Ivonne helped Bridget pin the dress’s hem. Rather than make two identical gowns, Clare would change dresses with the princess when her part was done and the skirt could then be unpinned and fall the extra length Serene needed. Serene would also take the silver and diamond necklace currently pressed around the base of Clare’s throat. The expensive piece was a gift from Emissary Havim and his son, Amil, and it was decidedly uncomfortable—heavy, cold, and constricting.
A moment later the temporary hem was in place and she was declared ready. As Bridget left to arrange the princess’s hair, Bennick strode into the suite.
Clare stood in the doorway of the changing room and a flush bloomed in her cheeks as Bennick drew to a stop. His gaze tracked over her, taking in every detail of her appearance—the hair, the dress. And while he studied her, she couldn’t look away from him.
Bennick always looked perfectly suited for his uniform, but the dark blue dress uniform lined in gold thread looked especially good on him. The clean cut of the fabric outlined his wideshoulders and narrow hips, his long legs and strong arms. His dark-blond hair was a little untidy, as if he’d run his fingers through it recently, and the stubble lining his jaw lent a rugged edge to his overall appearance. His sword was at his waist, as well as a dagger, but it didn’t drag at him. He wore the weapons like they were a part of him.
What she felt for him was growing beyond friendship. She could recognize that, even if she didn’t entirely know what to do with it.
Bennick’s crystal-blue eyes met hers and she struggled to pull in a full breath. She fingered the heavy diamond necklace encircling her neck, needing something to do with her suddenly trembling hands. “I feel a little ridiculous.”
He took one of her gloved hands and kissed it as if she were truly one of the nobility. He peered up through his lashes. “You look beautiful, Clare.”
Heat pooled in her abdomen. “Thank you.”
Bennick smiled and extended an arm. She took it and together they made their way to the ballroom, Venn and Dirk trailing behind them. Dirk was the bodyguard Clare had interacted with the least, but the middle-aged man was soft-spoken and had a calming presence. Clare was grateful for his quiet peace tonight.
Flutes and violins weaved music just loud enough to be heard over the murmuring voices, swishing skirts, and tittering laughter. Colors swam before Clare as she entered the large ballroom and a wave of heat slammed into her from so many bodies pressed together. The ceiling towered above them, torches and candles spread throughout the room. Heels clacked as the nobility wandered the floor, greeting each other and laughing too loudly. Pine boughs and long ribbons had been used to decorate the walls and tables and the smells of cakes, cheeses, and sliced fruit drifted in between the perfumes saturating every man and lady in the crush.
For a terrified moment, Clare froze. But she’d trained for this. For weeks, she’d studied to walk like Serene, talk like her. She couldn’t let fear cripple her now. She set her chin forward and swallowed back panic as they stepped into the ballroom.
Many nobles waved to her, offering their congratulations on her upcoming marriage or trying to engage her in conversation, but Bennick steered her through them, leading her to the dais where the king waited on his throne. Grandeur sat on a slightly shorter throne on the king’s right, his guards around him. The throne on the king’s left was empty. Seeing it made Clare’s heart stumble.
Bennick paused at the base of the dais and bowed to the royals already seated. Clare dipped into a slight curtsy, just as Mistress Henley had taught her, and the king nodded for them to rise. Clare didn’t ease her grip on Bennick’s arm as he helped her up the few short steps. She lowered herself onto the princess’s throne, shifting uncomfortably in it. Bennick slid into position behind her and she saw Venn and Dirk at the front corner of the dais, scanning the colorful assemblage, mirroring the other royal bodyguards.
Clare caught sight of Ser Havim and Amil near the dais. The emissary’s son shot her a grin, raising his wineglass in a wordless salute. She gave him a tight nod, trying to force her smile into a relaxed curve.
King Newlan stood. The musicians cut off and talking ceased. Newlan spread his hands. “Noblest of Devendra, I welcome you tonight. I won’t bore you with long speeches. Many of you were in court today and have no doubt heard enough from me.” Polite chuckles and headshakes rippled through the crowd. Newlan smiled, the torchlight catching his white teeth. “Tonight’s celebration is, from the outside, a celebration of my birth. But that’s an unfair reason to celebrate in such spectacular style. No, I think of this day as a celebration of Devendra. Our nation is strong and will become stronger still when Princess Serene becomes Princess of Mortise. As royals, our lives are dedicated to you and the service of our kingdom. That’s why tonight isn’t about me, but about us all.”
The crowd cheered, and as Clare glanced over their faces, she wondered how many smiles were fake.
Newlan raised his hand, calming the room. “This historic alliance with Mortise will benefit us all, and bring new prosperity to our kingdom. My daughter will pave the way to a glorious future for Devendra. Those who were once enemies will become family. We will be stronger than before. Devendra will never fall!”
Applause rang sharply in Clare’s ears and her stomach pitched as she thought of the dangerous journey ahead of her. She wondered if the alarm she felt was an echo of what Serene felt at
