“Your step-mother-”
“It's fine, Your Grace.” Lady Margaret said, making a full recovery. “Lady Annabeth can keep me company just fine.”
A chanced glance at said company nearly had Luci laughing out loud. Her mouth was open as wide as any fish that swam at Blythe’s pond. In fact, Luci was half tempted to commission a painting of it for whenever a dark mood overtook her.
“Well then, I can think of no reason why I should deny myself the pleasure,” he smiled, holding out his hand to her.
It was an effort not to roll her eyes at the charm that oozed from him in giant rivulets. It must have been exhausting. Either way, it served her purpose, which was to put as much distance between the Lord of Blythe Manor and herself as possible. Taking the prince's arm, she made sure to keep her face angled away from Lord Treveon.
From a distance, he might be fooled that she was Brielle, but any closer and he would see the fullness in her face, the sun-kissed skin, and the honey strands in her hair. Which is why her plan was an excellent one, except she remembered with a sinking stomach that she didn’t dance. Silly dances with Brielle felt like an underwhelming precedent compared to what she was about to do.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she blurted out as panic started to erode her confidence, which was already limited.
Prince Ira’s gaze fell down to her face, and whatever he saw there had him glancing around the room before understanding smoothed out his impeccable features. Luci had never seen a nose quite so straight with the perfect amount of curvature before. Maybe the Vencias had the last of Meridea’s magic stored up somewhere and used it on their princes.
“Nothing to it,” he said, guiding her to the center of the ballroom where she was suddenly conscious of thousands of eyes on her. “Just follow my steps and try to look enraptured by my presence.”
Luci snorted and was grateful Lady Margaret wasn’t there to hear it. Of all the things she had expected him to say, poking fun at his influence was not it.
“May I?” he asked, as he released her arm and stood in front of her.
A strange thing to ask, but nonetheless, Luci swallowed and nodded once. Prince Ira placed his hand in hers, lifting it in between them, and placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her slightly forward, but still leaving a respectable amount of distance between them.
It was a mistake, but Luci glanced to the side and found the entirety of the court gathered in a circle around them. All eyes on them. Turning her head, she found Lord Treveon with his arm entwined with Lady Margaret, smiling enough that the white of his teeth showed. It should have been the most unsettling thing she had ever seen, but instead it was trumped by the number of eyes on her. This was a mistake. She was an orphan. The last person that should have been there.
“Put your hand on my shoulder.” Prince Ira said gently, bringing her back.
Her breath was coming too quickly, and she felt light-headed. What had she been thinking? This was her idea. Well, the dancing bit was already ridiculous, but not the whole kingdomwatching bit. Light above, save her. Even still, she did as he said, compelled by the command in his voice. Definitely magic.
“Deep breath in. They will get bored and go back to their gossip and plotting as long as we don’t give them anything to talk about,” he said.
What did that mean? What was happening?
Music swelled, and it was a beautiful harmony of strings and chimes that would have brought tears to Brielle’s eyes, who loved music. This should have been hers. Her moment. She would have drunk in the attention and the moment like it was straight from a fairytale. It was the cruelest joke that it was Luci instead.
When the prince stepped, Luci stepped. The movement was slow and practiced. Another step. Another. She hadn’t fallen on her ass or stepped on the princes’ perfect feet. That felt like something worth celebrating. Her heels clicked along the floor amid the music that wrapped around them like a cocoon.
“There you go.” Prince Ira said. “A natural.”
Luci bit the inside of her lip as she concentrated on the movement of his feet. One step. One foot. Now the other.
“I think our definition of natural might differ,” she said, lips tight with concentration.
Prince Ira laughed, and it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sound.
“There’s a secret to it that I’ll share with you even though you have already mastered it,” he said, stepping back, his movements getting quicker.
Was it impolite to tell him to slow down? Her heart quaked and quivered with the effort of watching his steps. One mistake and she would disgrace Lord Treveon, Blythe, and Brielle. Which was unacceptable. The Brielle one. Lord Treveon could go-.
“Act as if you belong here. Like everything else, their stares, their expectations, their sharpened words are beneath you,” he said.
The words were so unexpected, the advice so unprincely, that she jerked her eyes up to him, finding nothing but sincerity reflected back. His eyes reminded Luci of the green of the oak trees at Blythe at the height of summer. Vibrant with the promise of health. As if the coming fall and bite of winter were a thousand years away.
“Your eyes are green.”
Prince Ira snorted. “Do you always say exactly what you are thinking?”
“Probably,” she said.