SHE DID NOT have time to object before the prince had half-pulled, half-picked her up and led Vhalla into the center of the room. It was immediately obvious by the first turn that she had no clue what she was doing—her foot landed on top of his toes. The prince laughed, assuring her that her dainty feet could not harm him.
Vhalla did not enjoy dancing at first. It was awkward and it made her feel ignorant, an emotion that she generally resented and avoided at all costs. But the prince was a surprisingly gentle and encouraging instructor.
“You need to relax,” he soothed.
Vhalla was very aware of his palm on her hip. “Why are we doing this again?” she mumbled.
“What do you think people do at a Gala?” With a toss of his head, he cast aside a chin-length blonde lock.
“I wouldn’t know.” Vhalla was stubbornly focused on her footwork, conversation was secondary.
“We dance.” The prince laughed. He took a step back and twirled her again. This time Vhalla understood that an extension of the arm meant she was to turn and, while she was not graceful, she did not trip. “You’re getting it.”
“Barely,” she muttered, her eyes still on her feet.
Once she had grasped one infuriating step where they were supposed to glide across the floor in each other’s arms, they moved onto a group-style dance that Vhalla’s feet had a significantly easier time with. She had grown up going to harvest festivals in a neighboring town, and all the common folk knew the simple four-step that was a variation of this dance.
The prince praised her quick learning, and Vhalla kept the source of her abilities behind a small smile. After that, the Heartbreaker Prince began to have an easier time earning smiles from her.
If she did well, he would squeeze her hand. When her eyes finally lifted away from her haphazard movements, she was rewarded with a wink. Slowly, under the prince’s hand and earnest encouragement, Vhalla began to enjoy herself.
It was a different kind of enjoyment than what she felt when she was around Aldrik. This feeling lacked the tension or twitching to break through the skin that felt with Aldrik. This was simpler. It was as though the golden prince wore everything on his sleeves, and his cerulean eyes promised nothing but the truth. Vhalla stumbled when his lips barely brushed against her cheek.
“You’re beautiful, you know,” the prince whispered thoughtfully.
“I am not.” Vhalla looked away, but their proximity did nothing to hide her hot flush.
“You are, and I wish to ensure everyone will see it at the Gala.” Sliding his palms down her forearms, the prince stepped away from her with a squeeze of his fingers.
Vhalla’s heart was beating a bit harder than normal from the dancing.
The prince pulled a bell cord by the door, and a servant arrived a moment later. The prince engaged in a series of low-voiced orders that meant nothing to Vhalla. Sensing she was not intended to hear the conversation, she wandered to the massive windows that consumed the opposite wall.
The panorama was magnificent. The afternoon sun had the world ablaze, and she could almost feel the palpable joy of every fluttering festival pennon dancing on the breeze in the city far below. Streamers that hung from windows and were posted upon rooftops made the Capital glitter.
Vhalla gave a wistful sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
She hadn’t heard the prince return to her side. “Nothing.” Vhalla took a quarter step away, overwhelmed by his abrupt appearance at the end of her thoughts.
“Ah, Vhalla,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I know when a woman says nothing it is always something.”
“I don’t want the festival to end,” she confessed softly.
“And why is that?” There was a knowing glint to his eye.
“No reason.” Vhalla shook her head, and the brief image of Aldrik vanished.
“The festival is a magical time,” Prince Baldair agreed, following her gaze over the city. “Do you know anything of magic, Vhalla?”
She looked up in surprise, his eyes catching hers again. The prince’s mouth swept up into a smile that made Vhalla uneasy. He knew something; he’d put things together too easily for her liking. Vhalla’s words began to fail her and she was saved only by the door opening.
Prince Baldair asked nothing more about magic for the rest of the afternoon. Vhalla quickly forgot he’d asked in the first place as bolts of silk, velvet, cashmere, chiffon, fur, and fabrics she couldn’t name were carried into the room by a small entourage of servants. Once more Vhalla attempted to keep her face down, but it did little good as her curiosity got the better of her.
At the end of the entourage a portly, balding man strolled in as though he owned the entire palace. The prince introduced him as Chater. Vhalla shook his hand in a daze, the hand of the man who was the founder of the most prestigious clothing shop in all of the South. He looked her up and down.