Page 16 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

The maid’s face falls when she sees my consternation. “Don’t you care for it?”

“Oh, I love it,” I assure her. “It’s exquisite.”

As the daughter of a merchant, I have many beautiful gowns, but this one is breathtaking.

“Are you sure it’s all right for me to wear?” I ask, fingering the decorative stitching.

The girl laughs. “Of course it’s all right. The queen sent it to you.”

There are underthings as well. I slip them on and almost sigh out loud. It feels so good to be in something dry.

The maid slides the gown over my head and then laces the back. “Shall I tend your hair?”

I nod, and she carefully unwinds my braid. The damp tendrils fall well past my shoulders, looking longer now that they are wet. The girl works with quick, nimble fingers, and soon my hair is braided in a crown around my head.

“I am to take you to the others,” she says when she’s finished. “Are you ready?”

I glance at my reflection in the hand mirror she offers me, more nervous than I have reason to be.

With a bolstering breath, I say, “Yes, I’m ready.”

I poke Irving in the ribs. “Will you stop glaring at them?”

He whisks me across the hall, leading me with the music. “I’m not glaring, Anwen.” His lips curve in a humorless smile. “I’m observing.”

I follow his gaze to Teagan and Marigold. They dance together, so animated in their conversation, they often forget to move. Instead of swirling with the music, they linger in the middle of the hall, their hands still in place, and their eyes locked.

Irving’s expression darkens as Teagan whispers something close to Marigold’s ear, making her laugh. I grin at Irving’s reaction and turn him so his back faces the couple.

We pass by the front of the hall, where Galinor sits alone, looking grim. I purposely avert my eyes, but they keep wandering back.

The gathering is intimate; there are twenty nobles at the most, not including the children who play at the edges.

Little girls twirl in their dresses, staring at the couples with wide eyes.

The younger boys run about, causing trouble, but the older ones watch the dancing with a mixed expression of horror and curiosity.

My attention turns back to Galinor. A young woman comes to his side, a sweet-looking girl of maybe sixteen or seventeen. She smiles at him adoringly, obviously hoping the handsome prince will ask her to dance. My focus is so intent on them, I trip when Irving turns.

“As always, your dancing is divine,” Irving says when I accidentally step on his foot.

“And you are as charming as ever.”

“I must be losing my touch.” He flashes me a grin. “Your attention is everywhere but on me.”

My eyes snap back to him. “I’m sorry, Irving.”

He tilts his head, studying me before he looks away. “I think I’m going to go save that poor girl from Galinor.”

I scan the room as if I don’t know exactly where Galinor is at. “What girl?”

Irving snorts a laugh. “Right.”

He leads me to the pair. As soon as the song ends, Irving releases me. Galinor stands, his cobalt eyes locking with mine, and he gives me a small bow.

With a grand flourish, Irving thanks me for the dance and then turns his attention to the girl. Immediately besotted with the handsome prince of Primewood, she dances away with him, looking positively starry-eyed.

And now I’m alone with Galinor.

I smooth the fabric at my waist and clear my throat. “This is lovely.”

The tiniest of smiles graces his lips. “It’s the girl who makes the gown.”

My hand stills on the dress, and my eyes widen in surprise. Heat rises to my cheeks. “I meant the evening… But thank you.”

He scans the couples before turning his attention back to me. Like an apology, he says, “I don’t dance.”

I nod, unsure how to answer. Perhaps that is his tactful way of suggesting I move along?

He offers his arm before I excuse myself. “But I walk. Would you care to join me?”

I fight back a silly grin and accept his arm. “I’d love to.”

We make our way to the open terrace opposite the hall. It’s still raining, but we’re partially protected by the balcony above.

“Bran and Dristan seem to be enjoying themselves,” Galinor says, gesturing to the brothers.

They stand inside, charming several ladies with their tales of the sea. I murmur my agreement and smile as a chorus of laughter rings out at the end of one of Bran’s stories.

Galinor leans against a pillar. “This afternoon, while you were resting, I picked out your horses. They should serve you well.”

My stomach twists. Surely he knows how badly I want him to come?

“That’s very kind.” I can’t meet his eyes. “I’m indebted to you.”

He smiles. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

I nod.

“The people of the troupes are dangerous—don’t forget that.”

With the way the firelight glints off his dark hair and shadows his muscular build, I think he might be just as dangerous.

A breeze blows across the valley, and I shiver.

“You’re cold,” he says. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Galinor, I…”

He searches my eyes but stays silent, waiting for me to finish.

I mean to ask him to come with us, but instead, I find myself saying, “I am a little chilled.”

Feeling defeated, my shoulders fall.

Nodding solemnly, perhaps sensing my disappointment, Galinor leads me inside.

“How long will you be in Vernow?” Teagan asks Marigold and me.

I mull the question over. “We’re not sure.”

“Will you return?” Teagan turns to Marigold, taking her hand. “I’m hoping to have procured journals from Lestonia in a month or so. I would love to show them to you.”

Marigold nods, a dreamy smile plastered on her face.

After dancing, the two spent the entire evening bent over dusty maps. Teagan is all Marigold spoke of this morning. It didn’t take long for Irving to decide he wouldn’t be leaving his sister here in Glendon. Whether Marigold likes it or not, she’s stuck with us.

I smile at the two and turn away to give them privacy.

Bran, Dristan, and Irving speak with the king, thanking him for replacing our horses. Galinor leans against the stable wall, his arms crossed and his eyes unreadable.

I suppose it’s time to say goodbye.

Self-conscious, I walk to him, unsure what to do with my arms. First, I cross them, mimicking his posture. But that feels awkward, so I let them fall.

Galinor watches me, waiting for me to speak first.

My eyes drop to the ground. “Thank you again. For everything.”

Come with us. Please, come with us.

“You’re welcome, Anwen.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

And with that, I am dismissed.

I turn away, promising myself I will be dignified—I will handle this disappointment with decorum.

And then I decide decorum is overrated.

I whip around, grab Galinor’s hand, and drag him into the stable—which would be quite a feat if he were not willing to follow. I find a quiet, solitary corner in an unoccupied stall.

The prince watches me, crossing his arms again, looking both perturbed and amused.

“Why won’t you come with us?” I demand.

He sets his jaw. “You don’t need me.”

Dust motes dance in the morning light shining in from a high window. The animals eat their breakfast, and the sweet scent of hay tickles my nose.

“I do.”

He shakes his head. “You have Irving, Bran, and Dristan. You’ll be all right. ”

“And Irving shouldn’t even count.” I set my hands on my hips. “He finds more trouble than anyone I know.”

Despite himself, Galinor smiles.

Encouraged, I continue, “Marigold will be with us, and she’ll need her own keeper. That leaves me with one escort. Dristan is still healing—I’ll be playing nursemaid to the lot of them.”

He uncrosses his arms and leans against a post. “You don’t really believe that.”

My lips. “Not really.”

His eyes soften, and he gives me an unnerving look that makes me want to both step away and step nearer. “What are you saying, Anwen?”

I look over his shoulder, hoping to appear nonchalant. “You should come with us.”

He steps closer. Suddenly the stable is too warm, too quiet. “I should come? Or you want me to come?”

I shrug and coil a strand of hair around my finger. “What’s the difference?”

His eyes are intense and teasing, and it’s a deadly combination. “It’s all a matter of should or want. I’ll come if you want me.”

Why is this so hard? Why have my lungs forgotten how to breathe?

“I want you to come,” I admit.

“All right,” Galinor says with a shrug, as if it makes no difference to him—but I see the smile he’s hiding.

I laugh, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Hurry up then. Let’s get your horse saddled so we can leave.”

The prince leans in, his lips hovering so very near my ear, and says, “He already is.”