was right.” He smiled down at her. “Our court can be rather intimidating, and you’re much too shy to field the sort of interest you’re bound to attract. I must have Father assign you a guard who can accompany you at all times.”
“Oh, but I assure you…”
Her assurances were brushed aside as the prince took her hand and rested it on his arm. She somehow managed not to pull away.
“No, my dear, you must allow that I know my own court, and I am certain you would find it most distressing without a bit of a… shall we say, buffer. Never fear.” He patted Leisa’s hand in the most patronizing way possible. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Again, she swallowed her biting remarks and followed as he led her out the door—not without a tug when her skirts proved wider than the doorway—and down the hall.
“As it happens,” Vaniell said comfortably, not seeming to realize or care that he was treating his future bride like a none-too-bright child, “I typically prefer to arrive last so that my latest fashion creation can have its full effect. But I believe that on this occasion, as it is in celebration of our potential engagement, I can bring myself to bend to propriety and greet the court as a royal host.”
“Truly, your magnanimity knows no bounds,” Leisa murmured, allowing herself that tiny moment of rebellion. It was that or burst.
“What was that?”
“I was merely expressing my awe at the surroundings,” she replied innocently.
Which meant, of course, that he spent the remainder of their stroll to the ballroom pointing out exactly how remarkable the surroundings actually were.
It was with a vast sense of relief on Leisa’s part that they finally reached the royal family entrance and passed through it into a chamber of such soaring grandeur, she found herself reluctantly impressed.
The ballroom alone was nearly the size of the entire ground floor of Farhall’s royal palace. Supported by intricately painted columns down both sides of the room, it was decorated by jewel-toned murals and hung with silken draperies to lend it warmth. Enormous gilt-framed mirrors reflected the light from crystal chandeliers and lent vivid hues to swirling patterns of rose and gold on the ballroom floor.
The room was already halfway to being full, at least by her estimation, and more people continued to stream in. Sure enough, the maid had been right about the trends in Garimoran fashion—flounces everywhere. But nowhere were there as many as on Leisa’s own gown except perhaps…
Queen Portiana sailed into view, and Leisa barely remembered to curtsy as she took in the sheer volume of the queen’s dress.
“So much improved, my dear,” Portiana remarked, as Leisa rose from her hasty genuflection. “No one can find fault with your gown, at least.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Leisa replied, after she unclenched her teeth. “I am most grateful for your thoughtfulness in providing it.” Hopefully, she was a better liar than a diplomat. She had a feeling she would be bending—or at least omitting—the truth on a regular basis for the next few days.
But where was His Majesty?
Ah. Standing a handful of paces behind them, looking regal, watchful, and somehow as though he were expecting her to do something odd, like burst into song. Or perhaps he was hoping to gauge the size of King Soren’s purse by staring at his daughter’s head?
“Are we to mingle? Or will we be receiving guests formally?” Leisa asked her escort, unsure which of those options would be worse.
“The court will come to us, of course, and be presented to you as befits your rank,” Prince Vaniell assured her. “There is no need for you to distress yourself.” Again with that pat on the hand. She longed to reach out, grip his sleeve, throw him over her hip, and watch the smug smile vanish from his face.
Until suddenly it did, only to be replaced by a calculating glance that threatened to revise her opinion of him. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” he murmured, not waiting for Leisa’s permission before moving to intercept a man who appeared bent on approaching them. Apparently, he didn’t want this particular member of the court to be presented to her at all.
Whatever he didn’t want her to hear was probably the only thing worth overhearing, so Leisa slipped to the side—hoping she looked more shy than surreptitious—until she could duck behind a nearby column. It was an easy business to move from one to the next, or would have been had