Page 20 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)
“Zelda Moon Flowers.” I should probably be way more insulted by the laugh that booms from his chest, but I can’t help but join in, even as I pull my hand free from his to whack his arm playfully. “Excuse me! I didn’t laugh at yours!”
“Mine is normal .”
“It’s really not.”
Both of us start as two frothy pints of beer are placed down on the table before us with a heavy thud. “Thank you,” I tell the barkeep, but my heart sinks as I glance up, only to find him frowning suspiciously at Ben.
“You ever hear you look like the king?” asks the man, frowning beneath his thick beard.
“People tell him that all the time.” I laugh. “Maybe you’re a distant relative, honey.”
Ben smiles slightly, but there’s a tension in his shoulders I haven’t seen so far tonight, and we exchange looks of relief when the man moves on with a chuckle. “This was probably a bad idea,” he tells me, grimacing apologetically.
“Probably,” I agree, letting out a sigh. “We can take our food to go, if you think that’s safer.”
“I do.” He takes my hand again, lifting it to his mouth so he can kiss the back, and there’s something in his gaze as he does that makes the muscles low in my belly go warm.
We haven’t had sex since immediately after our arrival, but judging by the look, I’m guessing he has plans for me when we’re alone again.
Maybe going back to the house isn’t such a letdown, after all.
Ben flags down the barkeep to tell him, and we’re assured it won’t be long.
Just as I’m lifting my pint to my lips, the band changes to a new song, and I only narrowly avoid sloshing beer all over myself as a roar of delight goes up from the locals around us.
The tune is upbeat and playful, but just as unfamiliar as any of the music played tonight has been.
Everywhere in the pub, men are dashing to their dates and pulling them toward the dance floor.
I look toward Ben, who is shaking his head, exasperated. “What is it?” I demand.
“A Stellic tradition,” he reports, lips pressed into a grim, flat line, watching as more couples flood onto the dance floor. “It’s called “Kaled Ri Naid .” Christ, we’d better dance. Come here.” He’s on his feet and pulling me to mine before I can do more than splutter in protest.
“I don’t know the steps!”
Ben doesn’t seem worried. “I’ll lead,” he assures me darkly, keeping a firm hold on me and glancing around suspiciously, as though concerned someone will come to pull me away.
We end up on the dance floor in a line of other couples of all ages, partners facing one another five feet apart.
I’ve barely managed to look back and forth, seeking some hint at what on earth is going on from the women nearest me, when the band kicks off properly.
And then, we’re moving. Fast .
I laugh in alarm, a beat behind everyone else as I meet Ben in the middle, one of my hands finding his and the other settling on his shoulder, while his settles on my waist. It’s somewhere between line dancing and a foxtrot, done with a loud, familiar kind of enthusiasm, like when someone puts on “YMCA” at a wedding.
My inexperience is hidden in the chaotic, cramped throng of dancers, and nobody looks twice at us, even when I bump into them.
It’s loud and messy and joyful. Some people are looking on, clapping in time to the beat and calling encouragement to the dancing couples as I’m spun around again and again, briefly parting from Ben every here and there but always coming back to him in the end.
It isn’t long before I’m laughing, too, and when it all comes to a noisy end, Ben dips me back so far that the ends of my hair skim the floor, and when I’m pulled back up, he kisses me right there in the middle of the pub.
Our food is ready and waiting on our table in a paper bag, and I haven’t even properly caught my breath before Ben has thrown down a few bills on the table, and we’re leaving, the cool night air out on the street a pleasant change after the overcrowded room inside.
“What was that?” I gasp, still breathless from dancing as we stop on the lane, just outside the aura of light spilling out through the pub’s windows. “That song.”
Ben’s smile slips. “A tradition,” he tells me, and I wonder if I’m imagining there is something wary about the way he says it.
“Historically, Stelland is a fishing nation. The work was much more dangerous once, and many lads who worked on the boats never made it home to their sweethearts. The song was played at the start of the season. It was a way for them to declare themselves and ask their love to wait for them, or else some other man would surely come along to win their heart.” He hesitates, and something I couldn’t name seems to pass between us in the quiet night air as Ben finds the words.
“It’s a reminder that we have a choice. Kaled Ri Naid is traditional Stellic.
Roughly translated, it means Now or Never. ”
My heart lurches as I blow out an unsteady breath and allow my head to fall back, staring at the thousands of stars scattered above us.
They’re one of my very favorite things about filming in Stelland.
On rare, cloudless nights like this one, the lack of light pollution makes them a thousand times more brilliant than at home, and as I close my eyes, I can still see them.
Now or never?
Okay. I choose now.
Slowly, I look up again, meeting the dark stare of the king before me. “Do you want to take me home?”
This time, Ben doesn’t need time to consider his answer. “I do.”