Dividing Eden (Dividing Eden #1)(58)
When the dance was finished, Andreus gave the woman a charming smile and then asked another, older member of the court, instead of the younger girls he typically favored, to dance. Tempering his behavior, Carys thought. Well, that gave her an idea.
Carys strolled into the crowd that she would normally avoid and spotted three of the girls who had been on her viewing platform earlier today. All of them had bands of blue on their arms and several had their hair, two of brunette and one of bright red, tied back at the neck in the simple style Carys had worn during the tournament instead of the elaborate twists and turns those in the court normally wore.
“Princess Carys,” the redhead stammered as she and the others performed hasty curtsies. “Is there something we can do for you?”
The nervous glances the girls exchanged made Carys aware once again of how out of place she was in court. All three of these girls had grown up here at the castle. Carys had known them all of their lives and still they viewed her as a stranger. Well, that was going to change now. Smiling, Carys said, “I was hoping you might be willing to show me how to have fun at one of these things. I fear I’m out of practice.”
The redhead looked too stunned to speak, but the taller of the brunettes—Carys thought her name was Lady Shelby—smiled and said, “We’d be honored, Your Highness. How about we start with the entertainers? I’m not sure if they throw knives as well as you do, but we can ask them to try.”
Carys laughed and suddenly the other girls lost their worried expressions and included her in their chatter as they wove through the room to where half-dressed acrobats were walking on their hands and doing flips on the hard, stone floor.
When Carys admired one performer’s skill aloud, the other girls rushed to praise him as well.
“Anyone can do that. It’s not that special,” a man called.
Carys glanced around for the source of the words and smiled when she spotted a young man holding a goblet of wine, standing with a bunch of his friends.
“I could easily walk on my hands,” he said to his laughing companions.
Carys turned to the girls. “I’ll be right back.”
She made her way over to the young man.
“Excuse me,” Carys said, “What is your name?”
“I’m Lord Trevlayn, Your Highness,” he said with a grin that told her the drink in his hand wasn’t the first he’d had. “At your service.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear you say that you can walk on your hands. Is that true?”
“Well, I think so, Your Highness. I mean—”
“Excellent! We would all like to see you show your skill. And any who succeed will be rewarded with a dance with one of my ladies.”
The blond lord’s friends slapped him on the back. One took his drink and the acrobats that had been performing stepped to the side to allow the braggart a chance to display his abilities. Left with no other option, the lord put his hands on the floor, hesitantly kicked his feet up, and fell back to the ground with a thud. His friends burst into howls of laughter. The young lord pushed himself up off the floor, scowling, and started to stalk off the floor. But one of the girls with Carys, a petite, curvy brunette, stepped forward and said, “I believe you can do it, Lord Trevlayn.”
Carys smiled at the earnestness in the girl’s face. Clearly, she had interest in Lord Trevlayn beyond this moment. Which made Carys like the drunken fool a bit more. “Yes, Lord Trevlayn. You didn’t give it your best effort,” Carys agreed. “Try in earnest and I believe I can get Lady Michaela to award you with a dance.”
Lord Trevlayn puffed out his chest, wiped his hands on his legs, and gave it another try. Everyone gathered around the entertainers cheered as his feet reached toward the ceiling, hung there for a moment, and then suddenly toppled over. Others in the ballroom began to wander over as Lord Trevlayn’s friends decided to try the feat. Bets broke out on the sidelines among some of the younger lords and ladies as the boys kicked up their feet and sprawled on the floor, spilling drinks and eliciting shrieks and laughter from the gathered ladies. The older members of the court looked outraged. Finally, the shortest of Lord Trevlayn’s friends managed several steps on his hands—feet flailing in the air—to great cheers. When he stood upright again, the young ladies batted their eyes at him while his friends snatched goblets off a passing tray to lift in his honor. When they were done toasting him, they all turned to Carys and lifted their glasses again.
“To Princess Carys and the Throne of Light.”
They offered her a glass, from which she took a polite sip, as they all turned toward the throne and held their glasses aloft. Her head was spinning from the audacity of her actions—disrupting the formal ball, encouraging the young members of court to break free from their rigid roles. It was the very opposite of temperance. Her sense of triumph at the stern expression she saw on the faces of the older members of the court was fantastic. She spotted Andreus standing with Elder Cestrum and two of Eden’s High Lords. When he glanced her way, she waited for him to nod—to acknowledge her efforts to help him—as he always did when she stepped in front of him and took the worst of what this castle had to give.
But the look he gave her was dismissive, and panic flared.
Something had changed between them. Suddenly and dramatically, things had been altered.
But how? And why?