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I was undoubtedly going to make a fool of myself.

“Oh, hello, Bell. To what do I owe the honor?” Did I imagine the glint in his eye? Maybe it was my nerves. I was as wound up as I’d been a few nights before when we’d first kissed. This time it wasn’t in a warm, expectant way. Now I was shivering from the cold and dread in my bones.

“Tomas, I… My parents have informed me…”

“Are you all right?” He guided me to sit, and his hand on my lower back sent a chill up my spine. “Would you like me to call for tea?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you. I…” I took a deep breath and stared at the floor. “When I arrived home, I learned my parents are arranging for my betrothal,”—I looked up at Tomas’ eyes—“to Prince Jamys.”

“Oh.” His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Are you happy about it?”

I swallowed hard. “Why shouldn’t I be?” Give me a reason to fight them on it. Tell me it should be you instead. That was too much to think about after one encounter. I’d look ridiculous asking what he thought of that possibility.

He stood and walked to the window. With his back to me, he said, “You should be. I mean, I hope you are… happy.” His shoulders rolled back before he turned to face me again. “Congratulations.”

My stomach tumbled. “Thank you. I should go. I only thought you should know so you weren’t surprised when it’s announced. After…” It felt as if a hand wrapped around my throat.

“Bell, you needn’t worry about me telling anyone.”

***

And he didn’t.

I keep my eyes on the swirling sea of people—none of them aware of the biggest secret in the room, of the pulsing tension between the two of us.

The news of the potential shift in the line of succession would be enough to distract them anyway, but I don’t think they care what they’re celebrating, so long as the music is good and wine flows. The civilian members of the ministry are dazzled by the luxury of it all, plus they already knew this was coming. High lords and ladies whisper with mischievous grins, probably more interested in the excitement than the politics. Or maybe it’s all in my head and this is how they always are at events.

The attention Marcus and Nina are getting is both typical and new. They are always popular targets for anyone trying to make gainful connections. This time, however, the twins appear pleased by it. Marcus is always cordial, so his warm smile at the young woman who keeps touching his shoulder as they talk is not surprising. But Nina? She’s been known to burn potential suitors with her words just as thoroughly as she can with fire. Now, though, she chats animatedly in a circle of men and women, as if their interest is proof she might win the trials.

At least being betrothed means there’s less reason for people to pay attention to me—a pleasant result from a less-than-pleasant situation.

The only person from whom I want that kind of attention is already at my side, perhaps as aware of the small distance between us as I am.

Tomas offers me his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Chapter nine

I look at Tomas’ offered hand as if it might burn me.

It has before. As it turns out, I quite enjoy that burning. Too much to turn it down now, regardless of how stupid it may be.

Turning him down would be infinitely more suspicious than dancing with him, I tell myself as I reach out to accept. We step onto the dance floor, and having his hands on me, even in this most innocent of ways, twists my stomach. Perhaps it’s Jamys’ presence—an unnecessary reminder of the fact that this will be the only way Tomas and I can interact soon enough. As we flow along with the music, a terrible thought pops into my head: Will we dance at my wedding? Could I stand to have his hand on my waist, knowing it will never touch the skin there again? It will be unbearable to want him and know I can’t be sated. The logical thing to do with that knowledge is to start pulling back now. Instead, I create a bubble around us. Not completely sealing us off from the room, but the sounds around us are muffled.

Tomas cocks an eyebrow at me. “Whatever is that for?”

“I enjoy my privacy.”

“To say what?”

I turn under our joined hands. “That you don’t seem to mind if I’m not good at following.”

“I’ve never had a problem following you, Bell.”

“Anywhere?”

“What, are you running away?” His expression remains vaguely disinterested as he looks past me at the room full of people.

“I wouldn’t do that.”