Page 6

Chapter 6

Olivia

I t wasn’t the prince standing in front of her at all. It was the young man she had met on the hill after the slipper-incident-that-must-be-forgotten. Olivia stared at him, the silent horror she was feeling reflected in his eyes.

But as the silence stretched out, she once again noticed his clothing, and the way the crowd hung back, circling them and whispering. Surely the odd man from the hill couldn’t be the crown prince of Sovar. She pitied the kingdom if so. He had nearly walked straight off a cliff!

“It can’t be you,” he finally murmured in a hoarse voice, almost too quiet for her to catch. “It’s impossible.”

Olivia’s back straightened, her nerves fading as her anger rose. She had as much right to attend the Midsummer Ball as any other inhabitant of the kingdom—perhaps more if she really had saved the life of Sovar’s only prince. Was a little gratitude too much to ask for? He hadn’t thanked her then either.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said in her iciest tone. “But by all means, feel free to walk away.”

She hoped he would listen. Half the room had been staring at her for far too long already.

Unfortunately, he remained in place. But it was obvious from his expression that only his royal training kept his mouth from dropping open as hers had done earlier.

“Walk away? Are you serious?” he asked, again in a voice so quiet she could barely make out the words.

She glanced nervously at their fascinated audience. The prince—for it must be him, as little as she wanted to believe it—seemed more aware of the crowd than she was, and it put her on edge. She had no idea what game he was playing, but maybe it wasn’t wise to antagonize the crown prince.

But what should she do? What did he want from her? He just stood there—still staring at her—while the crowd waited as if in eager anticipation of a spectacle. If the prince wasn’t willing to walk away, did he expect her to turn around and leave the ball? Why!?

She drew a breath, ready to defend herself, only to realize she had no idea what argument to make. Was she in trouble for arriving late? But there had been two other carriages behind her!

Her mind scrambled to remember every scrap of royal protocol she’d ever heard. She wanted to simply melt away and lose herself in the crowd, but would it be treason to ignore the prince? Was she even allowed to turn her back on him?

In desperation, she threw him a pleading look. He had initiated the confrontation, and he should be the one to indicate what was supposed to happen next.

He met her look, and to her astonishment, his cheeks reddened slightly. He bowed again, more stiffly this time, and held out his hand.

“Dance with me?”

It was worded as a question, but he was already turning slightly, anticipating her acceptance. Everything in Olivia longed to reject him. Not only did his strange manner and cold assurance irritate her, but the last thing she wanted was for all the eyes to keep following her—if her aunt hadn’t seen her yet, she would soon.

But she couldn’t muster the courage to reject him so publicly—not when she couldn’t remember any detail about royal protocol. She should have grilled Marigold ahead of time. What if the women who chose to attend the ball were obligated to dance with the prince if asked? She didn’t want to misstep and bring royal disfavor on her family and their business.

Julius glanced back at her, his brow furrowed, apparently in confusion at her hesitation. She reluctantly placed her hand in his. Now she only had to worry about making a literal misstep.

The prince led her away from the door toward the center of the dance floor, the path before them clearing. For a moment, Olivia felt a flutter of excitement in her chest. Despite the strangeness of everything that had happened since she’d arrived at the ball, she couldn’t entirely deny the magic of the moment. She was at the Midsummer Ball in a gorgeous gown, and she was about to dance with the prince.

He pulled her close, putting one hand on her waist, and the brief moment of excitement was washed away by nerves. Since she hadn’t planned to attend the ball, she hadn’t joined her cousins’ dancing lessons, and the dance was new to her, although it resembled one she knew from Henton. For the first strains, she could focus only on following the steps and attempting not to step on his feet.

Only after she had relaxed into the rhythm of the movement did she finally look up and meet Prince Julius’s gaze. He was staring at her.

Olivia would have liked to imagine it was an admiring gaze—it would have fit her girlish dreams of dancing at the Midsummer Ball. But the only emotion she could read on his face was incredulity. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind—why ask her to dance if he disapproved of her so strongly? But she remembered he was the prince and stopped herself in time.

Instead, she tried to ignore him altogether, fixing her eyes to one side of his face and focusing on the movement of the dance and the swirl of her skirts. The glass slippers were even more comfortable to dance in than she had imagined, and at times it felt as if they were the ones matching the correct moves rather than Olivia herself. Their assistance allowed the dance to flow smoothly, despite Olivia’s inexperience, and she released the last of her worries about taking a wrong step. Instead, she released herself to enjoy the whirl of the movement.

A smile grew on her face as the magical feeling returned. Would any of her old friends in Henton believe her if she described the evening? They would probably think she was exaggerating, just as she had suspected her friend of doing. But no claims had exaggerated Prince Julius’s skill at dancing. He moved fluidly, his steps confident as his strong arms clasped Olivia close to his chest.

When he spun, he took her with him in a dizzying whirl of movement. Her eyes slid over his face and caught there, lingering on his expression. He was blinking at her, his arrested expression harder to read than the previous one. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time.

Olivia’s joyful smile faded, warmth rushing to her cheeks as the weight of his identity hit her anew. The silence between them made it easy to forget his erratic behavior and notice only the attractive combination of dark hair, blue eyes, and chiseled jaw. He might fall short in manner, but in appearance he fulfilled every possible childish dream.

“Thank you,” he blurted out, breaking the moment.

He had the looks of a fairy tale prince, but he lacked the suave charm. Why did rumors claim that Prince Julius was a match for his ancestor—the one who had first earned the nickname Prince Charming? Olivia had seen no sign of any similarity.

Olivia stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. Surely he couldn’t be thanking her for dancing with him. The ballroom was full of women who would have loved to take her place.

The prince cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable for some reason Olivia couldn’t fathom. He stiffened, his muscles tensing beneath her arm.

“My apology comes late, but I hope you will forgive my earlier omission.” He grimaced. “I’m most grateful for your quick action, although I think I was in too much shock at the time to acknowledge it. I should have been paying attention to where I was walking.”

Comprehension broke over Olivia. He wasn’t talking about the ball at all.

“Oh,” she said, aware she sounded as socially inept as he seemed to be. She tried again. “It’s a dangerous spot for those unfamiliar with the area. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

The prince’s face tightened even further at her response, and his voice grew rougher.

“I’m afraid I did not appear to best advantage during any part of the encounter, and I can only hope you will forget it completely and allow us to begin fresh.” He inclined his head in her direction, the movement as close to a bow as their positions would allow.

Olivia gasped softly. Was she in a dream? Was that why everything was so strange? Surely the crown prince of Sovar couldn’t be bowing to her, Olivia of Henton. It somehow seemed even more outlandish than him dancing with her.

“I hope you will forgive me and believe that I’m not usually so poor-mannered,” he continued when she didn’t speak.

He met her eyes, though it was clearly a strain, and her heart softened. An arrogant prince was hardly a surprise, but one with the humility to apologize—especially to someone as insignificant as her—was unexpected.

“Of course I forgive you,” she said with a warm smile. “Your lack of gratitude was a little startling, but I should have considered the effects of shock. No harm was done to either of us, so I see no reason why we shouldn’t put the matter behind us.”

The prince relaxed immediately, his whole bearing changing. When he smiled down at her, she felt the earlier flutters thrill through her. She was far more comfortable in his arms now she knew why he had asked her to dance—he must have recognized her and had wanted to apologize and offer belated thanks.

The music wound down, and their movements slowed. Despite her initial trepidation, Olivia felt disappointed that the whirlwind experience was coming to an end.

But the musicians launched immediately into another melody, and the prince’s arms never loosened around Olivia. Seamlessly, his steps shifted, moving into a new rhythm that was close enough to the old for her to effortlessly follow.

Her mood soured. Prince Julius hadn’t even bothered to ask if she wanted to dance again. Did he think her grateful acceptance was so certain? Was she supposed to be flattered because he was the prince?

Slowly his speed increased, until they were spinning around the ballroom fast enough to make Olivia dizzy. The lightness that had come over the prince after her acceptance of his apology whirled away with the movements of the dance. She could feel the muscles of his arms tightening and jumping.

“Who are you?” He fired the words at her.

She nearly stumbled. “I’m Olivia.” It seemed an incomplete answer, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Olivia,” he repeated, his deep voice making her name sound rich and full. But his brows furrowed as he said it, and he was still pulling them through the dance so quickly she could barely keep up.

Anger and defiance sparked inside her. She planted her feet and pulled them both to an abrupt stop. They stood, surrounded by swirling couples, still clasped close together, their chests heaving with the recent exertion of the dance.

“But who are you?” The quiet words exploded out of Julius, despite their low volume. “Who are your family?” She could both hear and feel his frustration.

Olivia hesitated. Her parents’ names would be meaningless to the crown prince.

“I…I live on Manor Row,” she said, feeling the need to say something, but unsure if she might be causing trouble for her aunt and uncle if she named them.

Julius’s brows drew together. “Yes, I saw you there. But I can’t understand your appearing here. Of course I’ve wondered who would show up at the ball—I’ve imagined all sorts of possibilities. But I never considered the possibility of a stranger. Why would I? I know every family of the court—I’ve even met the other royal families, although they were unlikely choices. It doesn’t make any sense.”

The prince was the one not making sense. Would it violate royal protocol for Olivia to say that aloud?

She decided she didn’t care.

“What are you talking about?” She tried to wrench herself out of his arms, but they had become bands of steel around her.

“Not here,” he hissed through his teeth, his eyes widening. “That isn’t how this is supposed to go.”

Panic surged inside Olivia, reaching for her throat. Had she strayed into a fever dream?

Just as her self-control was about to snap, the prince released her. She stumbled back half a step, still staring at him with widened eyes.

He put on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and offered her his arm. “It is tiring work,” he said at a much louder volume than their previous whispered exchange. “And the room is hot. Allow me to escort you to the refreshments.”

Olivia wanted to turn and run, but his words had clearly been aimed at their audience. Her momentary panic subsided as she realized he had been restraining her for the sake of the watching eyes. She was even a little grateful that he had prevented her from becoming the girl who made a scene in the middle of the Midsummer Ball.

But that didn’t mean she appreciated his high-handed manner. Everything in her wanted to turn on her heel and storm off. But the tight expression around his eyes reminded her that it would be better for both of them if they waited to part ways somewhere less conspicuous.

Reluctantly, she placed her fingers on the crook of his arm and started in the direction he indicated. The prince immediately drew her hand all the way through his arm, pulling her tightly to his side just in time to prevent a collision with a couple spinning past.

Olivia had intended to pull away as soon as they left the dance floor and whisk herself off. But somehow Prince Julius maneuvered them straight into a small alcove between two of the glass doors that lined the exterior wall of the room.

While Olivia was blinking and trying to work out what had happened, he collected two glasses from a passing waiter and positioned himself so they were at least partially blocked from the eyes of the room. Reluctantly, Olivia accepted the offered glass, her resentment building.

The prince obviously had as little desire to be in her presence as she had to be in his. So why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Was his pride stung because she wasn’t falling all over herself to dance with the prince?

He downed his drink with a single toss of his head, his expression as he looked at her reflecting her own frustration and irritation.

“Do you have to make this so difficult?” he asked with a slight head shake. “It isn’t as if this was a situation of my choosing.”

“Well it certainly isn’t one of mine,” Olivia snapped back, finally losing her patience completely.

The prince had been the one to approach her. All she had wanted was to enjoy the event from the sidelines, out of notice of the important members of the court and her aunt.

She almost groaned at the reminder of her aunt and tried, unsuccessfully, to peer over Julius’s shoulder. Even if Aunt Helen had missed Olivia’s dramatic arrival, she couldn’t possibly have missed her two dances and abrupt departure from the dance floor. And that meant she was probably making her way toward them at that very moment. She wasn’t likely to miss the opportunity of inserting herself into Olivia’s conversation and forcing an introduction between the prince and her daughters.

And what of Marigold? Olivia wanted to shake herself. She hadn’t even been looking for her friend. Marigold must surely have arrived by now, and Olivia had promised to be watching for her. How had she so entirely forgotten herself for half an hour or more?

She pushed forward, stepping sideways to get out from behind Julius and gain a better view. She couldn’t see far into the crowd and could find no sign of Marigold or Aunt Helen. But she couldn’t fail to notice how many people were looking in their direction. No one approached them, but everywhere small knots of people were talking, their gazes constantly flicking to the prince and Olivia.

Heat rushed over Olivia. Coming to the ball had clearly been a mistake.

She took another step away, intending to head straight for the ballroom doors, but Julius seized her wrist, stopping her. She immediately pulled free of his grip, but the furious expression on his face made her freeze.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked in an ice-cold murmur. “If it’s a lover, I’m warning you now that I will walk away from all of this. I’m willing to sacrifice much for Sovar, but I have my limits.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t even know where to start. Sacrifice for Sovar? He had his limits?

“A lover!?” She fought to keep her voice as quiet as his. “Would I have been dancing with you if I was here to meet a lover? Are you trying to insult me?”

“I’m trying,” he said, frustration dripping from every word, “to have a plain conversation. From where I stand, it appears that you are the one trying to insult me.”

“Me?” Olivia wanted to protest further, but something kept her mouth shut. She had to be missing something—but what?

She wished Marigold would appear from the crowds. Unlike Olivia, Marigold had grown up as one of the court, never more than a stone’s throw away in Manor Row. She understood the palace and its inhabitants in a way Olivia didn’t. Perhaps she could act as interpreter between them because it felt as if they were speaking a different language.

She took a step back and tried to gather her thoughts. Storming off seemed like a dangerous option when she clearly didn’t understand what was going on.

When Julius stepped in front of her again, she could only think of all the interested eyes trained on them. This time his tall frame felt like a shield rather than a barrier.

But when her eyes caught on two figures sweeping across the ballroom floor toward them, Olivia realized that even Julius’s shoulders weren’t going to be broad enough.

“Their Majesties,” she said through numb lips.

Julius glanced swiftly over his shoulder, his face shifting to relief at sight of his parents.

“About time,” he muttered. “Maybe I’ll finally get some answers.”

Olivia stiffened, but the spear of anger at his unreasonable words was welcome, driving out her momentary nerves. She had done nothing wrong and had nothing to fear. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, ready to greet the king and queen.