My attention turns back to Galinor. A young woman comes to his side, a sweet-looking girl of maybe sixteen or seventeen. She smiles at him adoringly, obviously hoping the handsome prince will ask her to dance. My focus is so intent on them, I trip when Irving turns.
“As always, your dancing is divine,” Irving says when I accidentally step on his foot.
“And you are as charming as ever.”
“I must be losing my touch.” He flashes me a grin. “Your attention is everywhere but on me.”
My eyes snap back to him. “I’m sorry, Irving.”
He tilts his head, studying me before he looks away. “I think I’m going to go save that poor girl from Galinor.”
I scan the room as if I don’t know exactly where Galinor is at. “What girl?”
Irving snorts a laugh. “Right.”
He leads me to the pair. As soon as the song ends, Irving releases me. Galinor stands, his cobalt eyes locking with mine, and he gives me a small bow.
With a grand flourish, Irving thanks me for the dance and then turns his attention to the girl. Immediately besotted with the handsome prince of Primewood, she dances away with him, looking positively starry-eyed.
And now I’m alone with Galinor.
I smooth the fabric at my waist and clear my throat. “This is lovely.”
The tiniest of smiles graces his lips. “It’s the girl who makes the gown.”
My hand stills on the dress, and my eyes widen insurprise. Heat rises to my cheeks. “I meant the evening… But thank you.”
He scans the couples before turning his attention back to me. Like an apology, he says, “I don’t dance.”
I nod, unsure how to answer. Perhaps that is his tactful way of suggesting I move along?
He offers his arm before I excuse myself. “But I walk. Would you care to join me?”
I fight back a silly grin and accept his arm. “I’d love to.”
We make our way to the open terrace opposite the hall. It’s still raining, but we’re partially protected by the balcony above.
“Bran and Dristan seem to be enjoying themselves,” Galinor says, gesturing to the brothers.
They stand inside, charming several ladies with their tales of the sea. I murmur my agreement and smile as a chorus of laughter rings out at the end of one of Bran’s stories.
Galinor leans against a pillar. “This afternoon, while you were resting, I picked out your horses. They should serve you well.”
My stomach twists. Surely he knows how badly I want him to come?
“That’s very kind.” I can’t meet his eyes. “I’m indebted to you.”
He smiles. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
I nod.
“The people of the troupes are dangerous—don’t forget that.”
With the way the firelight glints off his dark hair andshadows his muscular build, I think he might be just as dangerous.
A breeze blows across the valley, and I shiver.
“You’re cold,” he says. “Let’s go back inside.”
