Elva watched the others and their angry faces. None of them wanted to be here, wearing the strange clothes that didn’t fit them. A few of them wore giant collars and nothing else. Some were in full suits splitting at the seams because they’d pulled too hard to try to fit them. The women were in giant gowns that bulged in all the wrong places.
This wasn’t anything like a ball in the Seelie Court, and the rest of the troll kingdom knew it. They hated being here, and if she was reading their expressions correctly, they hated the royals for forcing them to be here.
Strange. Elva had heard of quite a few people hating royal families before. She’d been married to one of the worst Seelie King’s in history. But she’d never seen so many people wearing that fact on their sleeves and clearly trying their best to glare daggers into the backs of those people they hated.
The trolls didn’t make sense. If anyone in the Seelie Court had been so blatant about their feelings, they would have been beheaded immediately. An investigation would have been launched to see what their family was doing, and then their family would have been likely removed from the history books as well. They would have nothing left because they clearly had wanted to kill the royals.
Did the troll queen and princess not care? Or did they merely not think the others were a threat?
Instead of following the troll princess, Elva melted into the crowd. She listened to conversations when she could, trying to figure out where Donnacha was.
Some of the trolls said he was still getting prettied up, others said they’d already seen him. He wasn’t standing with the Troll Queen, so where had they put him?
A band started up, the reedy sound of a flute and twin violins shrieking throughout the ballroom. What in the world was that godawful sound?
Elva forced her hands to remain at her sides so she didn’t reach up to cover her ears. Was this the live music? This sound that was equal to a harpy screaming?
The crowd shifted, creating a circle in the center of the room. And there was Donnacha, clutched against the troll princess’s chest, feet off the ground. Oh, the poor man, Elva thought. He was going to hate every second of the dance.
She could see it on his face. Every inch of his body was tense, and his face was wrinkled into a frown. She couldn’t imagine what the troll princess smelled like that close, but she was certain it was worse than the buggane.
They danced four songs. Four long songs where the troll princess whirled him around as his feet dangled limply. Donnacha’s arms were squeezed down at his side and his neck must have hurt by this point as he desperately had tilted it away from her.
Elva made her way through the crowd when the troll princess finally set him down to pick up a bucket of water. She was apparently trying to quench her thirst, but most of the water poured down her body. An attempt to seduce Donnacha? Or maybe just… Elva didn’t want to think about it.
She shifted closer to Donnacha and exaggerated her hunch even more. He stared down at a table where goblets had been set. There were things floating in almost all of them, likely the reason why he wore such an expression of disgust. “May I have this dance, good sir?” She kept her voice quiet and rough so none of the trolls would overhear and question who she was.
“I’m only allowed to dance with the troll princess,” he snarled.
“I traded her a rather precious necklace for the opportunity to share your company.”
“Then you can dance with her.”
Elva stepped closer. “I don’t want to dance with her, Donnacha. I want to dance with you.”
He froze. She watched the tension in his shoulders disappear. He turned around so she could see him fully, and Elva smiled.
“You’re clean,” she said. His face was finally free of grime, his hair brushed. Someone had braided his long, dark locks and tangled small metal clasps throughout. The navy blue doublet he wore was an old style, but it was little better than what the rest of the trolls wore. Clearly, the troll princess wanted him to be impressive.
Still, he looked good. She hadn’t seen him like this before. He’d always been covered in layers of grime while in the Troll Kingdom or hidden in the shadows at the castle. But this… He really looked like the dwarven noble he was.
Elva smiled and pulled back her hood only enough for him to see her face but no one else to sneak a peek of her. “Hello, Donnacha.”
“You’re here,” he said, his expression stunned. “How are you here?”
“I made a deal.”
“It better have not been too much of a deal. These trolls are dangerous beings to be making deals with.”
Elva shook her head and tugged the hood back in place. “I gave her something in return for a dance with you.”
“I’m not a very good dancer.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I am a very good dancer.” She held out her hand for him to take. “Come on, Donnacha.”
“It’s dangerous. They’ll figure out who you are.”
“All good things are a little bit dangerous.”
He reached out for her hand and slid his fingers into hers. The bulge on her back where the rest of her dress was gathered along with the pack, made it difficult for her to straighten. Still, she did her best to help him as he waltzed with her through the crowd to the clamorous music.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
“Neither should you. And yet, we’ve both found ourselves in this horrible place. Now, work with me to get us both out of here.”
Donnacha leaned up and muttered into her ear, “They know you’re here.”
A chill danced down her spine. “Who?”
“The Troll Queen. She told me right after
