but I will not wear—” She managed to point vaguely toward the serving girl. “I won’t wear that.”
The girl looked at Ruith for support. He looked fully prepared to give it to her, so Sarah left them to their scheming and retreated to stand in front of the fire where she could attempt to warm her hands that were far colder than they should have been. She heard Ruith’s soft laughter, listened to him usher the girl out the door, then heard his footsteps approach. He stopped behind her and waited silently, but Sarah couldn’t bring herself to help him along into hitherto unexplored realms of uncomfortable conversational topics.
He apparently had more patience than she did, though, because he outlasted her easily. She finally gave vent to a gusty sigh and turned to look at him.
“I’ve changed my mind. I want to use one of my remaining beg-off-from-supper tokens.”
“Can’t,” he said cheerfully. “Even my grandfather doesn’t refuse supper here—when he manages to get himself inside the gates.”
She had to force herself to breathe normally. “I don’t belong here.”
“And given the long history of prickly relations between my mother’s people and Uachdaran’s, I would say I didn’t either. But since the king has been good enough to offer us shelter and a meal, I imagine we should accept and see if we can’t improve the goodwill a bit.”
“How politic of you, Your Highness.”
“It is, isn’t it?” he asked, frowning as if he wasn’t quite sure where the impulse had come from. He walked over to rest his hand on the enormous stone mantel. “Lovely gown.”
“Your sister wore it when she was here.”
He flinched. “Touché, love.”
“The difference is, the crown they tried to stick on her head was bigger, I understand, though she balked at wearing it as well.” She tucked her hands into her sleeves, wincing as she grazed her right arm.
“It sounds as if you’ll get on famously,” he said.
She nodded, then turned to look at the fire again, because it was easier than looking at him. She knew she was stalling, but it seemed the only thing to do out of a sense of self-preservation. “Ruith—”
“We’ll be late if we don’t hurry,” he said, taking her arm suddenly and pulling her across the chamber. “Dancing lessons. But first the appropriate accoutrements.”
Sarah watched him, unable to speak, as he plopped his crown on his head with an adroitness that bespoke a youth in a palace, then took hers, turned her toward him, and gently placed it on her head. Then he met her eyes.
“This is freshly forged.”
“Mistakenly—”
“Purposely,” he corrected, “for you, which means you should wear it.”
“But I am nothing,” she protested.
“You are something to me,” he said seriously, “and Uachdaran perhaps honors you for that reason. I suspect, however, that since he obviously ordered this made for you, he has other reasons we can’t yet divine.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what they are,” she muttered.
“Delving too deeply into the dwarf king’s motives can be dangerous,” he agreed, “but always yields interesting results.” He paused. “If nothing else, you could wear this very lovely bit of work and give a goldsmith who will likely be sneaking a look in the great hall tonight a measure of delight at seeing his creation atop the head of the most beautiful woman there.”
She looked up at him, but found she couldn’t see him very well. She was weary; that was it. It had been an extraordinarily long winter turned spring so far with no sign of any of it abating any time soon. She blinked rapidly.
“I’m not a weeper.”
“Nay, love, you aren’t.”
She took a deep breath. “I still don’t want this, but I will endure it to please that very shy smith.” She paused. “I’m not sure I can keep it on my head.”
“I’ll see to it.” He fetched a pair of pins from the dressing table, then frowned thoughtfully as he attempted to use them for their intended purpose. He examined his work, then reached up and brushed two stray tears from her cheeks. “You need a distraction. Allow me to offer myself.”
“Altruistic of you.”
“Self-serving,” he admitted, “but you can think of it how you want.” He took her left hand. “Let’s be off to see what we can learn before supper begins.”
Their dancing master, a small, elfin creature, had endless amounts of patience and an infectious amount of good humor. He taught them three dances, pronounced them quick studies, and promised to have a quiet word with King Uachdaran’s