The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(57)

Someone fell into step beside us, and I stiffened until I saw who it was.

Ericen strode beside me, his Vykryn uniform gone and replaced by a beautiful navy-blue jacket lined in gold and a pair of dark pants. His black hair had been styled to the side, and he had a slight flush in his cheeks, as if he’d just arrived in a hurry from somewhere. He smiled, but it felt off. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“I see we’re going for tactfully rebellious,” he said, gaze switching from my dress to Kiva’s military-esque outfit.

“What were you going for?” Kiva asked. “Arrogant prick?”

Ericen’s jaw flexed, and I had a feeling he’d just resisted saying something extremely rude.

That’s a first. Maybe he’d finally realized insulting Kiva wasn’t the quickest way to get on my good side. The idea that he even wanted on my good side still felt foreign.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” I told him. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

“I just returned from an assignment,” he said as we approached the tall doors of the ballroom. The crowd had thickened around us, filling with Illucian nobles and soldiers dressed in dark suits and blue and gold dresses. Every one of them was probably armed.

“What kind of assignment?” I asked.

Before he could respond, a frantic servant blocked our path. “Your Highnesses, please come with me. Her Majesty requests your presence on the dais for the introductions.”

“I’ll see you inside,” Kiva said before slipping into the crowd.

“I think I’m growing on her,” Ericen said, offering me his arm. “She glowered mildly less.”

I snorted but slipped my arm through his, squeezing a little tighter than I meant. My eyes stayed trained on the back of the servant as he led us through a side corridor. At the end of a long hall, we turned right into an open sitting room lit by sona lamps. A couch sat along one wall, along with several chairs separated by small tables.

Razel sat on the arm of the couch, a glass of wine hanging between two fingers. She wore a dress of ice blue, the tight-fitting strapless bodice lined in citrine gems that glimmered like trapped sunlight. Sleeveless, it bared the crisscrossing scars and fresh cuts along the back of her forearms like trophies.

“There you are.” Her eyes alighted on Ericen. “I hear your trip was successful.”

He nodded but wouldn’t meet my questioning gaze.

“And how lovely you look, Thia dear,” she added with a smile that didn’t match the long, pointed look she gave my dress.

“And you, Your Majesty,” I said as genuinely as I could.

Razel stood. “I will announce you both, and you will dance to begin the ball. Do it without the grimace you both wear so often, and we might end the night without any trouble.”

Ericen shifted, and Razel smiled again. “Come along,” she said, turning for a door in the far wall.

Ericen offered me his arm again, and I took it, if only for something to force me forward. My muscles had turned stiff, my breath becoming shallow. I didn’t want to be paraded in front of these people, to see their hungry eyes devour me like the helpless prize they believed I was.

Razel pushed open the door, and we stepped out onto the dais. The conversation slowly quieted as a loud male voice announced her. A raucous chorus of applause followed. Then Razel announced Ericen and me, and only the sheer force of his body moving forward convinced mine to do the same.

The sound of clapping roared in my ears, and suddenly, we were standing beside Razel, a room of pale faces staring back.

The crowd quieted again. I took a deep breath, centering myself in the moment. I needed my wits about me. I forced myself to focus on the blue and gold decorations and the tables of food and drinks on the outskirts of the room. In the center stood a hollowed-out wooden sculpture of a rearing horse.

Razel spoke. “Welcome. I’m sure everyone is eager for the party to begin, so I won’t waste your time. Let the first dance in honor of Prince Ericen and Princess Anthia’s engagement begin beneath Rhett’s watchful eye.” She stepped aside.

I was still inspecting the room when Ericen held out his hand to me. For a moment, I simply stared at it. Then I lifted my gaze to his, surprised to find a smile on his lips. It was encouraging and terrifying all at once. Something about him still looked wrong.

I took his hand. It was warm and calloused and so much larger than mine. A soldier’s hand. Would he one day stand across from me on a battlefield?

He led me down the stairs, and the crowd cleared a space for us. The prince faced me, and my eyes found his. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” I asked.

He smiled. “Just keep up.”

The music began, a quick, harsh sound. A wingbeat later, we were moving across the floor, the music quickening. Ericen kept me in a rigid hold, as the dance demanded, one hand on the back of my shoulder, the other clasped in my own. I’d done the dance before, but it was his sure-footedness that kept me steady throughout.

I matched his every step, my dress furling around my hips, my movements sure and swift. Two weeks of training had paid off. Though my muscles protested at first, the movement eased the stiffness of days of vigorous exercise, and it took some time for my breathing to quicken. It satisfied me to note Ericen’s had as well.

The music accelerated and so did our pace, until the faces and colors around us blurred. My breath rattled in my chest. Ericen’s grip on my hand tightened to keep from slipping. Then the music erupted and fell silent, and the dance ended.