Caiman smiled at me again before turning to watch the festivities.
When a servant brought us drinks, Caiman took one sip, made a face, and left the goblet on the tray beside him. All this happiness made me want to drink the entire glass—until I recalled our wedding night. I didn’t want to drown myself in drink. I wanted to remember every moment. Every stolen glance. Every kiss.
And everything else that may or may not happen when the party ended.
The thought left my cheeks ablaze.
I glanced at my husband to find him watching me, the same heat in his gaze that I’d seen in the chamber. He waved at Broderick, and the guard came over, bending so that Caiman could whisper in his ear. Whatever he said left Broderick hurrying down the stairs to cut through the crowd.
I shifted on the cushion, my bottom already aching. “Would it be possible to get a new throne? One that isn’t so—”
“Small?” Caiman finished with a smirk.
“I was going to say uncomfortable, but now that you mention it, there is quite a difference between yours and mine.” I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but I just couldn’t get past it. “I understand that it is customary for the king’s throne to be the largest; however, it would be nice if mine were alittlebigger.”
Caiman nodded. “Consider it done.”
“Just like that?”
He shrugged. “We are both to rule this country. Why wouldn’t our thrones be the same?”
I found my glass and took a drink, turning his words over in my mind. “You truly wish for me to rule by your side?”
“I certainly do not want to do it on my own.” He sipped his drink, made another face, and returned the glass to the tray. “There is a meeting with the council next week. Would you like to attend?”
“I would love to. That would give me the chance to broach the subject of my plans for a charity to help citizens like Falin who are struggling.” The orphans and unwed mothers, women and children who seemed to have been forgotten by the world. “We could teach them skills. Help find employment and affordable housing. Most importantly, we would keep them safe and give them hope.”
“It sounds like you’ve given this a good deal of thought.”
“I have.”
“I can’t wait to hear more about it.” From the dancefloor, I noticed Broderick waving. Caiman stood, holding out his hand. “But first, will you dance with me?”
I slipped my fingers through his, the leather of his gloves soft as petals on a rose. “I would love to.”
The people blocking our path parted, allowing us through. The fast reel came to an abrupt halt, to the protest of those participating. When they saw us waiting, the floor quickly cleared.
The cello player began a slow, haunting song I remembered from my childhood, a faerie waltz.
“I love this song,” I confessed, holding on to his shoulder.
Caiman’s hand slipped to the small of my back and he held me close, closer than he should’ve considering every eye in the room was trained on us. “I thought you might.”
Some of the people in the front of the crowd frowned, but most smiled sly smiles. Lowri and Kerrington wore matching glares from the bay window. My mother winked at me from beside the champagne fountain.
I must’ve stepped on his toes at least a dozen times, but he never once complained or called me clumsy. He just kept moving, leading me around the dancefloor. I’d never seen him dance before and had assumed he’d be terrible.
“Why don’t you dance?” I asked, struggling to catch my breath.
“What do you call this?”
My hair tickled my bare shoulders when I shook my head. “We’ve had countless balls, and you didn’t dance at any of them. I thought you’d be shocking.”
“Just because I choose not to do something doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.” The low confession left goosebumps across my skin. “You’re the only woman I’ve kissed, and I think I figured it out just fine.”
My eyes flew to where Lady Whitney sipped champagne between two elderly women near the balcony. “You’ve never kissed anyone else?”
“I never wanted to.”