“It sounds lovely.”
His voice grows husky. “I would love to show it to you someday.”
I return his intent gaze without flinching. We are the same height, which is a nice change. Hector and Mara and Ximena are all unusually tall, and it seems as though I’m always craning my neck.
I say, “I may pay a state visit. The Quorum has suggested I tour the country after hurricane season. They would like to make a very big deal of it. Lots of fanfare.”
He laughs. “You sound as though you despise the idea.”
I grin. “I’ve considered making unreasonable demands. Just to punish them for the thought. Like refusing to ride in a mere carriage. Only a litter will do!”
“And trumpets. A queen should be heralded for the entirety of her journey.”
“And chilled fruit, which would be near impossible to provide during a long journey. Imagine the fit I could have.”
“Also, a change of clothes every two hours. A queen should stay fresh at all times.”
The song ends, and I’m surprised to realize that I enjoyed our dance.
Conde Tristán raises my fingers to his lips and kisses them. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Before dropping my hand, his gaze turns mischievous. “You are not as terrible a dancer as your reputation indicates.”
I laugh. “Just a little bit terrible, then.”
He has a wonderful smile, with eyes that shine. “A little bit,” he agrees. “But you forgot to step on my feet.” With that, he whirls away and disappears into the crowd.
I look around for Hector again and spot him near a drink table. He chats easily with a young woman I don’t recognize. She wears a soft green gown, and her clear skin sparkles with metallic powder. A long black lock drapes from the mound of luxuriant hair piled on her head, across her bare shoulder.
I stare at her with dejection. I’ll never be so lovely.
Lord Liano claims me next. He is oafish and wide gazed, his sweaty lip as protuberant as ever, which makes him appear stunningly stupid. I listen with heroic patience as he regales me with the tale of an epic hunt for wild javelinas, which he lovingly describes as piglike creatures that roam the scrub desert of his brother’s countship. When he attempts to mimic the chattering noise that javelinas make by rubbing their tusks together, I am forced to conclude that, indeed, sometimes the impression of a man’s look and bearing holds true.
I hope Conde Tristán will claim me next—he asked me for two dances, after all—but Conde Eduardo finds me first. He is rough and jerky, and his hand on mine is too tight, his beard oil too pungent. I plaster a game smile on my face, but it wavers when I notice Hector dancing beside us, the lovely green-gowned creature in his arms. They seem to have an easy conversation interspersed with much laughing, though he looks over her head occasionally to check on me, always the devoted guard. I can’t mask my relief when the song ends.
After thanking Eduardo, I catch Hector’s eye and gesture toward the nearest refreshment table to let him know where I’m headed. Though it lies only a few steps away, I decline three offers to dance during the short journey, saying that I’m still healing from my ordeal and need to pace myself, but thank you so very much for the invitation.
A servant offers a glass of chilled wine, and I accept with grateful despair, knowing that a new taster now risks his life for me. Everything at the gala has been thoroughly tasted, hours earlier, and then again right before bringing it out.
As I sip, I glimpse Mara between dancing pairs. She twirls, laughing, and I smile to see her having such a good time. She is beautiful in a light yellow gown that sweeps into a slight train behind her. It’s the plainest gown in the hall, without a stitch of embroidery or even a tiny pearl. But the simplicity suits her well, and the women around her seem gaudy by comparison.
“Mara seems to be enjoying herself,” says Hector in my ear, and I hope he doesn’t notice my tiny jump.
“She deserves to have a good time. As do you.” I gesture toward the floor. “You should dance. Have fun. If your injury allows it, I mean.” I can’t deny him a little celebration. He works so tirelessly on my behalf.
He starts to protest, but I cut him off. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll protect you from harm. I stand ready to jump to your defense.”
He laughs, and I love the sound. “I’m very content to enjoy the festivities from here,” he says. “Is that Belén dancing with Mara?”
I crane my neck just as the pair shifts, revealing the face of her partner. Even from a distance, there can be no mistaking the patch over his eye. “Yes, that’s him.” I have a sudden urge to march over there and throw my wine in his face for what he did to my friend years ago.