hadn’t sat out a single dance, and she had enjoyed herself immensely. It had all been a very welcome distraction from the distressing events at Raldon, which had been still so recent.

  Lucy caught Jocelyn’s eye as they passed on the dance floor, her friend’s for-formal-occasions expression not lost on her. She tried not to look smug as she returned her wandering attention to her own partner. She was the only one of the group who was at least dancing with someone close to her in age. There were perks of not being titled.

  Still, after three more dances with three more equally unexciting partners, Lucy had to admit that the shine was wearing off. Jocelyn and Kincaid were dancing contentedly together nearby, their duty to their royal positions apparently satisfied. Eamon seemed also to have reached the end of whatever list of dignitaries he was working through. He was at that moment in conversation with Prince Roland, the younger of the king’s brothers, and he had a drink in his hand, which made Lucy more jealous than all the rest. She was parched, and wearier than she would have expected. Normally she could dance the night away at a ball, but the hot heaviness of the air here seemed to sap her energy in a way a whole night of festivities in Valoria hadn’t done.

  The music began to quieten, signaling the end of the dance, and Lucy’s partner led her off the floor with flattering reluctance. She saw another hopeful local approaching, and she headed off his inevitable request by commenting on how thirsty she was. More than one Balenan hastened toward the refreshments, eager to supply her need, and she sank into a nearby chair. She was just wondering if she could politely decline to dance with whichever of the lingering group was surely about to ask her, when a familiar voice cut through the chatter, making her heart stand still for a fraction of a second.

  “Dance with me, Luciana?”

  Chapter Six

  For a moment Lucy just blinked up at Eamon, wondering how he had gotten across the room so quickly. His voice and expression were steady, but she could see an uncertainty in his eyes that had never been there before on the countless other occasions he had asked her to dance. He had always been sure of her answer.

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed slightly at the thought. He had always been so sure of everything, and look how that had turned out. She lifted her chin slightly, ready to decline his offer with the crushing politeness she had perfected in recent months.

  But before she could say a word, Eamon stepped slightly closer and spoke again, his voice lowered so that only she could hear.

  “Lucy, if you snub me in front of all these people, I think it will be the meanest thing you’ve ever done.”

  She blinked rapidly, her eyes captured by his frank gaze in spite of herself. She couldn’t help but be disarmed, as much by his tone as by his words. The hint of anguish that had haunted his every word to her in the last few months was gone. He spoke to her not as an admirer, but as Eamon, reminding her without needing to say it that they had been friends and childhood companions long before they had entangled themselves with any thoughts of romance.

  She extended her hand almost without realizing it, and he pulled her to her feet, ready to enter the throng.

  “I was just going to have something to drink,” she said in a last, half-hearted attempt to avoid the dance she refused to admit she wanted.

  “I’ll gladly get you a drink after the dance,” said Eamon.

  Lucy frowned at his uncompromising tone. This was the Eamon she knew, the one who was far too used to leading. There was no trace of the unexpected vulnerability that had made him seem like the boy she had grown up with rather than the commanding young man she had fallen in love with. But she would only look foolish if she tried to back out of the dance now, so she let him sweep her onto the floor.

  For a moment they danced in silence, their eyes not meeting. Lucy hated herself for her own weakness, but she couldn’t deny that she felt overwhelmed by the sensation of being in his arms again. They hadn’t touched, not even in the smallest of ways, since that day at Raldon. And now he was holding her intimately, with hands that were just as strong as she remembered.

  “Thank you,” he said at last, and Lucy’s eyes flew to his in surprise.

  “For what?”

  He gave a lopsided grin, one that had always been irresistible to Lucy. “For not humiliating me in front of all of Nohl.”

  She looked down again. “You were right. It would have been unnecessarily mean.”

  Eamon was silent for so long that she snuck a look back up at him, unable to help herself. He was looking at her with a wry expression.

  “What?” she asked, unreasonably annoyed by his scrutiny.

  “I’m just trying to figure out what level of meanness you consider ‘necessary’, according to your schedule of punishment.”

  She frowned, irritated by his lighthearted way of referring to the rift between them. “I hope I’m not so petty as to be ‘mean’ to anyone. But it wouldn’t do you any harm to be turned down once in a while. It’s good to be humbled, sometimes. Even for princes.”

  Eamon made a noise of disbelief. “If you don’t think I’ve had any experience of being humbled lately, Lucy, then you haven’t been paying attention. Believe me, I’ve never been so aware of my shortcomings in my life.”

  Lucy dropped her eyes again, confused by the way he was talking. Ever since he had started to look at her as more than a friend, Eamon had always been as focused on impressing her as she had been on impressing him. It was something entirely new for him to talk openly to her about his shortcomings.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you get a drink first,” Eamon added suddenly. “You do look tired.”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow, trying to restrain the chuckle that wanted to escape. “Telling a lady she looks tired isn’t exactly gallant.”

  Eamon chuckled himself. “It’s not, is it?” He glanced over her shoulder, and following his gaze, she saw her gaggle of admirers watching them, looking disconsolate. “But I thought you might have had more than enough of gallantry for one evening.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Lucy admitted with a sigh. She wasn’t going to say it, but it had been Eamon’s appeal to their underlying friendship that had won her over, after all, not any lover-like attentions.

  “In light of that,” said Eamon, almost as if he could read her thoughts, “I won’t tell you that you look ravishingly beautiful tonight.” His voice dropped slightly, as his eyes burned into hers with a familiar intensity. “However much I might want to.”

  Lucy looked down to hide the smile she couldn’t restrain.

  “I wouldn’t expect such compliments, anyway,” she said, fishing for his thoughts. “Not in a room full of such…dashingly clad women.”

  Eamon grinned. “Scandalous, isn’t it? Imagine if anyone tried to wear a dress like these Balenan ones to a ball in our castle.”

  Lucy was silent for a moment, a jumble of emotions cascading over her at the way he said “our castle”. Her sudden confusion was dispelled, however, by the rogue thought of how delighted both Sonia and Vanessa would be to have an acceptable opportunity to show off so much of their trim figures in front of the crown prince. She snorted. “I can think of a few who would jump at the chance.”

  “Well, they’d miss their mark,” said Eamon, with another glance around. “Exotic fashion or not, none of the women in this room can hold a candle to you in your Kyonan gown.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to compliment me,” said Lucy dryly, trying to hide just how pleased she was with this reassurance.

  “So I wasn’t,” said Eamon quickly. “I was supposed to be apologizing for stealing you away from the refreshments.” He jerked
his head toward the group of young Balenans who were still watching them with disgruntled expressions. “I was just worried that I’d lose my window, like at Joss’s wedding.”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t even try to ask me to dance at Joss’s wedding.”

  “That’s what you think,” said Eamon with feeling. “You were always so surrounded, I couldn’t get close.”

  “Hm.” Lucy knew it didn’t suit her feigned disinterest to reveal how aware she’d been of Eamon’s movements at that event, but she couldn’t help herself when she remembered the shameless way he had flirted with Princess Lavinia, Kincaid’s young sister. “You seemed well enough entertained by the partners you did manage to approach.”

  Eamon’s incredulous laugh was the last sound she expected. She stared at him, ready to be affronted, and he looked instantly contrite.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…Princess Lavinia is an absolute handful, but it seems she knows what she’s doing.” He shook his head. “She was as unimpressed as I was to see you dancing the night away with that Lord Henrik.” Eamon scowled slightly as he named the dashing Valorian nobleman who was Kincaid’s best friend. “She seemed to think flirting would make you both jealous.”

  “I wasn’t jealous!” Lucy gasped in outrage.

  “I didn’t say you were,” said Eamon mildly. He met her gaze with unexpected frankness. “But I was.”

  Lucy lowered her eyes, again feeling confused and wrong footed. It took her a moment to put her finger on why this declaration felt so different from his compliments on her appearance. But when she stole a glance up at him, and saw the uncertainty in his eyes, she realized that the vulnerability was back. He was once again admitting to weakness, to not being confident of his success. And she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Eamon…” She was glad he interrupted her, because she didn’t know what she was going to say.

  “I’m sure you’re sick of hearing it, Lucy,” he said quietly. “But I need you to know how sorry I am.” She kept her eyes lowered, and he hurried on, seeming determined to make the most of the rare opportunity to talk to her alone. “I’m leaving for Thorania soon after the coronation, and I won’t see you for weeks, maybe months. I don’t want to leave things this way.”

  She remained silent, unsure of what to say. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his words, and there was a part of her—there really was—that wanted to forgive and forget. But she couldn’t forget. And however genuine his apology might be, it somehow did nothing to remove the myriad emotions that swirled through her whenever she remembered his betrayal. She simply didn’t know how to move past her anger over what had happened. She didn’t think any number of apologies could wipe it away.

  “I suppose…” Eamon hesitated, clearly disheartened by her prolonged silence. “I suppose I have no right to expect you to forgive me. Now or ever.”

  Lucy looked up at him at last, meeting his eyes and then immediately wishing she hadn’t. The expression she saw shook her to her core. He looked lost in a way she’d never seen before. She had thought, just minutes ago, that he had always been too sure of himself. But she wasn’t at all prepared for how it would feel to see him without that cloak of certainty that had always characterized him.

  It made her feel uncomfortable, and strangely unanchored herself. And no more able to find words of reassurance for him. In fact, she couldn’t seem to find any words at all.

  “May I be so bold as to interrupt? I believe the lady was looking for refreshment?”

  Lucy turned away from Eamon, blinking at the speaker, whom she didn’t recognize. She hadn’t even realized that the music had died away, and that she and Eamon were no longer moving.

  “Thank you,” she said mechanically. “I was.” She reached out and took the offered glass, downing its contents convulsively. It wasn’t the most ladylike of actions, but she was more rattled than she cared to admit by the interaction with Eamon.

  Speaking of the prince, he was watching the newcomer with narrowed eyes, his face a mask of barely concealed frustration at the interruption to the first real conversation he and Lucy had shared in months. Lucy had the impression that with the slightest encouragement from her, he would have thrown diplomacy to the winds and refused to allow the other man to cut in.

  But she didn’t give any such encouragement. She had a feeling that the further this conversation continued, the more its direction would spiral out of her control. What she needed was space to think it all through, and she doubted Eamon would be capable of understanding that right now.

  So when the other man offered her his arm, she didn’t hesitate to take it.

  “Thank you for the dance, Your Highness,” she said quickly to Eamon, adding his title for the benefit of their unknown audience. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help looking back at the prince as the other man led her away. It was as much the fact that he had somehow been left holding her empty glass like a serving boy as the bereft expression on his face that made her wince.

  “I won’t ask you to dance.” The unexpected words brought her attention quickly back to her new escort. “You’ve been besieged since the moment you entered the room, and—if you’ll forgive me for saying so—you look weary.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy blankly. “Yes.”

  “I imagine you would prefer to take a turn in the cooler air.” The man spoke casually as he led her toward double doors, that she could see opened onto a balcony. He was clearly confident that he had read her accurately. He had, in fact, but Lucy had a vague sense that it was presumptuous of him to be so sure of her. Still, after the unnerving lack of self-assurance in the usually confident Eamon, there was something strangely relieving about the cool authority with which this man compelled her to follow him.

  She gave a quick glance around the room, noting that Cody was watching her progress intently, and allowed herself to relax. There was no harm in letting this man lead her wherever he liked in such a public setting.

  In moments they were out of the stuffy ballroom, and Lucy found herself drawing a deep, shuddering breath. She hadn’t realized just how overwhelmed she had been in the packed space until she stepped out of it. She took in her new surroundings with interest. The balcony was long but shallow, and a number of other partygoers were clumped along the railing at intervals, taking advantage of the soft night breeze.

  “It’s not much to look at in the dark,” said her companion, his voice betraying no extraordinary interest, “but I believe this balcony looks toward the city wall. You can usually see the jungle from here, or so I am told.”

  Lucy followed his gaze out into the blackness, but as he said, there was no view now. She shot a sideways look at the man, surprised by his apparent unfamiliarity with the place. From his dress and his air of authority, she had assumed he was someone important within the Balenan court. He was older than her, by more than a decade at her best guess, but he was quite handsome, his coloring similar to hers, and his features regular and well formed.

  He looked over and caught her looking, his eyebrows lifting slightly as an attractive smile played around his lips.

  “I’ve been remiss, haven’t I?” he said pleasantly. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m a visitor here, like you, a guest of Their Majesties for tomorrow’s coronation. My name is Rasad.”

  “A visitor to Nohl?” Lucy asked, her brow furrowing. Surely he was Balenan. His coloring didn’t match anyone in the North Lands…well, anyone other than her family.

  “A visitor to Balenol,” he corrected, his look of amusement making her feel like he could read her thoughts. “I come from Thorania. I am here representing King Abner.”

  “Oh.” Lucy berated herself for her foolishness in not realizing his origin immediately. Of course there would be dignitaries attending from the neighboring kingdom as well as from across the sea. “Do you live in Thirl?” she asked lamely, unable to think of anything more interesting to say.

  This
Rasad was courteous enough, but his casual attention was a far cry from the eager admiration of the younger men who had been fawning over her before Eamon’s approach. She felt surprisingly wrong footed by her inability to read his opinion of her.

  Rasad smiled, the expression undeniably attractive despite the fact that he again seemed slightly amused. “I spend a great deal of time in the capital, yes,” he acknowledged. “But my holdings are further north, on the coast. It’s beautiful up there, Luciana, just like you.” Lucy blinked, not sure whether she was more thrown by the casual use of her name, or the unexpected compliment. “Perhaps you would like to see the northern and eastern parts of our kingdom before you leave the South Lands. It’s very different from the Balenan landscape.”

  “By the Balenan landscape, you mean endless jungle,” said Lucy lightly, unsure how to respond to his other comments.

  “Indeed,” agreed Rasad, with a chuckle. “The jungle does extend some way into Thorania, but there is much more to our kingdom.” He gave her a candid look. “We also do not share the…historical complexities…of the relationship between Balenol and your own kingdom.”

  Lucy smiled wryly, taking his meaning with perfect clarity. To her knowledge, Thorania had never stepped in to assist the oppressed Kyonans in Balenol, but neither had the kingdom engaged in the slave trade itself. In fact, the latest rumor was that quite a number of Balenol’s slaves had escaped over the years into the neighboring kingdom, with their descendants living in Thorania to this day. It was for that reason that Eamon and the others were going to Thorania after the coronation.