“A round!” Newlan called.
Grandeur came to his feet and took Clare’s hand, pulling her up. His rich brown skin gleamed in the torchlight as they descended to the dancefloor, the entire room watching them.
Grandeur squeezed her hand and his white teeth flashed with his smile. She returned the gesture a little shakily and took her place in the traditional circle across from him
The musicians began to play and Clare watched from the corner of her eye for the lady beside her to sweep into a curtsy. She followed at once, and then stepped back as Grandeur stepped forward, sliding into the practiced dance.
As they moved together, Grandeur leaned in and whispered. “You’re doing well.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled, watching her as they circled each other. When the dance brought them back together, he tipped his mouth toward her ear. “Captain Markam can’t take his eyes off you.”
Heat infused her cheeks but she darted a look toward Bennick. Their eyes collided and her heartbeat quickened. She glanced back at the prince. “He’s my bodyguard. He’s supposed to watch me.”
Grandeur’s mouth twitched. “Ah.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
He took her hand as the dance dictated and spun her, first away from his body and then back to his side. He leaned in, his words lower than before. “When you admit it to yourself, please feel free to tell me.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes and Clare fought a smile. The more time that passed since their conversation over tea, the more Clare thought less about her flash of unease when he’d asked her to spy on Serene. Grandeur was her friend among the royals, and he was only worried about Devendra. She couldn’t fault him for that, even if the thought of spying on Serene made her uncomfortable.
Grandeur was a graceful dancer, his hands strong as he guided her through the practiced steps. When it was time to switch partners, he spun her smoothly into the next man’s arms and the round continued unbroken.
The heat in the room increased as the night dragged on. The music was loud and a drum pounded incessantly in the corner. The spinning of the dancing didn’t help Clare’s growing headache. She was pulled from one circle to another, the dancing never-ending. Occasionally she spotted Venn, Dirk, or Bennick watching from the sidelines, only to lose them in the next turn.
Clare managed to beg her way out of the next dance and she drifted to the crowd’s edge for a brief reprieve. She caught sight of Bennick and some of the tightness in her chest loosened. He mirrored her steps, keeping close without actually joining her.
She wished he’d join her. If he were to dance with her, she would happily ignore her aching feet. She wondered what it would be like to have his hands around her on a dancefloor instead of a training field. Imagination sparked, quickening her pulse.
Behind her, sliding in between the music, laughter, and boom of conversation, Clare heard a low voice, thickly accented and speaking the rounded Mortisian language. The heat in his voice made her angle her head, straining to make out the conversation without drawing attention to herself.
“. . . doubt his logic,” Ser Havim growled.
“You should hold off on the wine,” Amil said, his voice stiff.
“Bah! You’ve been pulled in by her beauty, but she’s Devendran.”
“Father,” Amil hissed. “You forget yourself.”
“No. But Desfan does. The Cassian line has been pure for hundreds of years. Mortisian, through and through. If I hadn’t been manipulated into brokering this peace, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Enough!” A glass slammed against a side table. “Father, you should retire for the night.”
Emissary Havim let out a growl. “Fine. I’ll go. Only because it wounds me to have my son disrespect me.”
Clare tensed as the emissary marched past, his guards following. She glanced toward Bennick, but she knew he’d been too far away to hear the heated exchange. He eyed her, though, one eyebrow lifted in question.
She sensed someone draw up behind her and she turned. Amil stood close, wearing a red tunic that complimented his olive skin. He was undeniably handsome, but when he smiled, she couldn’t help but feel a lack of sincerity. “Princess, could I trouble you for a dance?”
Clare swallowed. “Of course.” They took their places across from each other, their palms pressed together in a newer Devendran dance, not as complicated as the round.
Amil’s voice was soft. “You overheard.”
There was no point denying it, if she wanted to learn more. “I didn’t realize your father thought so little of me.”
Amil grimaced. “He’s traditionally-minded.”
“He’s quite vocal about his opinions.”
“He’s overworked and indulged in too much wine tonight. Please, forgive him.”
She didn’t think she could.
Ever since the Ogai spider incident, Wilf had been her primary suspect. She hadn’t shared her thoughts with anyone outside of Vera, but after the conversation she’d just overheard, she knew she couldn’t dismiss Amil’s father as a suspect. If Ser Havim hated the idea of Serene entering the Cassian family, it was possible he could be the one trying to kill her. The emissary had access in the castle that many did not and he had loyal bodyguards to do his bidding. True, he’d been working to build the alliance, but it was clear he didn’t want peace, and now that the alliance was falling into place, he might want to sabotage it.
“The necklace suits you,” Amil said, breaking into her thoughts. “Breathtaking, just as you are.”
The weight of the necklace—knowing it had come from the emissary who despised Devendrans—nearly strangled her. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
His fingertips pressed more firmly against hers. “I sent for it after our first meeting. I knew it would be perfect for you.”
Her chest tightened uncomfortably. “Ser Amil—”
“Serene!” Venn barely acknowledged Amil as he stepped up to Clare. “Princess, your attention is needed.”
Amil shot an irritated look at Venn, but the expression tamed by the time he inclined his head toward
