CHAPTER FIVE

  The Dance

  When Roderic stood, Elowen’s stomach knotted. For a heartbeat she thought he was leaving, and dread swept through her like cold water. If the beasts in the arena hadn’t managed to devour her, surely these nobles would.

  She didn’t dare look up. Laughter flickered around the table. A lord across from her paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing in sharp suspicion. One by one, heads began to turn. The air thickened, the kind that hums before a blow is struck.

  Then she saw it.

  His hand, steady and open.

  For a moment the sight didn’t make sense. It had been so long since the world had offered hands like that. She remembered only those that took, struck, commanded. This one waited. The quiet of it made her throat ache.

  Her fingers flexed against her skirts, a small, nervous tremor. She couldn’t seem to look away from that hand. The gold threads on his sleeve caught the light, bright as the sun glancing off water. Her heart pounded loud enough to fill the silence between them.

  Roderic stood motionless, patience carved into every line of him. The seconds stretched thin. He could almost hear the court begin to lean forward—like wolves scenting indecision.

  By the time he reached the sixth heartbeat, he nearly moved to pull her up himself. But then she looked at him.

  The fear in her eyes, clear, trembling, naked, softened the expression in his. And beneath that fear, something steadier: defiance that hadn’t yet learned how to name itself.

  He drew a slow breath. Light above, she was still standing after everything, beasts, mobs, hunger, mockery, and still she held herself upright, chin lifted, the smallest flicker of pride keeping her from collapsing.

  Around them, the hall glittered with cruelty dressed as grace. But she, once barefoot and branded by shame, was the only thing that felt alive.

  A flicker of reluctant amusement crossed his face, half admiration, half disbelief, as if he realized he’d have to speak the words aloud.

  “May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked.

  Air snagged in her throat. Heat flared up her neck and into her cheeks.

  But she rose. Somehow, she rose.

  His hand was warm when her fingers found it. For a heartbeat, she thought the heat might burn her. Then she realized it steadied her instead.

  The first notes rose, thin as breath. Her hands trembled—the same tremor she’d carried through the parade. He must have felt it too. For a fleeting second he glanced toward the high windows, half-expecting the banners to stir. They didn’t. The air held still, waiting.

  He drew closer, careful, until her small hand rested in his. His other hand came to rest at her waist—careful, deliberate, the pressure just enough to tell her where to move.

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  Her pulse thudded through his palm. Her eyes darted anywhere but at him: the marble floor, the chandelier, the shadows along the wall. When she finally looked up, the words tumbled out like confession.

  “I don’t know how to dance.”

  The smallest laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Then follow me,” he murmured, tightening his hold just enough that she would.

  The music gathered, and they began to move.

  At first she was rigid, all bone and fear. But his steps were sure, unhurried—giving her rhythm where she had none. Slowly, something shifted. Her fingers stopped clutching; her shoulders loosened. The silk of her gown brushed against his leg, whispering with each turn.

  She dared a glance upward. His expression wasn’t mocking, it was calm, almost amused, as though he’d known from the first note she’d manage. That quiet certainty reached her before his words did, melting the last of her dread.

  He guided her through another turn, the motion smooth as breath. Her eyes slipped to his shoulder, to their joined hands, to the faint copper gleam in his hair. He smelled faintly of smoke and rain-washed wool—solid, clean, real. When she risked meeting his gaze again, she caught the flecks of green in the brown, like sunlight through leaves.

  Her stomach fluttered. She looked away, pretending to study the candlelight spilling across the floor, but she could still feel the warmth of his hand at her waist.

  The hall had not vanished; the nobles still watched. Yet somehow, the air felt lighter. Her body remembered another time, her parents turning in their hall, laughter in the air. She had been a child then, twirling barefoot and curls untamed.

  Now, matching the quiet beat of his steps, she found the rhythm again. The fear in her chest loosened its grip. Her dress lifted and fell like a tide.

  And when he spun her once more, the sound that rose in her throat was almost a laugh.

  For the first time in months, Elowen forgot to be afraid.

  The dance ended too soon, and she felt almost disappointed. They hadn’t spoken once, yet there’d been an ease between them that surprised her. Their arms fell to their sides, and they shared an acknowledging smile.

  The music faded, its last notes trembling in the air before vanishing. The crowd murmured, uncertain, hungry for what would come next. Then the servants entered, moving in unison like shadows between candles, a velvet cushion balanced between them.

  On it rested a crown.

  Gold gleamed under the hall’s hundreds of lights, scattering fire across the marble. Jewels winked in red and blue, like tiny watching eyes.

  Elowen blinked, breath catching. For a second, she thought she’d misunderstood—surely they weren’t bringing that to her.

  But the servants stopped at Roderic’s side.

  He didn’t reach for it at once. His hand hovered above the crown, fingers flexing once, then still. The tension in the room thickened; even the harps on their stands seemed to hold their breath.

  Elowen followed his gaze to the high table. The King sat unmoving, expression unreadable. The nobles watched like vultures waiting to see which way the feast would fall.

  Roderic’s jaw set. A faint muscle ticked near his temple. Then, with quiet precision, he lifted the crown from its cushion.

  The light caught the metal, painting his knuckles in gold. The weight of it must have been more than it looked.

  Elowen’s pulse thundered in her ears. The crown was close enough now that she could see the pattern worked into its rim—storms and flames locked in a circle, the kingdoms’ symbols bound together.

  He met her eyes. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

  Then he placed the crown on her head.

  The metal was colder than she expected. It pressed into her hair, unfamiliar and heavy. Around the hall, a ripple of whispers broke loose, spreading like wind through tall grass—shock, outrage, astonishment.

  Elowen stood perfectly still. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. Curtsy? Speak? Flee?

  When she dared to look back at him, Roderic had already straightened, expression composed again, though his eyes carried something fierce beneath the calm—resolve, maybe, or a challenge she couldn’t yet name.

  The hall stared. Candlelight flickered. Somewhere above, a banner shifted—the faintest breath stirring the fabric before it stilled again.