I lift my chalice and sniff the too-sweet wine, then set it down untouched. I was poisoned once that way already.
This time, I have a reason to live.
Killian’s heated gaze burns between my shoulder blades.
A man in a plain uniform is brought out. He stabs the delicious food placed before us, sticking a morsel of everything into his mouth and savoring the flavor.
“What is happening?” I whisper to the king. “Why is he eating my dinner?”
“After your last engagement ball, it became customary to have a taster test all food served to the royal family.”
The taster drinks from my chalice, sniffing deeply with an expression of rapture.
I suddenly regret not taking the maids’ advice to eat in my room. I nibbled, but not very much, and now I’m hungry.
Who knew that pleasuring a man worked up such an appetite. The thought hollows out my low belly with a familiar ache.
I resist the temptation to turn and look at him. His stare burns between my shoulder blades. I feel him watching every movement, and it does things to my insides that have me squirming in my seat.
Once the taster has passed a decent interval without signs of illness, we are invited to eat our now-cold dinners. I pick at mine. The thought of another person’s mouth touching my food is less than appetizing, even if it were piping hot.
“Would you like the rest?” I ask the taster.
“Would I?” His eyes go round. “Your Highness, the honor is mine. Castle Belterre’s chefs are renowned. To consume such masterfully prepared food, after it has touched your lips…”
He trails off, his eyes dropping to the vicinity of my chin.
“All yours.”
I push the plate at him and drink my wine in three gulps.
A mistake. I’m not quite drunk, yet not entirely sober, when Alistair offers me his hand and asks me to dance. As if I have a choice in the matter.
I’m supposed to enjoy this. The fawning, the silk, the fine food, the exquisite music, the handsome prince, all of it. Any woman would.
I paste a smile on my face and play my assigned role.
While the swish of silk around my legs is pleasant, it does nothing to fill the hollowness behind my heart. I would be happier with warm earth beneath my bare toes and the sun on my face with my lungs expanding freely instead of caged by a corset.
For once, Alistair doesn’t get handsy when he leads me onto the ballroom floor. I suppose all these eyes force a degree of decorum upon him, too.
“You look pensive, Rose.”
Alistair’s palm is warm on my back. He smells of too much cologne. Combined with the wine and an almost-empty stomach, I’m lightheaded.
“Thinking.”
He twirls me, which adds nausea to the mix. Delightful.
“You never need to overtax your pretty head again, my darling.”
I’m going to vomit.
“I still have a brain, Alistair, even if you see me as nothing but a womb on two legs. I’m going to use it whether you like it or not. My brain, I mean.” That didn’t come out quite right.
Wrong tone to strike.
His grip on my waist tightens. Corset bones pinch my skin, forcing a startled gasp
