The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(5)
He studies me with narrowed eyes as we move around the dance floor, dodging the other lords and ladies who have started to waltz. “I don’t know how they do it in your kingdom, Princess,” he says, “but in mine, the man typically leads.”
“Deal with it or find a different partner,” I retort, guiding us as far away from the royal table as I can. He quietly chuckles and lets me keep leading. My lungs strain against the corset, but I don’t slow down.
“I saw you studying our horses when we arrived yesterday. Do you ride?”
I look up into his eyes and flash him my practiced smile. “Ladies are only allowed to ride sidesaddle, so we are given slow, docile beasts.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.” He adjusts his hand against the small of my back, and I realize I have stopped leading and he’s taken over.
I shrug. “No. It’s boring and unfair.”
“I agree.” He spins me around twice and then pulls me back into his arms, and I am surprised to realize dancing with him is fun. He holds me firmer and closer than Roderick, my dance teacher, and he smells surprisingly nice, like soap and cedar and leather. Roderick smells like olives and cloves, and his breath stinks. I find myself leaning a little bit closer to Golmarr and inhaling. “Have you ever ridden astride?”
I glance at the dais, at my father, Lord Damar, in his customary seat of respect at the queen’s right hand. “I rode my father’s horse once.”
“And?” Golmarr asks, a twinkle in his fierce eyes—as if he knows how the story ends. He thinks I am going to say how much I loved riding.
“I was thirteen. Lord Damar sent five guards after me, and when they brought me back, he beat my bare legs with a willow switch in front of them.” I lift my skirt just enough to show him one pale scar that still streaks my ankle.
Golmarr stares at me with wide eyes and steps on my foot. “I’m sorry,” he blurts, deftly spinning me away from him and then back into his arms. “Are you all right? Did I break your toes?” He looks down at our feet.
A smile touches my mouth—just a hint of one, and not the practiced smile. “It didn’t hurt.”
“In my land, women ride horses, not docile beasts. If you want…” He clears his throat, and his eyes grow uncertain as they look into mine. For some reason I can’t comprehend, my smile widens and my cheeks grow warm. “That is to say…” He glances at the dais. “Do you think the queen would allow you to go riding with me tomorrow morning before the ceremony?”
At mention of the ceremony, my stomach ties in a knot. If the horse clan takes me tomorrow, not only will I be forced to marry their heir, I will be a sister wife, which is one hundred times worse than just being a wife to an old, mean-looking barbarian.
“My family’s horses are the fastest in the land,” Golmarr says, snapping me back to the present. “They can outrun every other horse. We breed them for speed and endurance. You could ride astride.”
His words echo in my head. Fastest in the land. Outrun every other horse. Speed and endurance. I swallow and look up into his face, forcing my expression to remain placid. He has just handed me a plan, and he doesn’t even know it. My heart starts pounding, and my breathing accelerates. At least, my need for oxygen increases, but with the corset squeezing me so tight, I feel like I am about to pass out. “I can’t breathe,” I blurt, taking my hand from his bicep and tugging on the top edge of the stiff corset.
“Can I do anything to help?”
I almost laugh. “If you attempt to remove my corset, sir, my father might try to kill you.”
His eyes narrow and he studies me. “Your father might try? Or you?”
I blink at him and try to step away, but his powerful hand is on my lower back, guiding me through the dance moves with tight, flawless precision. “What do you mean?”
He puts his free hand on my hip, right over the hidden dagger. “Is that why you wear this?” My heart starts thumping against my ribs, and I put both my hands against his chest and push away from him as my face begins to burn.
“I can’t breathe, and I do not feel like dancing anymore. I will watch the ball from the dais,” I say, and turn away, weaving through the dancing horse lords and nobles. Suicide Sorrow, they whisper as I pass, giving me a wide berth.
“Princess Sorrowlynn,” someone calls. I turn and look at the young horse lord over my shoulder. His black eyebrows are drawn together in a frown, but there is a hint of a smile on his mouth. His gaze travels over my body and back up my face. “You are a surprisingly good dancer. I hope I have the pleasure of holding you in my arms another time,” he calls, dipping me a respectful bow. I curtsy and retreat to the dais and spend the rest of the evening watching the ball rather than participating in it.
I don’t sleep. When the night sky starts to pale, I take off my nightdress and pull on a simple hand-me-down dress, followed by a soft pink cloak. I shove my feet into hardly used riding boots and quickly pull my hair into a bun without bothering to run a brush through it.
Shoving all the jewelry and coins I own into a bag, followed by a flask of water and a heel of bread I managed to steal from the ball the night before, I quietly leave my bedroom.
The castle is silent, except for the low chatter of two guards keeping watch in the passage. I walk past them and they nod good morning at me, neither of them asking what I am doing up so early without my customary escort.