The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(106)
He straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and swallowed down his regret until his expression was as smooth and regal as hers. “Always.”
Together, the three of them left the family’s wing and descended the grand staircase. Carriages were already pulling up to the entrance, depositing their riders on the front steps, and then pulling away to park by the stables. Music poured out of the room at the far end of the hallway, and staff moved swiftly to take cloaks and offer drinks as the attendees greeted the royal family and then made their way to the ballroom.
Kellan lost track of how many variations of “Thank you for coming. So glad to see you” he’d said. How many probing questions he’d dodged and how many veiled threats he’d turned into flattery as members of the head families tried to figure out his intentions. Truly, he was far happier to greet the commoners in attendance. They smiled at him with unfettered excitement. Their words were simple and honest, and he found it easy to respond in kind.
Some of them worked up the courage to wish him well on his impending nuptials. Some worked up the courage to quietly ask him when someone was going to see to the crime in the Faure quarter or stop the extra taxation levied by brokers in the Evrard quarter. Other items were brought to his attention as well—a quick comment here, an overheard remark there—until Kellan began to gain a picture of a city whose leaders had spent far too much time over the past weeks and months competing for a betrothal instead of governing as they ought. If that was true in Falaise de la Mer, where the castle was perched on a hill and every head family was in residence to oversee things personally, how much truer was it for the surrounding cities across the kingdom?
Kellan filed it away to consider tomorrow in between meetings with head families to award them consolation contracts, diplomatic positions, and royal favor so that he could keep their loyalty even though he’d just given half the throne’s power to a girl from another quarter. It was ridiculous that he’d have to even waste time doing that when the people of Balavata needed action taken. Perhaps the first order of business once he was crowned king would be to change the betrothal law so that an heir could marry anyone they chose, as long as that person wasn’t from one of the head families. It would free the head families up to govern and cherish the power they did have, knowing there would be no opportunity to gain more. And it would give Kellan’s children the freedom to choose a betrothed from a far larger group of people.
Maybe it wouldn’t give Kellan a chance with Blue, but he could at least stem the tide of political gamesmanship and danger that marked Balavata’s government.
“We should go in,” his mother said. “The dances are about to start.”
Kellan looked out over the drive. There were still wagons and carriages as far as the eye could see, but he supposed she was right. All the head families had already arrived, and for tonight’s proceedings, that was all that mattered.
Disgusted with the entire thing, Kellan stayed an extra few moments to greet more commoners who walked up the front steps. When he could withstand the heat of his mother’s glare no longer, he turned and escorted the queen and Nessa into the grand ballroom at the far end of the castle’s main floor.
A page announced the royal family before they entered, and there was thunderous applause as Kellan and his family mounted the royal dais. His mother thanked everyone for being there, mentioned the various rooms that were open for refreshments or resting, and had the staff throw open the doors the led to the garden.
The cool evening breeze flowed in, and Kellan closed his eyes against the pang in his heart. He missed his father more tonight than ever. Missed the advice he’d never hear, the hugs he’d never receive, and the look of pride he hoped would’ve been in his father’s eyes as he saw his son successfully manage the tricky betrothal process while still keeping Nessa and his mother alive despite those who wanted the throne at any cost.
The musicians struck up a soft, lilting melody for the first dance. It was time for Kellan to set the tone of the evening. Choose a girl from a head family for the first dance, spread his favor to a few others in between dances with commoners, and then make his official announcement. It was infuriating that nowhere in that list of tasks was there an expectation for him to ask the girl if being betrothed to him was what she really wanted. Another law he would change once he was king.
His eyes opened, and he froze.
Blue was entering the ballroom, her delicate golden-yellow gown flowing gracefully around her small body, her brown skin glowing luminously under the candlelit chandeliers.
“Kellan,” his mother warned, but he wasn’t listening.
One dance. That’s all he would take. Just one before the rest of his life settled into stone.
He stepped down from the dais, moved through the crowd, and bowed in front of her. When he rose, he held out his hand and said, “Miss de la Cour, may I have this dance?”
“Yes.” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with something bold and reckless. Something that felt like diving off a cliff in the dead of night with no idea what lay below.
She placed her hand in his, and he swept her onto the dance floor amid gasps and the occasional glare from members of the head families.
Kellan looked at Blue and drank in her beauty. Her dark brown eyes, dreamy and wild when she looked at him. Her hair rising in a nimbus of gorgeous black curls to frame her face. Her skin . . . cold.