plucked his wife’s winecup from Rohan’s fingers. “All things are forgiven a drunken prince.”
“Drunk on happiness,” Rohan agreed.
Tobin giggled. “Rohan, you’re beautiful!”
“So I am! And so are you!” he added generously. “Ah, here’s Pandsala come to have her dinner at last. I’ll go be sweet to her, shall I, and confound them all!”
He danced with Pandsala and with Roelstra’s other daughters as well. He led his sister in a measure and made her laugh so hard she forgot the steps. He danced with the wives and daughters of other princes and lords, presenting them with what they expected to see: a young man excited by giving his first big party and more than a little drunk on his own wine. If anyone outside his immediate circle suspected the true source of his high spirits—well, they could suspect as they pleased until tomorrow night. He could hardly wait.
Music and wine flowed on late into the evening. The moons rose full and bright, and Rohan ordered most of the torches doused so that silver shadows could play more softly over fine silks and lovely faces. He was getting just drunk enough to risk asking Sioned to dance with him, but when he looked around there was no sign of her red-gold head. He sighed mournfully. She had probably gotten jealous again, watching him dance with every woman but her, and gone back to her tent.
Now, there was a thought.
He turned with a smile on his face and every intention of leaving his own party—to find Ianthe boldly inviting herself into his arms for the next dance. She was temptingly beautiful in a deep violet gown strewn with tiny silver beads that glistened in the moonlight. He accepted her hands on his shoulders, put his own about her waist, and they began the slow steps required by the music.
“Isn’t it interesting that they’ve stopped playing those country dances?” she asked.
“How much did you pay them?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Quite a bit! You’re not the fool you pretend to be, Rohan. I saw that days ago.”
“You flatter me, cousin. I’m not wise enough to pretend anything.”
“You’re lying to me, cousin.” Her body pressed more closely to his and her grip on his shoulders tightened. “Wouldn’t it be nicer to lie with me rather than to me?”
“We settled that before, as I recall.”
“Ah, no.” Her fingers slid down his arms, back up to his neck, admiring him. “You need me, Rohan. There’s passion in your eyes that I can match. I can help you with my father, too—no one knows him the way I do.”
“You’re a clever girl.”
“I’m so glad you finally noticed.” Their gazes locked, bright blue to deep brown. “You want me,” she breathed. “You wanted me the other night, and you want me now.”
“I wanted a woman, and you were convenient for a time,” he said brutally. “Do you think your father would thank me for dishonoring his daughter?”
“Do you think he cares a damn for any of us?”
“Then he’s the fool, not I. He should be watching you without blinking. You’re a desperate lot, you princesses.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Oh, yes.”
The dance and the conversation ended there. He bowed and walked away from her, seeking another goblet of wine to cool his flesh where her fingers had touched him. The same kind of Fire sprang from Sioned’s body to his own—yet it was so very different. He wondered why.
When he felt in better control of himself, he turned back to the party. But Ianthe was gone now, and so was Pandsala—and so was their father.
Sioned was not nearly as sober as her restraint in dealing with Rohan indicated. She watched from the shadow of a tent awning as he danced with any woman who caught his eye, amused until Ianthe showed up out of nowhere. The sight of them breast to breast ignited something reckless inside Sioned. The man was hers, and it was time he started acting like it. More, it was time those damned royal bitches understood just who was going to be his princess.
She giggled softly to herself when his dance with Ianthe ended and he went straight for the nearest goblet of wine, obviously in need of it. But her main attention was on Ianthe, who paused for a moment to watch Rohan with glittering dark eyes. All at once her gaze found Sioned, and hatred was scrawled all over the princess’ proud face. Sioned smiled sweetly. Ianthe glared at her, picked up her