“Vee,” Torrin says, his cheeks still red, “you know I—”
“Save it.” I grab his hand. “You’re asking me to dance. Now.”
He catches on, glancing in the direction of the old man making his way over here, and puts a protective hand on my arm and leads me to the dance floor.
The romantic song is over, and the band is in the middle of a sad war ballad that sounds absolutely heartbreaking on their stringed instruments. Figures.
At first we don’t say anything. We just dance, performing the steps we’ve had to learn by heart since we were kids. This isn’t the first time I’ve danced with him, but it is the first time it wasn’t for practice. I try not to think about the times I’ve seen him dance with other girls. I wonder what else he’s done with them, once the parties are over, but I wince and try not to think about that, either.
Instead I look into his eyes, not wanting to risk making eye contact with anyone else. In my head I concentrate on counting out the dance steps—one, two, and-three-and-four, one, two, and-three-and-four. And if I enjoy the warm weight of his hand on my waist, or the way we’re close enough that I could easily rest my head against his chest, well, who can blame me?
Then he ruins it all by leaning in close and whispering in my ear. “You know I can’t marry you.”
There’s a bad, bitter taste in the back of my mouth. I swallow it down, trying to wash it away. But my heart is pounding and my fingers clench up, digging into his skin like a cat flexing its claws.
Great job. Way to not give yourself away.
“I know,” I tell him, letting myself sound as annoyed as I feel, which, in case it isn’t obvious, is a lot. “Of course I know that.”
“Ahem.” There’s the sound of a man clearing his throat behind us. We both pause to stare at him. He’s the old man I accidentally made eye contact with, the whole reason Torrin and I are dancing in the first place. He smells like sour sweat and fried fish. His clothes are dyed a deep blue, so I know he must be from one of the southern cities, where they grow the best indigo. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly and low. “I’m cutting in.”
Like hell he—
“Like hell you are,” Torrin says. “She’s busy. With me.”
“Psst,” I hiss, getting Torrin’s attention. Then, quietly, out the side of my mouth so only he can hear, “Punch him in the face.”
Torrin ignores me and puts himself between me and my suitor.
The old man looks Torrin over, sizing him up. “Lord St. George said she was available.”
“Clearly she’s not.”
“Yeah,” I add, “dancing with me is by appointment only. If you didn’t put in your request, like, three weeks ago, you’re out of luck. It’s not fair to everyone else who followed the rules and waited their turn.”
Both Torrin and the old man glance at me like I’m completely nuts. It’s like they’ve never heard sarcasm before.
“Fine,” the old man says. “I’ve seen enough, anyway.” Then he storms off.
“Can I put you down for three goats and two cows for a bride-price?” I call after him.
“Vee!” Torrin warns.
“That’s funny,” I say. “I thought he was interested. What changed his mind? Was it the chocolate stains down my front? The way that, even with this corset on, I’m a little lacking in the chest department? It’s not my wonderfully refined manners, I’ll tell you that.”“This is serious.”
“I know. And thanks for, you know, getting rid of him.” Though if it’s not him, it’s going to be one of the others. I’m not exactly saved or anything.
“Yeah, well . . .” He sighs. “I can’t get married. Not to you, not to anyone. At least, not right now, while I’m in training.”
Paladins in training have specific vows they have to make. They’re not allowed to go around making vows to other people. He’d be giving up his whole career if he married me right now, plus shaming his family, and I know that would be asking a lot. I mean, it would be a huge sacrifice even if he did feel that way about me. But asking him to do that and spend the rest of his life with someone he isn’t in love with? It kind of makes me just as bad as the suitors who are here for me tonight.
Well, almost. And I might have chocolate smeared across my dress, but at least I don’t smell. As far as I know, anyway. And, unlike them, it’s not like I’d make Torrin sleep with me if we had to get married. If he felt obligated, I wouldn’t protest too loudly or anything. But that’s different.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, letting out a deep breath. “It’s not your problem.”
“I’m not saying that. Don’t make it sound like I don’t care what happens to you, because I do.”
“And I care what happens to you. So, even if you were offering to marry me, I couldn’t let you throw your life away like that. I’d have to turn you down. So just save us both the embarrassment and—”
“Excuse me, Miss St. George?” Another male voice interrupts us. I whirl toward him, ready to tell another old man where he can stick it, but I stop short when I see him, because he’s not at all what I expected. For one thing, he’s young, maybe only a few years older than me, if that. But I’ve never seen him around before, so he’s not from one of the Families. He’s tall with brown hair and deep blue eyes. He looks directly at me, like I’m the only person in the world, and flashes me the most inviting smile I’ve ever seen. He takes my hand, raising it up to his lips, and very softly kisses my knuckles, making my skin tingle. “It would be my pleasure to have this next dance with you. If you’re not preoccupied.” His accent is rhythmic and clipped. I can’t place where he’s from, but the way he talks makes every word sound absolutely fascinating.
“Obviously she is,” Torrin snaps. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something here?”
The new guy ignores Torrin, simply raising an eyebrow at me.
“It’s all right,” I tell Torrin. “I think we were done here, anyway.” I smile at the new guy and add, “I’d love to.”
“Excellent.” The stranger shoots me a warm smile and offers me his arm.
I’m about to take it when Torrin blocks him, then steers me a few steps away and whispers, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy.”
Uh-huh. “You mean because it’s crazy for someone to actually want to dance with me? Is that your ‘bad feeling’?”
“I don’t trust him. Something’s off. He’s not like the other guys your father invited here.”
“He’s not old and fat, and he doesn’t smell like a garbage heap, you mean? No one who doesn’t have sweat stains pouring from their armpits and a carpet of scraggly back hair could actually be interested in someone like me, right?”
Torrin shakes his head. “You’re a St. George. You know why he’s here. He doesn’t want you—he just wants a paladin bloodline!”
I could slap him. Or kick him in the shins. I probably should, but instead I stand there in shock, stinging from his words.
Torrin looks shocked, too, like he can’t believe he said that. Like he knows he went too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“You think I don’t know why he’s here? Why they’re all here? You think I don’t know that the only reason any guy would ever want me is because of who my father is? Let me ask you something, Torrin Hathaway. If you weren’t in training, would you marry me then? To save me from people like him who only want me for my oh-so-precious golden eggs?!”
His face goes bright red, and he sucks in his breath too fast and starts coughing, choking on his own spit. “Not fair, Vee. You know I care about you.”
“That’s not what I asked. It’s a simple question with a simple answer. Yes or no?”
He looks anywhere but at me. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Then don’t lecture me on who I should be dancing with.” I elbow him in the ribs as I shove my way past him and toward the stranger who may or may not be my future husband.
Okay, so I take back what I said. Maybe I don’t want to punch everyone at this party.
When I go on my punching spree, I’ll spare my new dance partner. Who I don’t have a bad feeling about at all. In fact, the way he keeps all his attention on me, like I’m the only other person here, gives me some really good feelings. So Torrin can just take his warning and shove it, because he’s not the one who has to leave the barracks for the first time in almost five years and marry a stranger. And if the one suitor here who doesn’t smell like week-old garbage wants to dance with me, I am not going to argue.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I say, because I might need to know that kind of thing. So when I look at my father’s list of potential husbands, I can point to the right one.
“Prince Lothar,” he says.
I blink at him. Did he just say he was a prince? Or is that, like, his first name and Lothar is his last name? There is no way a prince wants to dance with me. His kingdom must be completely infested with dragons. He’s got to be super desperate for some paladin children.