Page 43 of Throne Off Course

As the evening wore on and the drinks started disappearing with increasing frequency, the music shifted. The DJ transitioned to a sultry Latin number, its infectious salsa rhythm pulsing through the walls. It was the kind of song that made people dance—whether they wanted to or not.

Unfortunately, Alexander absolutely did not want to.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed, exuding the reluctant grace of a man who had endured years of forced ballroom dances and saw no reason to subject himself to any further dance related torture.

Emilia, on the other hand, had other plans. She appeared in front of him, grinning, mischief already glinting in her eyes. “Come on, Your Highness,” she coaxed, offering her hand. “Dance with me.”

Alexander arched a brow. “No.”

“No?” she echoed, tilting her head in mock disbelief.

“No,” he confirmed, taking a deliberate sip of his drink.

Sebastian, who had been watching with the kind of delighted anticipation reserved for reality television drama, leaned in. “Oh, this is fun. Do go on.”

Emilia ignored him and stepped closer to Alexander, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of her perfume. “So that’s it? The Crown Prince of Caledonia doesn’t dance?”

“I’ve danced at every official engagement required of me,” Alexander replied smoothly. “I see no reason to—”

“Oh, no reason,” she interrupted, smiling mischievously. “Or no ability?”

Sebastian whistled. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s bold.”

Alexander set down his drink with deliberate precision, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s. “I assure you, Miss Carter,” he said, his voice rich with warning, “if I wanted to dance, I would.”

Emilia crossed her arms, entirely unfazed. “So prove it.”

Sebastian choked on his whiskey.

Alexander stared at her, exasperated. “That’s not how this works.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Coward.”

Sebastian gasped, delighted horror spreading across his features. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Emilia maintained her stance, still grinning. “I mean, I get it. You’re probably the type who only dances when it’s stiff royal waltzes, painfully rehearsed and completely devoid of fun—”

That did it.

Alexander’s jaw tightened, something flashing in his eyes—competitive irritation mingled with something darker, something more dangerous. Without another word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

Emilia barely had time to react before she was moving, spun effortlessly into the music. Alexander caught her waist, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of her dress, guiding herwith annoyingly perfect ease. Suddenly, she was the one trying to keep up.

“No fun, huh?” he said, smirking down at her.

Emilia was, to her horror, a little breathless. “Alright. You have… some rhythm.”

Alexander’s smirk deepened, a rare glimpse of unguarded amusement. “Some?”

Then, because he was clearly out to prove a point, he dipped her—not a polite, reserved dip, but a reckless, full-motion, heart-stopping dip—before pulling her back up just in time for the beat to drop.

Emilia’s breath caught, her hand instinctively gripping his shoulder tighter.

“You look surprised,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear it over the music.

“You’re better than I expected,” she admitted.

“Obviously.”