by Anthea Sharp
Cheers and applause filled the room as the prince stood. He bowed, acknowledging the crowd. Then, unsmiling, he descended to the dance floor, and Anneth felt a pang of sympathy. Clearly he was not thrilled at the prospect of dancing with dozens of young ladies, but he would do his duty to the kingdom.
She understood royal duty all too well.
The indicated young women clustered beside the dais, and Anneth could feel the nervousness and excitement rising like heat from where they gathered. Two of them wore ornate gowns—one with a gauzy pink overskirt, the other sparkling with purple gems. The remaining girls were dressed more plainly, Anneth was glad to see.
“Do you know any of them?” she asked Lily.
“No. Let’s see how their dancing is.”
Anneth nodded, and they found a place against the wall where they could watch. Many of the guests did the same, some clearly there to evaluate their competition, others with more genial expressions who were simply enjoying the spectacle.
“I’m glad we’re not in the first batch,” Anneth said softly, grateful for the opportunity to watch people waltzing.
“But I’m just going to get more and more nervous,” Lily said. “I wish I were first.”
The music began, and the dancing master beckoned the first young lady to the floor. Judging from the near-panic in her eyes, she didn’t share Lily’s sentiments.
The prince strode to meet her and bowed over her hand. He murmured something, she replied, and they began to waltz. To Anneth’s inexperienced eye, both dancers moved stiffly, but she supposed nerves played a part, even for a prince. After all, he was on display for the entire crowd, and would be all evening—his every look and word and smile weighed and measured. She didn’t envy him in the least.
Once the couple had stepped around the circumference of the dance floor twice, Lily shook her head. “Maybe the next one will be a better dancer.”
“Perhaps—though how do you know it’s not the prince who’s the problem?” Anneth asked.
Lily shot her a glance. “Of course he knows how to dance. He’s the prince, after all.”
“Knowing how to waltz isn’t necessarily a talent that royalty is born with.” Anneth lifted a brow in reminder.
Lily simply rolled her eyes and went back to watching the dancers. After three times around the floor, the music slowed. Prince Owen spun his partner in a gentle circle, then bowed and stepped back.
“Two!” the dancing master called.
With a brilliant smile, the gauzy-skirted young lady stepped forward. She made the prince a graceful curtsey, then flowed into his arms without a trace of awkwardness.
“Lady Fiona Waterford,” a woman standing near Anneth said. “She has the best chance of all of them, I’d say.”
“Wager on it?” asked her companion, a stout fellow wearing a bright yellow coat.
“Certainly.” The woman grinned at him. “I’ll gladly be taking all your ale money for a fortnight.”
The prince and Lady Fiona began to dance, and Lily elbowed Anneth lightly in the ribs.
“See? I told you he knows how to dance.”
“Apparently so,” Anneth said.
The difference from the last waltz was remarkable. The prince and his new partner swept elegantly about the floor, spinning in wide arcs that made Lady Fiona’s skirts flare out. Anneth spared a sympathetic glance for the first young lady, who was looking down at her feet with an expression that suggested she wished the ground would open and swallow her up.
Poor girl. Anneth knew that when her own turn to dance with Prince Owen came, her skills would far more closely resemble his first partner than his second. Still, she studied how Lady Fiona moved her feet, and tried to imagine herself in the lady’s place.
The couple even appeared to be conversing. Lady Fiona let out a laugh, seeming oblivious to the watching crowd.
“Aye, you’ve the right of it,” the yellow-coated man said sourly to his friend. “I shouldn’t have made that bet.”
“Well, the evening’s just begun,” the woman said. “I might yet be proven wrong. Though I doubt it.”
The prince twirled Lady Fiona about as the music came to a close. He bowed, and she smiled at him, and Anneth rather agreed that the yellow-coated fellow was going to lose his wager.
“Three!” called the dancing master, and the next girl stepped forward.
She was not as stiff as the first girl, but not nearly as confident as Lady Fiona. The watching crowd ebbed as people went to refill their tankards and plates.
“We should sit,” Lily said. “I don’t want my feet too tired from standing about when it comes time to dance. At this rate, it will be hours yet.”
Probably not hours, Anneth thought, but their assigned numbers seemed rather distant. Especially if the dancing master was going to lead the crowd in social dances between the groups of young ladies. In truth, what she most desired was to find a quiet corner where she might practice the footwork she’d just seen Lady Fiona perform.
“Go sit,” Anneth said to Lily. “I’ll find you when the general dancing starts—I just want to refresh myself on the waltz.”
Lily glanced about the crowded hall, brows raised. “Good luck. Oh, there’s Seanna! Come have a tankard with us when you’re done.”
Anneth nodded, though she intended to forgo the drink. It was always best to keep a clear head—especially with the strange undercurrent she’d sensed in the room. Meanwhile, she had the more pressing problem of finding someplace to practice her dancing unobserved.
She’d grown up in a palace, however, and knew all the tucked-away doors and hidden hallways of Hawthorne. Surely Castle Raine could not be all that different. Chin high, she set out to find a place to waltz in private.
Eight young ladies down, Owen thought as he bowed farewell to his latest dancing partner, a shy girl with brown hair who had not said more than two words the entire dance. How many more to go? At this rate, the evening would drag on for a hundred years.
“Thank you, Miss Iona,” he said, keeping a pleasant expression on his face.
She blushed, as though his remembering her name was a mark of particular favor. “It was… The pleasure was mine, sir… your highness.”
He nodded, then strode back to the dais. It was common courtesy to recall his dancing partners’ names—at least until their brief waltz was over. The only one who’d made any impression at all so far, however, had been Lady Fiona.
They were acquainted, of course, which made it easier. Her mother held lands to the southwest, near the coast, and their wealth primarily came from the raising of sheep. Lady Fiona was a pleasant girl, well spoken, and understood the responsibilities of nobility.
He could do worse, he supposed.
Trying not to frown—a prince shouldn’t frown at his own ball—he settled on the throne beside his father’s. On the floor below, the dancing master was organizing the crowd into long lines in preparation for a reel.
“You could join them,” the king suggested, leaning toward Owen. “I know you enjoy the faster dances.”
“Perhaps later. How many girls are there, again?”
“Upwards of forty.”
“Six groups.” Owen let out a silent sigh. He greatly feared they would all blur together by the end of the night. Perhaps he should simply settle on Lady Fiona and be done.
But that would dash the hopes of all the other young women in attendance, and he knew better than to do such a thing. No matter what his private decision might be.
He brought his hand to his face, massaging the slight ache at his temples.
“Have you eaten anything?” His father’s voice sharpened. “Tonight, of all nights, is no time to forgo dinner. Your mother would say you’re too slender.”
King Philip’s expression grew shadowed, and they were both silent for a few heartbeats. Then Owen stood.
“You’re right. I’ll go find some nourishment.”
Along with a bit of quiet. The great hall echoed wi
th the sounds of music, and voices raised in conversation to compete with it, so that he could scarcely hear his own thoughts.
The king nodded, and Owen slipped behind the thrones to the small door at the back of the hall. The guard there pulled the door open for him, and he gratefully stepped into the cool quiet of the hallway.
It led toward the dining room in one direction, and the library and kingdom’s offices in the other. Most times it was busy with servants and courtiers going about their business, but now it was soothingly private. Owen pulled in a deep breath and removed his circlet.
When he returned to the great hall he’d put it back on, but it was a relief to set the crown aside for a moment.
The smell of bread and grilled meat drifted from the direction of the dining hall and kitchens beyond. It wasn’t protocol, of course, for him to sneak into the kitchen and beg a meal, but Mrs. Henley, the cook, had spoiled him with treats ever since he was a boy. She wouldn’t begrudge him a bite of dinner, no matter how the servants’ brows might rise.
As he passed the dining room, movement through the half-open doors caught his eye. He halted, peering into the room. The evening sun cast bars of light through the high windows, but back at the shadowed end, beyond the long dining table, he saw a woman.
Her back was to him, her arms upraised. She seemed to be dancing, all alone. Somehow, she’d managed to sneak into the forbidden areas of the castle. How had the guards not stopped her?
“Excuse me,” he said coldly, stepping into the room. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
She stopped abruptly and whirled to face him. Owen recognized her by her height and jet-black hair as the tall young lady he’d observed earlier.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m La— My name is Anneth. The door was unlocked and I needed a place to practice. I’m afraid I’m not very good at waltzing, and I didn’t want to trip the prince during our dance.”
He could hear the self-deprecating smile in her voice, and his mood softened—although clearly he’d need to have a word with Captain Crane about his men’s watchfulness.
“You’re not allowed in here without permission,” he said.
“I understand. I’ll just go, shall I?”
She gathered up her green skirts in one hand and stepped around the long dining table. The beadwork on her bodice picked up glints of light, flashing emerald as she breathed, and her face was slightly flushed with exertion.
As she made to pass him by, he held out a hand.
“Wait.” He couldn’t simply let her leave to wander about the castle unescorted, and yet he wasn’t ready to return to the hubbub of the ball himself.
Besides, something about Anneth piqued his interest. She had an intriguing lilt to her speech and a confident bearing that made him wonder if she were related to nobility.
“It’s not easy to practice waltzing by yourself,” he said. “Would you like a partner?”
She halted, sending him a startled look. “I would… but aren’t you Prince Owen? My apologies that I didn’t recognize you right away, your highness.”
He waved her words away and held up the silver circlet in his other hand. “You’re forgiven, as I’m not wearing my crown, and we haven’t yet been formally introduced. I’m Owen Mallory.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” She dropped into a very elegant curtsey. “Anneth, as I said before.”
“Just Anneth?”
“Anneth Geary,” she said, then blinked, as if momentarily startled. Whatever thought had flickered behind her eyes, however, was quickly hidden.
“And where are you from, Anneth?” He strode forward and offered his hand.
Slowly, she placed her palm over his, and a strange shock went through him. Their gazes locked, and he realized she was only an inch shorter than he, if that.
“I have family nearby,” she said, “but I live on the other side of the Darkwood.”
“Are all the girls there so tall?” he asked in jest.
She tilted her head thoughtfully, the yellow flowers shining in her hair. “Many of us, yes.”
“I’d like to see your town full of giantesses someday.”
Her eyes widened briefly, and he wondered why the idea made her uneasy. He nearly pressed the matter, then thought better of it. No need to frighten her off. He could always quiz her about her upbringing when they met officially on the dance floor.
“Let us attempt the waltz,” he said, pulling her gently into dance position and slipping one arm about her waist. “I’ll count to three, and then we’ll start. Ready?”
Her eyebrows twitched together, but she nodded. This close, he could see her pulse beating in her throat. Her hand was cold in his.
“Begin slowly, if you would,” she said. “I’ve only ever waltzed once.”
Only once? Her town must be very small indeed. He frowned, calling to mind the maps of Raine he’d studied and trying to remember the names of the hamlets and villages on the far side of the forest.
“Perhaps not quite this slowly,” she said, giving him a crooked smile, and he abruptly recalled that they were supposed to be dancing.
“Forgive my distraction,” he said, then counted to three.
They started off a bit haltingly. Anneth bit her lip in a rather endearing way, and snuck several glances down at their feet, but soon she relaxed and the dance began to flow. Owen stopped counting aloud, and they moved together in the sunlit silence of the dining room.
He steered her in a wide loop about the table, mindful of the chairs, and she followed, her steps light. When they reached the space at the head of the table, she met his gaze.
“Perhaps we might try a turn,” she said. “I was watching earlier, and think I can manage it.”
“If you’d like. It’s true that the dance can be rather monotonous, otherwise.”
She nodded slightly, and on the next beat of one, he rotated them about in a swooping arc. Her skirt belled out, and she tipped her head back and laughed. The sound made something ease in his chest. In order to hear it again, he pivoted them a second time.
She followed, her movements growing in confidence.
“You’re right,” she said, grinning at him. “This is much more fun.”
Flecks of gold shone in her eyes, and for a moment he was lost in the mystery of her gaze. Who was this woman, and why had he never met her until this day?
“Ahem.” The sound of someone clearing his throat in the doorway broke the spell. “There you are, your highness.”
Owen halted and looked over to see the captain of the guard standing at the threshold. Guilt crept over him at being caught dancing with a stranger in the dining room, but he brushed it aside.
“What is it, Captain Crane?” he asked.
“The next batch of young ladies is assembled and waiting.” The captain shot Anneth a suspicious glance.
“Of course.” Owen bent over Anneth’s hand. “Thank you for the dance, milady. I look forward to our next one.”
“As do I,” she said.
Snatching up his circlet from where he’d set it on the table, Owen strode to the door. “See our guest to the great hall, if you please,” he said to the captain, before stepping into the hallway.
He wasn’t certain what had just happened—but he did know that reentering the ball with Anneth on his arm would cause more gossip than he was ready for. What a curious young woman she was, and full of contradictions. She didn’t know how to waltz, yet was poised in his presence, not fumbling or tongue-tied like so many girls he met. But not over-polished like Lady Fiona, whom he always felt was holding up a mirror to hide her true thoughts.
Indeed, as Owen hurried down the stone corridor back to the hall, he couldn’t deny the warm glow of anticipation at the knowledge that he and Anneth would share another dance that very evening.
22
Under the stony gaze of the captain of the guard, Anneth moved to the door of the dining room.
“Who are you, and where are you fro
m?” he asked suspiciously, one hand going to the sword at his belt.
“My name is Anneth,” she said, doing her best to sound like a mortal girl and not an elven princess. “I’m from the far side of the Darkwood.”
It was true, after all. The man grunted, which she took to mean he had no further questions—at least, not yet.
“Back to the hall with you, and no more sneaking about, you hear?” He gave her a hard look. “Follow me closely.”
Meekly, Anneth bowed her head and trailed him. The corridor was cool and dim, and she felt her pulse settle as they walked through the shadows. Her escort was silent, which gave her the opportunity to mull over what had just happened.
She’d danced with Prince Owen.
That was rather extraordinary—but even more unexpected was how comfortable she’d felt with him, and how quickly. The waltz, which she’d been apprehensive about, had turned out to be such fun. And the prince himself had a certain quiet reserve that she hadn’t expected.
She wasn’t quite sure what she had expected in a mortal prince. Cocksure arrogance, perhaps, or an inflated sense of himself.
With a wry inward smile, she shook her head. No, Prince Owen did not possess those qualities, but the Cereus Prince certainly did. It was a little disconcerting to realize that the Dark Elf prince did not compare well with his mortal counterpart. Perhaps she, too, was guilty of the same assumptions about mortals that she’d found so objectionable in her own people.
The guardsman led her to a large arched doorway instead of taking her to the small, out-of-the-way door she’d discovered behind a tapestry in the great hall. He pushed it open, meeting the startled young guard on the other side with a frown.
“Kavan,” the captain said, “explain to me how you let this intruder slip past your guard.”
Wide-eyed, Kavan glanced from his superior to Anneth. “Sir! I never did. I’ve been at this door all evening. Nobody has come in or out during that time, I swear it.”