Page 8 of Iris of the Crowned Flame
“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. “I know we discussed choosing Prince Egan and Prince Frederick, but who’s the third in your sights?”
I took a breath, steadying myself. “Please, I need you to be on board with this one. It’s personal, but Ivy made a strong case for it last night.”
His brows rose, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “Go on.”
“Spencer.”
A flicker of something crossed his face — a brief, almost imperceptible flash of distaste, maybe even surprise. And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, buried beneath his careful neutrality.
“What benefit does Spencer provide?” he asked, his voice measured but not dismissive.
Dammit. He wasn’t sold. But at least he wasn’t outright rejecting it.
I pressed on. “I know his kingdom and ours have strong relations, and that won’t change. But more than that, we know Spencer — as a person. He’s kind. Thoughtful. And I trust him. Our existing friendship could help us manage the Council and push for the progress we need. And I like him,” I admitted, quieter now. “On a personal level, he’s someone I can be comfortable with, someone I can trust alone. None of the others can give me that. I want to feel safe in my own home.”
My mouth tightened, my brows drawing together as Iwaited for his answer. If I couldn’t convince Ethan, I’d never convince the Council. And I couldn’t claim love — not when there’d been no courting, no declarations from any of these men.
Ethan’s eyes softened. He took my hands in his, the warmth of his grip steadying me.
“I think those are all powerful reasons,” he said, his voice gentler now. “And, Lyla? You don’t have to choose any of these men if you don’t trust them. Your safety matters more than trade deals or alliances. We can always negotiate for what our people need, but we can’t trade for your peace of mind.”
His lips quirked into a small, roguish grin. “Besides, if anyone makes you uncomfortable tonight, Ivy and I will have a lovely excuse to start a scene.”
“You’ll have an excuse to start a scene regardless,” Ivy replied dryly.
Ethan’s grin widened. “Now that’s the spirit.”
CHAPTER 7
We quickly made our way through the castle to the ballroom. Ivy, Amyra, and Ethan were all expected to enter ahead of me. Father agreed to meet me near the entryway, and we would enter together; the outgoing king escorting the soon-to-be queen, to an event designed to choose the new soon to be king. Over a dozen men were here to try to earn my good favor. I quickly filled Father in with my three preliminary choices and then selected two more that I randomly recalled from our hours of research. He intended to have conversations with these men this evening, to evaluate their commitment to our kingdom. He would tell me the next morning what his take was on the men prior to a council meeting to announce the selection. Father, and the Council believe I intended to choose one man at the meeting in the morning. I didn’t think telling them differently would go well. They might have said no, giving me a bigger problem. But I hoped that by presenting the list of three men in a way that feels spontaneous to them, they might have agreed to a time to get to know them longer.
The band played the queue we knew to listen for, causing Father to glance at me. “Ready?” He asked, reaching for my hand on his elbow.
“As ready as I could be,” I replied. The question and replyhad been our little ritual for these events. It was comforting to go through it one more time. I blinked back another tear. As we turned to the doors, they opened. We heard our names announced, and in unison, we stepped forward and started our entrance.
All eyes turned to us, and I scanned the crowd. I quickly found Amyra and Ivy standing near the bottom of the stairs on the right, and Ethan was not far away from them, standing with Lady Katelle and Lord Denenbaum. They appeared to have been talking to a man I didn’t know. I suspected he was Prince Egan. On the left side, I noticed Spencer standing with his father. I recognized other faces from past travels. As we reached the top of the stairs, we paused, allowing for the room to bow and curtsy. I never could get used to seeing people defer to us in this way. Perhaps this was a custom that I could change. I’d rather people see me as their peer, not someone they ought to put on a pedestal to worship. We made our way down the stairs, and as we touched the bottom, the crowd finally rose out of their bows and curtsies.
Father and I stayed together as he steered us towards a couple of gentlemen I didn’t recognize. They greeted us with practiced grace as Father introduced them. The only one I made a note of was Prince Frederick. He was far more handsome than I expected. But, not in the flashy way of younger nobles eager for attention, his attractiveness came from a deliberate, polished manner that caught the eye without trying.
His sandy blond hair was neatly combed back, not a strand out of place, and the warm lighting of the ballroom brought out subtle gold tones in it. His had high cheekbones, a clean jawline, and a mouth that seemed always poised on the edge of either charm or calculation. It gave him an air of quiet authority. But it was his pale blue eyes, steady and assessing beneath straight brows, that truly caught me. They didn’t flinch or fawn the way so many others had tonight. Instead, they watched me like a man who already understood that power was best won with patience.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries until Frederick, with asmall, knowing smile, asked me to dance. I glanced at Father. He gave me a brief nod. Not permission, that wasn’t needed any more, this was acknowledgement of our shifting roles. I no longer needed his leave, and that small freedom felt more satisfying than I expected.
Frederick offered his arm, and I accepted, letting him lead me toward the dance floor. We continued our small talk as we moved, his words light and well-chosen, slipping in a story about a mischievous nephew that drew a genuine smile from me. But as the music swelled around us, I felt his gaze sharpen, studying me not with the idle interest of a man seeking favor, but like a strategist reading a map.
“Princess Lyla,” he said at last, his tone dipping into something quieter, more intentional, “I fear I’m boring you with stories of my family. My aim was to put you at ease, but you are not a woman easily disarmed.”
I tilted my head slightly, intrigued despite myself.
“You’re guarded — rightly so,” he continued. “I imagine it’s no simple thing to weigh a lifetime of partnership from an evening of dances. If I may ask something a touch bold?” He paused, waiting for my nod of permission. His restraint, I noted, was deliberate. He was drawing me in, not pushing.
“I’ve heard you are as intelligent as you are formidable. I doubt you’d step into a hall like this without a strategy. Surely you already have names in mind, perhaps even a quiet ranking. Do you?”
His question didn’t surprise me, but it impressed me. He understood the game. He understoodme. I merely inclined my head, hoping my silence would encourage him to continue.
“If it isn’t too bold, I’d like to know, is there a chance? Or should I just enjoy this visit to your kingdom for what it is, and look forward to strengthening our relations in other ways?”
When positioned like that, how could I not want him in the competition if the Council allowed it? His stories and his respect for me definitely elevated him above the others, even if he wasn’t part of my original selection, to entice Lord Luther into accepting the tournament.
