Page 89 of Beast and Remedy (The Last of the Heirs #2)

The Dance

I soak up every inch of the castle, admiring the ceiling mural stretching across the foyer for what could be the last time as we descend the grand staircase.

Gold surrounds me, reminding me so much of irises I want to forever be lost in. Red roses complement and draw in more warmth of the gilded interior.

My chest hollows out at the memory of crushed and tattered petals from last night as we reach Leo and Marcel. And the emptiness in my heart—in my soul—expands at no sign of Beau.

A deep bronze doublet fits Leo’s wide chest, matching his trousers, which cover his brown suede boots. He and Marcel converse and compliment us as Christine takes Marcel’s elbow.

Marcel’s outfit is black, with a gold lining on his jacket. The pattern coasts along the sides of his pants, tucked into dark leather shoes.

He extends his other arm to Jules, but she turns it down, keeping close to me as Marian takes Leo’s hand and we all greet guests filtering in.

Violinists play a lively tune as we enter the ballroom, and conversations echo throughout.

My eyes dart to every section of the room, drenched in white, yellow, and red. From the curtains to the red roses, and the lit candles, like the sun itself radiates around us.

But the sun is a person— my person.

I scan through the faces we pass, preparing to see Beau tonight.

“Don’t look so obvious,” Jules mutters.

I shrink into myself, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

She laughs, and it pairs with jubilant music. “It’s alright, Vi. But let’s occupy your thoughts with other things tonight.”

“Such as?”

Jules shrugs, her eyes catching on something and drawing my attention.

My eyebrows lift at the King and Prince of Northtry dressed in all black. The king wears an obsidian crown, his jacket covered in a sash with patches of military rank.

“They look like sin,” Jules whispers.

I swallow the lump in my throat, intimidated by the aura the man carries. “Yes, they do.”

Stefan’s deep brown irises find mine, and they flash with intrigue. He surveys me, a smirk gracing his striking face.

My breathing halts. Damn, he—

I blink rapidly and break my stare. “I-I-I think I should stay far away from Stefan,” I tell Jules, squeezing her arm.

Jules tugs me in their direction. “But he is so dreamy. He would be a welcome distraction.” She gives me a sideways glance.

“I don’t want any distractions tonight,” I scoff and drag her past them, only to be stopped by a large group of people chatting.

She takes the lead, guiding me onward, making me stumble.

“Hey,” I hiss as I bump into someone. I mutter my apologies as I inch closer to my friend. “Just because I don’t want a distraction doesn’t mean I want to make a spectacle of myself.”

“Oh, hush,” she chides, filtering us through people. “We’re going to say hello to my cousin.”

“K-King Jerrick?” I ask, coming to an abrupt halt. “I-I’m not sure—”

“You’ll be fine .” We approach her family. “Jer!” My friend raises her voice amongst the crowd, and they part.

I want to avoid conversing. But it’s too late, and I have to plaster on my best false smile.

The King and Queen of Palaena hold each other close, and my stupid fucking heart shrivels from their displayed affection.

Tove glows, adorned in a pewter crown with pale sapphires complementing her pinned back silver locks.

Her ice-cold eyes match her sleeveless gown tight in the bodice, with diamonds beaded throughout in varying layers of blue.

The dress hugs her curvy petite frame and the swell of her belly, spreading outwards into a flowing and ethereal skirt.

She looks like a winter Deity. A Snow Queen.

I shake my head, not wanting to use the rumored name so many once used. I break into a swift curtsy, wanting to be respectful of her and the newly formed friendship we’ve cultivated.

“Vi!” Tove exclaims, and I rise quickly, still awestruck by her and her husband’s magnetism.

The indifference Jerrick has exuded in our past interactions seems nonexistent as he bobs his head. But his blue irises are still haunting compared to his wife’s, with the scar lining one of his eyes.

“Your Majesties,” I greet, taking in his navy outfit pairing with his wife’s ensemble.

My friend rushes to embrace Tove, making the queen stumble a half step. Jerrick steadies his wife, chuckling.

“I am so excited to meet you!” Jules pulls away, grinning. “I’m Jules, Jer’s cousin.” She scans Tove’s dress. “Wow, Gran really outdid herself with this.”

“Only to show off her first great-grandbaby to the world,” Jerrick comments.

Jules steps toward me with pride. “Well, at least I don’t have to share being the favorite grandbaby.”

“Are you sure?” Jerrick arches a brow. “Last I checked, I am the one always filling her pockets with coin.”

She elbows him, and he smirks, unbothered by her nudge.

They stare down the other as Tove asks me, “Is she always like this?”

Jules gasps, and I snicker. “Yes. She is always the best company.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” Tove muses, beaming up at her husband.

Jerrick winks at his wife, a lone dimple appearing and pure love radiating between them.

Tove blushes before she coughs, clearing her throat. “How are you, Vi? And how is Marian fairing?”

“I am well, and so is my sister.” I smile at Tove, her energy always calming and inviting. “How is Palaena? And is my father giving you a difficult time?”

Jerrick laughs as he wraps an arm around Tove’s waist, holding her belly.

Tove curls into him, her demeanor light and radiant despite the long sigh she takes. “It’s better than I expected, though dealing with Bernie has been more the responsibility of Lady Betina rather than us.”

“It’s safe to say she is hugged out by him,” Jerrick adds, and my features lift at Tove’s exaggerated nodding.

Jules snorts. “He tends to do that a lot, I’m afraid. Never able to resist a good hug.”

“I know the feeling,” Tove agrees, her eyes wandering.

One body and another come up, I bristle as Tove and Jerrick smile. I pray to the Makers it’s not Beau. I’m not ready.

Jerrick’s voice lowers. “King Vinzent and Prince Stefan, a pleasure to see our neighboring monarchs.”

Prince Stefan’s cool voice caresses its way up my skin. “The occasions are never enough to see you all.”

I can feel his gaze melting into me as I try to appear calm and impervious to his tempting advances.

“Thought we’d express our apologizes for being unable to attend the announcement of your future child,” his father adds. “We had other obligations at that time.”

“It is quite alright, King Vinzent,” Tove replies.

I twist to the two men bathed like night itself, my heart hammering at how striking Stefan is.

A welcome distraction, indeed.

I shake off my suggestive thought and sweep into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty and Your Highness, an honor it is to see you both again.” I rise.

King Vinzent remains stoic, but Stefan’s deep brown irises hold me captive, his enthralling allure making my cheeks heat and fingers itch to touch him.

“It is always a pleasure to be in the presence of such great beauty once more,” Stefan comments. “And if you’ll excuse me,” he addresses the group before extending an open palm to me. “I’d love to whisk away Princess Vivienne for a dance.”

I stare, and Jules nudges me. Remembering myself, I accept the prince’s invitation and bid the group farewell. “Always a pleasure conversing with each of you.”

“And you, Vi,” Tove beams as Stefan leads me toward the dance floor.

“It would seem I can only have you to myself if there is dancing involved,” he says as dance partners make space for newcomers.

“Last I remember, we were alone in your home for a brief duration.” I twitch my skirt and hold his shoulder.

He smiles and nods, his eyes sparking with dark promise as he closes the distance between us. My heart flips when he leads, effortlessly guiding me through a whirling waltz.

Sweet Makers, I hadn’t felt this the last time he was so near. Why am I so affected now?

The musicians play, and the room spins, and I can only focus on the deep olive tone of his complexion, his ebony tresses slicked back, and his piercing brown irises full of certainty and promise.

“Your skills at dancing never cease to amaze me, Prince Stefan.”

He eases me into a dip. “I thought we had moved past titles,” he says with a smirk when he whisks me upright.

I bite my lip, my skin heating and probably turning the same shade as my gown. “Right, forgive me, Stefan?”

“Of course.”

We slide apart, our hands stopping at the wrist. My dress swishes with every sway. Even as we spin, we remain fixated on the other, slow grins growing as Stefan inches closer—

CLANG.

I startle, veering back in shock and horror. Did I really almost cave and let myself get distracted by this man?

I almost blurt an apology but pause when he doesn’t seem to notice my reaction, too busy observing everyone halting.

An announcer clears his throat. “Presenting His Royal Majesty, King Beauvais of Torgem.”

My eyes dart to the main entrance clear of all guests. Save for Beau.

The air in my lungs runs dry and stale at my love, dressed in beige and gold. From his gleaming crown down to his boots, he is a masterpiece.

I carefully insert more space between Stefan and me, but he surprises me when he doesn’t let go and interlaces our fingers.

I peer down and immediately feel sick. The queasiness in my stomach ripples and expands, stretching upward and tightening my throat despite everyone lowering into a bow or curtsy.

“Welcome, family, loved ones, and friends. I am honored to have you all gathered here today on my name day.”

Beau’s rich voice pulls me and everyone up, their attention remaining on him. His smile is genuine but does not meet his eyes, and my heart sinks.

Beau promenades past guests, looking for someone. Maybe Leo and Christine?

“A tradition for name days in Torgem is to dance with someone of their choice for one song. And King Beauvais has chosen a close friend, Princess Vivienne of Belmur, to join him in his first dance for tonight’s celebrations,” the announcer says.

Panic surges through me as Beau’s eyes land on me. I inhale a sharp breath, squeezing Stefan when everyone twists, following their king’s line of sight.

Guests scrutinize me as they all clear a path for their monarch.

Stefan leans in and whispers, “It appears I’m not the only one who recognizes your true beauty.”

“We are friends,” I explain.

“Friends don’t look at each other the way you two do.” Stefan kisses my knuckles.

My eyes widen at the gesture, worrying it will be misinterpreted given everyone studying us carefully.

Stefan murmurs, “But I can help with that should you wish it.”

I hesitate, my gaze flicking between the man before me and the love of my life striding toward me. My heart thumps loudly in my ears, and my mind prickles.

Deny him. Let the prince distract you.

Yet each purposeful step Beau takes pieces together the broken shards of my soul. A soft smile pulls at my lips before I face Stefan.

“Thank you, but I can help myself.”

A muscle twitches along his jaw, a crooked smirk appearing. “As you wish.” He dips his chin as Beau reaches us.

“King Beauvais, an honor is it to be invited to celebrate with you on your name day,” Stefan says, breaking his stare as he guides my hand into Beau’s. “May you enjoy your next year of life.”

The Prince of Northtry turns. “An honor as always to be around you, Princess.”

Beau’s grip on me tightens a fraction as I clear my throat. “And you as well, Stefan.”

Stefan bows. When he rises to his full height, he winks before stepping back with the other guests, clearing a space for the king’s first dance of the night.