Page 67 of Of Song and Scepter

I follow her gaze to the strange duo. He spins her quickly, much faster than I did, adding a new flair to the usual steps for this song. Aris grips his arms, skirts fanning out, her face tight.

“It’s an Abyssal thing.”

Mother clicks her tongue. “Look more closely, Soren. Watch her feet.”

Under the sprawl of her skirts, her feet stutter, adding beats out of pace with the music. Her heels stay lifted from the floor, never sinking to catch the downbeat. With the next turn, her ankle rolls, and she falls into the treasurer’s broad chest.

“Looks like she’s tired,” I say. “Poor thing.”

As we turn again, I scan the far wall and finally spot my missing piece. Enna surveys the dance, hugging the far wall. Her posture is composed and easy, her gaze sharp and focused. My mother’s hand squeezes mine, snagging my attention. “Soren,” she urges. “She cannot dance. How can that be so?”

We rotate, and the princess returns to my view. Lord Varik straightens his dance partner, his mouth visibly working to avoid a frown. Aris clutches his arms and blushes. It is odd, a princess without knowledge of a waltz. Even during the quickstep, she clung to me with the grip of a visefish, leaning on my lead to guide her through.

“Have you thought more of the pendant?”

To be honest, I haven’t thought much about the damned thing since I locked it in my desk.

“No,” I say. “What of it?”

“Use it.”

“Mother, this is your match. Do you rescind your good judgment, just because the princess can’t dance?”

“Yes, I do. We cannot risk falling victim to a ruse.” Her fingernails drum into the back of my neck. “Something isn’t right with that female.”

“The pendant is too risky. I could dismiss her quietly.”

“What if she has malicious intent? I will not lose you, Soren, not if I can prevent it.”

We turn in silence as we consider our predicament. My mother speaks again, hurried and hushed, “Maybe the king wants her out of his fins. There have been rumors of illegitimate royal offspring in the deep. Abyssals hate mixing blood. Perhaps, she’s one of them.”

“And if you’re wrong? If she’s harmless?”

My mother hesitates, her precise footwork stuttering half a beat.

“What are you hiding?” I whisper.

“Clio saw something, and I’m concerned the princess is…”

“Spit it out, Mother. We don’t have time for games.”

Her fingers press into my back with increasing pressure. “Aris brutally struck her handmaiden.”

I halt our dance. “What?”

“It was in private, during their dance lessons. She struck her cheek. Clio said the girl’s face turned red from the impact.”

“I need a drink.” With a quick bow, I leave my mother to handle the whispering crowd. Let them watch. Blood pounding in my ears, I push through.

Aris will pay for hurting her. I’d drain the sea before I let her touch Enna again.

Enna. Where is she?

I snatch a drink from the table, sipping the foam as I scan the crowd. I ache to hold her, to soothe her, to kiss her where it hurts. But Enna is gone once again. My frustration deepens. My list of duties for the night is complete, save one: find my missing shadow-guard. And when I do, she will never leave my sight again.

A small hand slips around my bicep, and I flex my jaw, bracing for Aris’s nauseating voice.

“I was starting to worry you’d met your quota for dancing tonight,” she says.