Without giving her a moment more to protest, Ruenen swept Marai to the center of the room where the young couples continued their caper. Ruenen’s face was alight with boyish charm and mischief as he followed the dance moves of the young noble from one of the Nevandian houses next to him. Marai tripped over her own feet trying to keep up with the steps.
But then Ruenen grabbed her hands and twirled her. They spun and galloped, completely disregarding the obviously practiced dance steps of the others. Marai let out a laugh, a free, girlish sound she never made. She’d never felt so free before.
After their rambunctious dance, the music slowed. Couples changed out, but Ruenen held onto Marai’s hand. This dance was quite different, languorous, with a sweeping instrumental. The couples encircled each other, arms moving in elegant strokes. Marai let Ruenen guide her. Men twirled their partners inwards. Marai’s back hit Ruenen’s chest as he pulled her closer. His nose grazed her temple. Her breathing quickened.
“My restraint is hanging by a very loose and tenuous thread right now,” he whispered in a husky, sinful voice that roused searing heat across Marai’s skin.
They swayed, the rest of the dance forgotten. Marai drowned out everything except the sound of his beating heart, the air in his lungs. She didn’t hear the room applaud at the end of the song. She didn’t see the couples swap places for the next dance.
Eventually, it was Ruenen who came to his senses. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and stepped away from her.
“As much as it pains me, I must go speak with the ambassadors from Syoto and Ain. They’ve been trying to catch my attention across the room, and Holfast was relentless in his urges that we create a trade deal with them, since they are two of our closest neighbors.”
“Go, I’m fine,” Marai said, but the moment he turned away from her, someone else approached.
“Have fun last night?” Nosficio’s seductive voice asked. He grinned toothily at her. The dancers gasped, and immediately returned to their tables at the sudden appearance of a vampire. “Looked as if things were heating up.”
“It’s rude to spy,” Marai said, trying to hide the heating of her cheeks with a scowl.
“Not my fault you were standing in front of a window, darling. Honestly, I’m surprised you and the king didn’t rip each other’s clothes off right here.” Nosficio offered her his hand. “Your dancing skills could use practice.”
“I’ve no use for dancing.”
“You will if the king asks you what I think he’s going to ask.”
“Stop giving me that look.”
Nosficio’s eyes opened wide in innocence. “What look?”
“That knowing look.”
Nosficio’s grin turned vexatious. “My dear, I’ve been alive a long time. I cannot help if I know things.”
Marai’s glare deepened. “Tell me you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I am, indeed,” Nosficio said with a laugh. “Vampires are natural nomads, and I’ve stayed in one place far too long. But I’ll be back, Butcher, so don’t be too sad upon my departure. I’ve decided to keep an eye on you—make sure Aras and Meallán’s heir fulfills her duty.”
His eyes then pinned onto Nieve, who was making her own rounds at various tables. Her hand was currently being kissed by a nobleman from Ehle.
“Are you suggesting that we’re friends now?” Marai asked him.
“I don’t have friends anymore,” Nosficio said, “but if I did . . . I suppose you’d be acceptable.”
Marai smirked and marched back to the high table. She was loathe to admit it, but Nosficio was right. She’d developed some kind of feeling for the vampire. It wasn’t friendship, exactly, but she would be sorry to see him go. He’d stayed true to their alliance. He’d been a valuable asset. She knew he would keep returning to claim his place in the Witan.
She smiled to herself as she sat down at the nearly vacant table. Holfast was the only one who remained; Vorae was laughing with a group of noblemen, and Fenir was standing against the wall, wringing his hands, as if frightened someone might ask him to dance. Holfast regarded Marai with his usual serious expression.
“You seem quite happy, Lady Marai.”
“I suppose I am. It’s a good night.”
Holfast watched her take a long sip from her wine. Here comes the scolding . . .
“We owe you a great deal, and I want to thank you,” he said.
Surprise washed over Marai as the wine warmed her throat.
“I will never forget what you did for us. Nevandia would be lost now if it weren’t for your bravery, your magic, and for the alliances you helped forge.” Holfast was a guarded man, but honesty and respect shown in his gaze. “I’m truly grateful, Lady Marai. The power you wielded on that battlefield . . . I watched from afar. I saw the things you can do. You could have used that power on us at any time. You could have wiped Nevandia off the map and taken it for your own.”
“How do you know I still won’t?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.
The wine was making her bold. Don’t be reckless, Storm Cloud, Thora’s voice warned. She, Thora, was currently on the dance floor with Raife, brimming with irrepressible glee (and also doing the steps far better than Marai and Ruenen had).
“Because you love him.” Holfast’s eyes snapped to Ruenen, who was surrounded by a group of noblewomen and their pretty daughters, tossing their hair and batting their eyelashes. “I know you’d never do anything to harm him.”
The young ladies around Ruenen giggled. He smiled and nodded politely, but his eyes wandered to Marai at the high table.
Those women wouldn’t be paying Ruen any notice if they knew he wasn’t truly of royal blood.
If he’d remained a bard . . .
“Nevandia is heading towards a tremendous period of rebuilding,” Holfast continued. “There’s much we need to fix, and to do that, we will need strong alliances. I’ve no desire to break the bond between you and the king, but I have Nevandia’s future to consider. Most advisors would try to run you off, tell you that you shouldn’t marry him, that you’re nothing but a faerie and a commoner.”
The warmth she’d received from the wine chilled within her. Marai hardened her expression, trying to reveal nothing of how those words affected her. “So you’re saying I should marry him?”
“I’m saying that my hands are tied,” Holfast said. His tone wasn’t harsh. It was matter-of-fact.
Those beautiful, refined ladies standing with Ruenen, with their money and powerful families . . . They were the type of women he was expected to marry, to bring strength and wealth back to Nevandia. He would be betrothed to the Greltan or Syoton princess. Hells, maybe young Princess Eriu of Varana. Binding himself to Marai would only bring Ruenen contempt.
