The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(55)

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.”

Especially his sister. All the more reason to keep the charm flowing, watch his words with care, and hide his intentions until the night of the ball, when bloodshed would be pointless because the announcement would already be made.

“The worry must weigh on you,” Gen said softly, and he gave her a startled look. She hurried on. “I’m sure you must be starting to care for some of them, at least as friends.”

“Of course I am.”

She smiled. “Does the choice feel impossible?”

Yes.

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, so he smiled and spun her into the final measure of the song.

When she returned to his arms, red hair flying, cheeks pink, she said softly, “If the choice feels impossible, ask yourself which person, besides your mother and sister, you’d be most heartbroken to lose.”

Blue’s face flashed across his mind, and he frowned as he bowed to the girls, thanked them for the dance, and turned away.

He couldn’t think about his complicated feelings for Blue. Not now, when he needed to guard his every word, expression, and move.

The tea lasted for another hour. By the time Kellan made his way to his suite, he was exhausted, and a headache was brewing behind his eyes. He allowed his valet to remove his tea coat and cravat, then sat on the bed and unlaced his shoes.

Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to find Nessa in his doorway, her fingers already moving.