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“Dessert is served,” the king boomed. “A fine spiced dark chocolate cake, from the recipes my ancestors used when sugar was a rare delicacy. I’ve prepared this to welcome you to our court, Duke, in celebration of my upcoming wedding.”
“Marvelous,” my father said. His smile was well-practiced, and it was only my experience in his court that let me read it as fake. “I’m most honored.”
The servants cut and served the cake with more red wine and tumblers of rich brandy. I took a small bite of mine, savoring the soft texture and delicate spices in the cake. When I looked over at my father, he was watching me eat with something akin to disgust on his face. I set my fork down.
The band in the corner began to play a bit louder than they had through dinner, something fast-moving and jaunty as was the Nightfall way. Some of the court members stood up and moved to the dance floor, into a fast, exciting jig, their feet quickened by the good meal and the booze. I decided I’d rather watch them than try to read the minute changes on my father’s face.
The women of the court moved with remarkable ease, their gowns flashing around their ankles as the men spun them. Even on the dance floor, the court members’ wolves seemed to remain close to the surface, visible in quick flashes of teeth or a yellow gleam of the eye.
The king folded his hand over my knee again. He leaned closer, and his warm breath washed over my ear as he spoke. I pressed my thighs together. “I’d love to dance with you,” he murmured.
“To this?” I asked. “I have yet to learn these fast-paced dances.”
The king laughed, low, and squeezed my knee again. My wolf preened, comforted by his touch and warmed by the knowledge that I’d pleased him.
“Fair enough,” he said. “You’ll learn those moves a bit later.”
He waved a hand at the band, gesturing in a circle. The jig ended, and the band launched into something slower, close to a waltz. Here was a song similar to the music of Daybreak. It sounded like home—or what used to be home.
“Is this more to your liking, my lady?” the king asked. The pleased, wolfish smile on his face made me think he knew what my answer would be.
Despite my nerves and my low mood, this was a better song. And the last thing I wanted was to seem unhappy, or ungrateful. After all, I’d won the Choice—I was supposed to be elated.
“It’s a bit more reasonable, yes,” I said.
The king stood and offered his hand. I took a breath and accepted, risking a glance toward my father where he sat. He was watching us with his expression carefully neutral, but a small smile curling his lips that looked almost pleased.
What did the duke want from me? I knew he had a plan—something was on his mind. I couldn’t get my answers now, though. I had to play my role. At least my wolf had no trouble with that.
The king walked me to the center of the dance floor, where the other dancers parted easily for us to take our place. The music swept around me, slow and pleasant. The king placed his hand at the small of my back; his hand was so big it nearly spanned the width. He guided my hand to his shoulder, and instinctively I set my hand at his nape. The king’s eyes flashed gold at the touch, and he hitched me a little closer as he took my hand in his to lead the dance.
Being this close, my worries began to melt away. I felt the switch as if it was happening to someone else. I knew the knots in my stomach shouldn’t be loosening, and my attention shouldn’t be drifting from my father—but I couldn’t help it. It was like the king’s touch made my body relax, which in turn eased my mind. It was so easy to let myself be led by him in a slow, comfortable waltz. Desire rolled subtly inside me, in the cradle of my hips. The memory of that night in his room lived in my body, and the closeness ignited a spark.
“So,” the king said with an easy smile. Could he sense the way I was relaxing? It seemed like he could.
“So,” I echoed.
“Enjoying this dinner?” he asked. “Your father hasn’t mentioned anything about the behaviors of his court member.”
“He has not,” I said.
“Interesting,” the king said. “Does he know?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured.
“Griffin didn’t mention it in the dungeons?” he asked.
“Must you bring that up now? Do you want your guests to see your fiancée break down?”
He pressed his lips together hard. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
The apology surprised me enough that my further arguments died on my tongue. “Thank you. If he’d mentioned it, I would’ve remembered.”
“Right,” the king said. He squeezed my hand once. “You know, I’m not used to these little verbal sparring sessions we seem to have.”
Despite my irritation, I chuckled, smiling half-heartedly down at our feet as we waltzed. “The women of Nightfall don’t offer such conversation?”
“Not to their king—certainly not.” His eyes flashed gold again. “It’s one of many things that drew me to you.”
