The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(52)

Sebastian was in agony. Was she disgusted by the truth of his upbringing? Did she pity him? Would she look at him and see him through the bitter lens of his mother’s eyes?

They reached the bottom of the hill, the only two people left climbing toward the palace this close to sunset. The princess stopped and turned to him.

He ordered himself to meet her eyes without flinching. To shove his fears and shame into a box and show her nothing while he waited for her judgment.

She tilted her head back and studied him for a moment. He couldn’t find any hint of pity on her face, but he braced to hear it in her voice.

Finally, she said, “There’s a ball at the palace tomorrow night.”

He frowned. “I . . . What?”

What did that have to do with east Kosim Thalas and the miserable hovel he’d called a home?

“Dancing. Fancy dresses. And really excellent snacks.”

“Oh.”

She leaned closer and locked eyes with him. “I’d like you to go with me.”

He opened his mouth, but found he had absolutely nothing to say.

“Sebastian Vaughn, my loyal, strong, faithful friend, I would be honored to go to the ball with you.”

She waited, but he still couldn’t find a single response.

He couldn’t go to a ball. Out of the question. That was for nobility. What would he wear? What would he do? Her reputation would be in tatters. He would make a fool of himself and probably lose his job.

It was preposterous.

And yet, her words wrapped around the tightness in his chest and loosened the knot until he could breathe again.

She’d be honored to go with him. She’d seen where he’d come from. She’d heard his mother’s hate. And still she’d be honored to be seen by everyone.

With him.

His lips twitched upward, and warmth spread through him as he said, “I can’t dance.”

“Dancing is for people who don’t truly appreciate the buffet.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“I’ll find something for you.”

“The nobility will gossip about you until the day you die,” he said. One last attempt to talk sense into her even though he knew it was a lost cause.

“They needed a new hobby anyway.” She smiled at him. “What do you say? Will you go with me?”

Stars help him. “Yes.”





TWENTY-TWO


SEBASTIAN HAD LOST his mind.

There was no other explanation why a boy from east Kosim Thalas would be standing just inside the servants’ entrance to the kitchen, wearing a fancy silk-blend dress coat, pants, shirt, and pocket handkerchief.

A pocket handkerchief.

Until this morning, when Princess Arianna had brought him a stack of borrowed clothes, he hadn’t even known such a thing existed.

His stomach felt as though he’d swallowed rocks. He kept pulling at the buttoned collar of his shirt and fidgeting with the strap he’d used to secure his cudgel beneath his long-tailed coat. Staring out the large window above the sinks, he watched carriage after carriage roll to a stop in front of the palace, disgorging another group of well-dressed nobility before making room for the next vehicle, and a band of anxiety wrapped around his chest and tightened until it hurt.

He couldn’t do this. Not even for the princess. He couldn’t go into a crowded ballroom. He couldn’t bear to brush up against so many people. His pulse thundered, his blood raced through his veins like fire, and he retreated until his back was against the door.

He’d tell the princess he was sorry. She’d understand.

He’d tell her he appreciated the gesture, but that he was better off in his servant’s quarters. She’d understand that too.

He groaned and dropped his face into his hands.

“Sebastian?”

He looked up, and the fear racking his body boiled into something far more dangerous.

She was beautiful.

He’d known that, of course. Stars knew, they’d spent enough hours together every day for the past month that he was familiar with the way the sun glistened against her golden skin and the way it lightened strands of her thick brown hair. He had her smiles memorized, and he could read her every emotion in her dark eyes.

But this.

This stole his breath and doubled his pulse. This made him want to dance with her even though it meant touching her—maybe because it meant touching her.

Her dress, a deep green edged with silver, lingered over every curve of her body. He stared at her plunging neckline, tore his gaze away, and then found himself looking at way the fabric curved over her hips before finally widening out into a skirt fit for dancing.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she moved toward him, her hips swaying with every step.

He was never going to be all right again. He was staring at the princess—like he wanted something he had no right to want.

“Sebastian?” She stood in front of him, smelling like cinnamon and oranges, and he forced himself not to look at anything but her face.

Worry filled her eyes, and she leaned closer to him. He tensed but it wasn’t because he thought she might touch him.

It was because for the first time, he desperately wanted her to.

He was in so much trouble.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly. “It will be all right. You can—”