The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(55)
Jacinthe’s grip tightened painfully as Marisol set her plate down and reached for Kellan. He led them past the small clusters of people talking, catching Gen Gaillard’s eye as he reached the doorway that led to the veranda. She assessed his situation with a quick glance and hid a laugh behind a raised hand.
Oh, she thought it was funny that every head family representative in the room was watching the prince with microscopic intensity and that he didn’t dare give more attention to one girl than another, did she? He stopped walking halfway out the door and turned back, earning murmurs of confusion from both Jacinthe and Marisol.
He’d danced with more than two girls at a time at the academy. No reason he couldn’t do that here as well. “Miss Genevieve,” he called, silencing the conversations directly around them. “Would you do the three of us the honor of joining us in this dance?”
Jacinthe’s grip felt like claws digging into his arm as Gen’s eyes widened. She couldn’t possibly refuse, though. Not without infuriating her parents, who watched eagerly from behind her. With a gracious smile, she made her way to Kellan, Marisol, and Jacinthe.
“Of course, Your Majesty. Though I’m not sure how you’re going to accomplish this when you have but two arms.” Gen was still laughing at him, and he gave all three girls a cheeky grin.
“Ladies, there’s enough of me to go around. Shall we?”
Marisol’s blue eyes darted between Gen and Kellan, as if trying to figure out how this was going to work. Jacinthe had yet to let go of his arm. He was going to lose all feeling in the limb soon. He swept onto the veranda, gently shook himself free of Jacinthe, and bowed to each girl as the musicians picked up the beat.
Taking Marisol’s hands first, he swept her into the dance for eight beats before turning midspin to Jacinthe. The girl’s dark eyes were angry as she grasped his hands and leaped into the flowing movements of the dance.
“Must you always divide yourself between us?” she asked, her tone as delicate as a bird in flight, though there was fire in her expression.
He spun her into a turn. “Unless I’d like to have the other parents in the room decide to start removing the competition to give their daughters a better chance at the throne, I’m afraid I must pay equal attention to each.” Which meant he needed to be sure to give Nathalia Roche a dance next before moving on to the various nieces who were in attendance. Martin Roche had already twice insinuated that Kellan was neglecting the courtship of his daughter.
The fact that Kellan could barely stand more than a few sentences of conversation with Nathalia had no bearing on his duties. At least both Leona Aubert and Emmaline Perrin were in attendance as well. Dancing with them would give him something to look forward to once his time with Nathalia was finished.
He let Jacinthe go and pulled Gen into his arms. Her smile sparkled. “You make it look easy.”
That was the point. He’d spent years flirting and charming his way through the academy because his mother had been very clear that the ability to appear attentive and attracted to multiple girls at once was the only way to avoid bloodshed in the weeks leading up to his betrothal ball.
Sending Gen a careless wink, he said, “Dancing with the three of you could never qualify as a hardship.”
When it was Marisol’s turn again, she clung to him as they dipped and swayed. “Do you really think other families would kill some of the eligible girls to give their own daughter a better chance?”
“It’s happened before,” he said quietly. Three girls the year his mother had won the betrothal. Four boys leading up to the betrothal ball that had happened for his grandparents. He was determined to do whatever he could to keep bloodshed from happening now.
“Why doesn’t anyone do anything to stop it?” Marisol asked.
He met her gaze. “Murder is already illegal. If the family behind the killing is caught, they’re punished to the full extent of the law. Short of stripping the head families of their right to pursue the betrothal in the first place, there’s not much else we can do.”
When he returned to Jacinthe, her smile was in place, and the fire in her eyes at having to share the dance had been banked. “A family must prove itself worthy to rule by showing itself to be the strongest ally. If there is anything my mother and I, and by extension the entire Chauveau clan, can do to help protect the eligible girls, please count on us. Our mothers are great friends. Whether you choose me or not, we should work together to make sure no one dies over this.”
He nodded, holding eye contact with her as a tiny vein of doubt wormed its way through him. She sounded sincere, but he’d spent enough time coating his own words with a veneer of sincerity to recognize it in someone else. Did she think pretending to care about the cost of competing for his hand would win him over? Or was she simply upholding her responsibility to prove that her family was his strongest ally?
His mother certainly favored the Chauveaus for the betrothal, though she’d also told him the Gaillards and the Perrins would make very strong allies as well. As the music entered its final stanza, he released Jacinthe and turned to Gen.
Her smile had disappeared. She stepped into his arms, and said in a voice too quiet for the others to hear, “I don’t want to die for this.”
He kept his expression neutral, though his grip on her hands gentled. “I don’t want you to die for this, either. I don’t want anyone to die.”