dance floor, and smiled slightly as he gazed down at her. His mouth was softer than usual, that hard line almost welcoming. The band swelled into a waltz as he held her in his arms, his hand in the small of her back seeming to beam heat and comfort directly into her skin through the silk of her gown, the hand holding hers so warm, so strong.
She did not know why she wanted, suddenly, to weep.
“What is the matter?” he asked in that quiet way of his, and she knew he was continuing the discussion from earlier, that nothing ever truly distracted a man of his focus.
“I do not know,” she said, surprised to hear that she was whispering. She blinked, and tilted her head back to study his face. He only watched her, that boundless patience in his gray eyes—that calm readiness for whatever she might say, whenever she might say it to him.
“There is nothing you can tell me that will tarnish you in my eyes,” he said in a low voice, sweeping her around the dance floor, his eyes on her as if nothing else existed. As if there was only the music, the palace, the low murmurs of the well-heeled guests, like a bubble around them. As if there was only this perfect, tiny jewel of a country, hidden away in remote mountains, beautiful in ways that hurt her soul. In the same way that he did.
And she understood, then, how easy it would be. To simply let go. To let him lead, as he did now, waltzing with the grace and mastery she had come to expect of him no matter what he did, his mouth in that enigmatic near-curve as he gazed down at her. It would be so easy to simply accept this life he’d given her. A country. A crown. And the endless delight of their explosive, uncontainable chemistry.
She need only forget herself. What she knew, who she was. She need only accept that her father was never the villain, but instead the misunderstood hero. She need only learn to think of her selfish, childish mother the way the Alakkulians obviously did—as the evil witch who had so destroyed their king with her string of lovers. The woman who had stolen away their princess. She need only erase all she’d believed to be true about her life, her world, herself.
And then she could have him, and all those dreams she’d longed for as a teenager would finally come true.
It would be as easy as breathing. As easy as letting him move her about the dance floor with all of his skill and grace. It would be so very, very easy—and she had done most of it already. She had become so concerned with turning herself into a proper queen—because she wanted his approval. She wanted that slow curve of his mouth that was only hers. She wanted the shine in his eyes that meant he was proud of her.
When had that happened? When had his opinion of her become more important to her than her own?
And why didn’t that realization horrify her as she knew it ought to do?
“You look as if you have seen a ghost,” Adel said softly, his lips so close to her ear that she shivered, feeling that low murmur in every part of her.
“Sometimes you make me feel as if I am one,” she said, before she knew she meant to speak.
His head reared back slightly, and his eyes narrowed, but the song ended—and their ever-present aides interrupted them, prepared to usher the King to one table and the Queen to another.
“Duty calls,” he murmured, holding on to her hand for a beat, then another, after the music had ended. Calling attention to the fact he had not let her go. “But we will return to this topic, Princess.”
She had no doubt that they would.
And what did it say about her that anticipation was like honey in her veins, warming her, sweetening her, turning her into fire and need?
He stepped into her dressing room, and startled her as she reached to take down her hair, letting the heavy curls fall from the elaborate twist at the back of her head. She froze, meeting his gray gaze in the great mirror she stood before, its heavy gold and jeweled accents seeming to fade next to the raw power of the man who filled the doorway behind her.
Her heart began to speed up in her chest. Adel did not