Sea Witch(64)

“Crown Prince Christian Olaf Iker Navarre ?ldenburg invites for his first dance . . .” The drums begin, and I can’t separate them from my own heartbeats. “Friherrinde Oda of Kal?.”

My heart skips a beat.

Who?

Iker extends his arm in the direction of an icy-blond stranger.

The girl steps forward, the women around her frozen with excitement. Iker doesn’t so much as glance my way. He watches the girl as if she’s a prize pony, sauntering forward. The queen looks pleased. So pleased. For once, the rogue prince has done her bidding.

My cheeks burn while my heart and blood grow cold with stagnation. I should have known all along. Iker could never dance with me here. Just like he’ll never be able to dance with me in Rigeby Bay or anywhere else. Whether our whaling trip is real or not, it won’t be anything more than those few weeks. I close my eyes and let the wave of embarrassment wash over me.

When I open them, Malvina’s smug face flashes before mine, as if there’s a spotlight on her from across the room. This is what people like her have been waiting for ever since Nik, Iker, and I became friends—my ambition slammed down in front of them all.

And here we are.

I’m just as bad as the townspeople say I am. Always expecting something from these princes whether I deserve it or not. Nik drops Annemette’s hand and takes a step forward. As if he can save me. But I meet his eyes and hope our special language spans the distance and the weight of so many eyes.

My heart is broken, but his is more important in this moment. These next moments could mean life or death.

Yet Nik is still reaching for me, until Annemette grabs his hand and whispers something in his ear. He immediately moves back in line, his eyes in the middle distance.

When the music begins and the dance officially starts, all I want to do is run away, but I’m trapped, forced to watch the three royal couples, a fake smile plastered on my face.

Nik’s crown is a beacon in the very center, everyone else floating around him. The smile on his face is unavoidable, the brightest thing in the room. Brighter than the queen’s diamonds. Brighter than the king’s sapphire crown.

Annemette’s long waves sweep around, swinging with each spin, a flash of butter-blond moving at a happy clip across the inlaid marble.

Many of the older townsfolk hang by the dance floor with more enthusiasm than even the youth, standing close enough to soak in young love at its most enchanting.

The song ends, and each couple takes a bow before other couples swarm the floor, clapping them off as a new song starts up. The royals are swallowed by the crowd, almost everyone dancing. I sink farther into the background, finally settling into a chair pushed up against the wall. Almost immediately there’s a hand on my shoulder.

“I didn’t give the announcer that girl’s name.” Iker’s voice is low and hushed. Strained. “Please dance with me. Please, Evelyn.”

“I—”

He takes my hand in both of his. “Let me right this wrong. Please. That girl means nothing to me.”

The icy-blond girl is nowhere to be seen. She’s not hanging over his shoulder. She’s not anywhere. His dismissal after one song must have been more than disappointing.

I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. He’s spelled me as deeply as any magic I’ve ever known, using memories as much as the present. But I can’t dance with him. The embarrassment of rejection will double if the townsfolk see this as a pity dance. I shake my head.

“Please,” he begs. “I can’t bear to dance with any of these girls. I need you, Evie. Only you.”

I look around at everyone enjoying the evening. Dancing, spinning, laughing. Why shouldn’t I have that? Let them talk.

Finally, I nod, and he draws me up and sets one hand upon my waist. My hand fits neatly into his other palm. Like it’s meant to be there. The band plays at a sweeping clip, and we make our way onto the floor. I feel as if the entire world has blown away and only Iker and I stand alone, pressed together in an invisible, swirling tide.

“My aunt must have put that girl’s name on the scroll,” Iker whispers in my ear. “It has to be. Yours was the one that I requested.”

I want to believe him. I do. But I know his reputation. His habits. And somewhere deep in my gut I wonder if he and that girl had met before. He didn’t look my way when her name was called. Not like Nik. Iker only looked at her—like he knew her.

“Please, Evie—” Iker leans back so I can glimpse his face as we sweep through traffic on the dance floor. The strain in his voice has reached his eyes.

“Iker, it’s fine,” I say. Even though it’s not.

He twirls me past the king and dodges Malvina and Ruyven. We pass Nik and Annemette, and a prickle of magic shoots through my blood. I wonder if Annemette has used a spell to keep her feet from tripping up. For all her grace, even after an hour of practice, her legs weren’t doing what she wanted, her exhaustion too great.

Iker follow’s my eyes. “What?” he asks.

There’s not much I can say that he’ll agree with. “Nik and Annemette—they’re just so . . . this is just so . . .”

“Questionable?”

That was not the word I was thinking of. The specter of his anger on the ship rises. I haven’t seen him have a sip of hvidt?l tonight, but his true feelings are on display again in that single word. I smile, hoping it will soften the edge in his eye. “Romantic. That was the word I was going for. Romantic.”