Page 37 of The Beauty and the Griffin

Although his tone was casual, the hint of urgency in his voice puzzled me. “I should like that very much.” Why not indulge in a foolish little crush for the span of one dream? What could it hurt?

Mr. Oberle indicated the silk bag attached to my wrist, and for the first time I noticed a card and pencil dangling on its string. “May I?”

“Oh, yes!” I extended my hand.

The pencil and card looked tiny in his gloved hands. While he wrote, I covertly studied him again. I couldn’t distinguish the color of his gelled hair, but he was satisfyingly tall.

In another moment he’d finished. “I dared to mark two dances and hope for more.” He briefly reclaimed my gaze. “Miss de Callen.”

I responded with a smile and glimpsed a flash of pleasure in his eyes before he vanished into the crowd, which appeared to reanimate as he passed through. How odd! I’d heard of people who believed the world stopped during a crucial event, but I’d never taken the saying literally.

Until then.

The throng around me flowed in the direction Mr. Oberle had headed, so I followed along. Focused as I was on not getting smothered in the press of humanity, I took little notice of my surroundings. The crush bottlenecked at a doorway, yet I found myself flowing through between two other young ladies. I remained in step with them until we’d progressed far enough into the ballroom that the swarm dispersed and I was no longer in danger of being run down from behind. I found an empty patch of tiled floor against a pillar and paused to take stock of my surroundings.

The ballroom itself was fabulous—high frescoed ceilings, fluted pillars, bright lights, sparkling mirrors, and a gleaming floor laid in fabulous patterns. Even so, the people commanded my attention. I was surrounded by fascinating faces, and the clothing was incredible! I soaked in the atmosphere of jazzy music but couldn’t quite locate the musicians.

Men wearing livery began to clear the dance floor, ordering guests around. I and a few other young women obediently moved to an area lined with chairs, although only a few older people were seated. A girl nearby quietly squealed, “There he is, the King!”

Curious, I followed everyone’s gaze to a group of people on a raised platform. “Which one?” I couldn’t help asking.

Every young lady within earshot turned to give me a surprised glance, and a sharp-featured matron shot me a censorious stare before speaking coldly: “On the dais, of course, with his back to us, next to the Queen Mother.”

“Thank you.” The field of possibilities narrowed to a tall man speaking with a woman wearing a tiara.

“He will dance with Lady Arabella to open the ball, of course.” A glum voice spoke from somewhere behind me. “Everyone says those two are in love.”

“I’ve heard that’s all rubbish,” another voice snapped. “She’s years older than he is. I’m not giving up hope.”

“I expect Arabella wants him to pursue her instead of taking her for granted.” A girl with kohl-lined eyes turned to glare at the other hopefuls. “Ihope he chooses the Princess of Waardenburg.”

“It’ll never happen. I still think this whole bride-selection rumor is for publicity, to make the Royal Family popular again.”

Losing track of the voices, I studied the young king. His height and build looked suspiciously familiar. Could it be . . .? Maybe, but I couldn’t be sure from that distance. Still, this was my dream, so why not? When he turned to address a servant and made a sweeping gesture with one arm while turning my direction, no doubt remained: the King of Adelboden was the man I’d boldly flirted with in the hall. I almost laughed out loud.

Even as I smiled, his gaze skimmed over me, then snapped back and locked on mine. His face lit up, and he grasped the footman’s arm, turned him toward me, then smiled and waved at me. At least a dozen girls waved back, not including me. The servant’s frown deepened. The girls around me began to whisper, speculating.

When the King bent to speak into the servant’s ear, the man pulled away to give him a startled look, then frowned, scrutinizing the cluster of girls around me. Several waved again, squealed, or jumped up and down. When the footman’s gaze landed on me, he blinked twice, then spoke to the King, who nodded.

As a susurration passed through the dozens of girls around me, I relaxed. This wasn’t my reality: I could dance and talk with a king and have a lovely time with no repercussions whatsoever. Even if I tripped over my feet and made a fool of myself, I would just wake up and shrug it all off.

So, when the footman approached me and the other girls shuffled aside, I laid my hand on his forearm, gave him my name, smiled with proper decorum, and accompanied him to the dais to meet the Queen Mother. I had never before noticed how hard and fast my heart could pound with no physical exertion. But as long as I kept reminding myself to enjoy the dream, I would be fine.

When the charming king descended the steps to meet me halfway, took my hand in his, and bowed gracefully over it, the proper courtesies of meeting royalty that Hortense and Geneva had drummed into my head returned to me . . . although I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. His grasp on my hand increased my courage as I climbed the dais steps beside him, keeping my skirt out of the way. I was only dimly aware of watching eyes while he introduced me to the Queen Mother, who welcomed me with polished civility. Although I sensed her surprise at her son’s choice, she concealed it well, and I felt no distress. I even pulled off a graceful curtsy. What did it matter anyway? I would never have to meet her again.

Then we turned to face the crowd, and he leaned slightly closer to whisper, “We’re about to be announced.”

I looked up, briefly met his gaze, and felt confidence flow into me as I surveyed the colorful crowd in this amazing ballroom. Even Eddi would have approved of me. She might not consider my dream king handsome enough, but I had no complaints. The buzz of energy and attraction I’d felt when he rescued me from trampling seemed even stronger as I returned his warm grasp on my hand.

A man who had to be the Master of Ceremonies declared, “His Majesty the King has chosen his first dance partner of the evening, Miss Beatrice de Callen of Biscarosse.” The crowd’s cheer was perfunctory, but why should I care? My partner led me down the steps and into the center of the dance floor. For the first time I truly felt the number of critical eyes aimed at me and started to freeze up. But when he . . . Siegfried? Um. Yeah. That name would take some getting used to. “Niel” was better. When he gently took me by the hand and waist, my gaze flew to his face, and again, as soon as our eyes met, my stage fright vanished.

He swept me into the waltz, and my feet felt lighter than fairy dust. When other dancers joined in around us, I scarcely noticed them. He and I danced as one, as if we’d practiced together for years, our eyes locked in fascination.

“Is this one of the dances you marked on my card?” I asked.

“No. And at first, I thought I would never find you again in that crowd. I ordered the footman to look for a tall, stunning brunette in green. If that didn’t work, I would have called you by name, but then . . .” He shrugged lightly. “There you were.”

“Here I am.”

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