Chapter 68: Let’s Dance
Stay away from him? As if she could.
Claire watched him leave the room, his shoulders squared. The guards filed out behind him, blocking her view of him.
There was sothing completely different about him that she couldn’t place.
He was just... not himself.
But it didn’t excuse what he said about her. And he said he didn’t an it?
Claire struggled to mop her flooding eyes.
A movent at the corner of the room made her glance up.
Terrence stood there, his face concealed underneath a visor.
He started walking towards her, but stopped.
"May I approach?" He asked, his voice muffled by his helt.
Claire looked up at him slowly, still struggling to hold back her tears.
"You may."
He pulled sothing out of his chainmail and inched closer.
"For you... my lady."
He handed her a freshly knitted handkerchief to wipe her eyes with.
She could only glance at the object in her hands limply.
"Thank... you." She murmured.
He nodded and moved back to his post at the corner of the hall.
"I’m crying a lot these days." She muttered to herself.
Claire wiped her face with the handkerchief and wiped her hands against her dress.
They were expecting her at the dance. She had to attend - whether she wanted to or not. That was another disadvantage of being a servant - she couldn’t leave when she wanted to.
Claire had no idea where the ball room was from the dining hall. She had attended a ball there once with Arlan and Uncle Jarren, but they had been shown the way from the main entrance.
Then, she rembered when he had taken her to the grand library.
After a mile of travelling down endless hallways, she arrived at the ballroom.
"There was a shorter path, my lady. A much shorter path."
Claire glanced over her shoulder.
"Why didn’t you ntion it?"
Terrence said nothing.
Why did he keep calling her ’my lady’? There was no difference between them - they both served the King, which made them servants of the sa calling.
Only that he served the King by serving her.
She held her breath as she walked into the ball room. Soft lodies wafted through the room, touching everything but her.
His Aunt and Uncle were dancing together, arm in arm. So was Andon and the King’s cousin.
Yeren stood by the side, looking like the lone dark wolf as his Aunt spoke to him amidst twirls.
His Aunt turned to her as she entered. "There she is!" The woman exclaid.
Claire looked up at the woman, her eyes wide.
"Please join the King on a dance."
Join the King on a dance?
She turned to look at the King, waiting for him to give a very ’kind’ refusal to the dance.
Those piercing yellow eyes seed to bore into hers.
Why was he looking at her like that? Was he waiting for her to accept the invitation?
Andon was watching them as he danced with Eliza, his hawk eyes never missing a single detail.
Even the instruntalists were watching them.
"Would you join
in a dance, Miss Stenly?" He held out his hand.
When she looked down at his hand, she noticed that it was still shaking.
Did she accept his offer?
Her feet carried her forward before her mind was aware of her actions. Her hand slid into his.
And she saw the sa expression she had seen earlier... gratitude.
"If I were you, Miss Stenly - which I am not - I would have told him to find so wolfed and well-nad idiot to dance with." Eliza said, despite Andon’s attempt to keep her silent.
"Eliza! Hold your tongue."
Claire stiffened. She had thought of doing the exact sa thing, but Aurora’s words kept ringing in her head - she had to be well-behaved for both their sakes.
Another round of music began, this one slower than the first.
From the gestures the King’s Uncle was making to the lead harpist, Claire could tell the sudden change in the tempo of the music was deliberate.
They assud their positions with her hands on his rigid shoulders and his slender hands on her waist.
She could feel the heat on his hands through the fabric of her gown and all the layers of her corset and undergarnts.
Her abdon fluttered.
"Thank you." He leaned close to her ear to whisper.
Her breath caught.
"For what?" She whispered back.
"For dancing with ."
"I don’t have a choice."
He spun her around.
"You do. I would let you walk out of this room right now if you want to."
She t his gaze. The color of his eyes still unsettled her.
"Would you?"
He looked at sothing above her head before looking down at her. Then, his grip on her waist loosened.
"Leave if you want. I’ve told you you’re not a servant."
"I’m an ’esteed servant’, I believe."
She felt the loss of the warmth of his hands, instantly regretting whatever she had done to cause it.
"I won’t leave."
"Why?"
"Why do you always ask ’why’?"
"Because when it cos to you, the obvious reasons never apply."
Colour crept up her cheeks.
"Because I’m poor and wolfless?"
"No." His jaw tensed. "Because you don’t want anything from ."
"How can you be so sure of that? I would want your head on a silver platter."
He grinned. His smile was different - his canines were slightly more pronounced.
"You would have had it long before now. Countless opportunities have presented themselves, Miss Stenly, but not once has my life been threatened."
"I’m the first person they’d bla if that happened."
"They?"
"The council. Your family. Everyone that has a finger would point at ."
"Why is that?"
"Because everyone assus I have the biggest motive to kill you - you ended my future."
His grip on her waist tightened as he guided her into a side-step.
"But you do not actually have one?"
"The devil I know is better than the angel I don’t know. I would rather remain in your hands than be in the hands of another well acclaid good man."
"Why?"
She nearly rolled her eyes.
"You treat
better than every single man I know."
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