Page 111 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“It has been some time, hasn’t it, Selene?”
The sound of her name—herfirstname, unadorned by title or expectation—sends a strange shiver through her. He speaks as if they are old friends.
“Quite some time, Your Majesty,” she replies, careful but polite.
She has met him before, of course. He attended some of her parents’ gatherings, here and there. She’d attended a ball at the palace almost a year ago. He had always seemedmore amused by court than enthralled by it, watching the social games as though they were a play performed for his entertainment.
King Alden’s gaze flicks briefly to Dorian before returning to her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “May I steal the lady for a dance?”
Dorian hesitates. It’s the barest pause, but Selene feels it. She can sense the reluctance in the way his fingers twitch at his sides. But what choice does he have? The King does not makerequests.
“Of course,” Dorian says, his voice perfectly even. “It would be an honour.”
Alden grins as he extends a hand toward Selene. “Shall we?”
The music begins again. Selene takes his hand.
The music swells as Selene and King Alden take their places on the dance floor. His hold is steady, practiced. He moves like someone who has never had to doubt himself, never had to second-guess a single step.
“I must admit,” King Alden muses, “your sudden marriage caused quite the stir. Your father, especially—poor Lord Duskbriar was utterly devastated. He had such plans for you, you know.”
Selene bites back the sharp retort on her tongue. She doubts he has a heart to break.
Instead, she gives a soft, knowing laugh. “I imagine he did. But surely, Your Majesty, a love match is not such a terrible scandal?”
King Alden chuckles, his fingers tightening just slightly on hers as they turn. “A love match? Is that what we’re calling it?”
She smiles, as if they are merely sharing idle gossip. “Why? Do you doubt it?”
“I doubt everything,” he replies easily. “It is the duty of a king.”
Then perhaps you should have doubted the Duke’s loyalty,she thinks. But she keeps her face serene, lets her fingers brush against his in a fleeting touch meant to charm. “A burden, no doubt,” she murmurs. “And one made heavier by so many watching eyes. So many whispers of war, of shifting alliances… one can never be too careful.”
Alden’s gaze sharpens, the amusement in his expression dimming just slightly. “You speak as though you know something.”
Selene tilts her head, lets herself laugh as though she is merely being coy. “Only what everyone knows—that tensions with Ashvold remain unresolved. That there are those in Haverland, I fear, who would welcome change.”
His grip on her waist firms, his next step sharper. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with such speculations, Lady Nightbloom,” he advises her. “Ashvold will never breach the mountains.”
“I do hope you’re right,” Selene returns. “My grandmother lives right near the border, did you know? An estate called Nocturne Hall.”
“I’ve never been.”
“The estate is to be mine upon her death,” Selene tells him. “Sometimes I wonder… well, it just being so close to Ashvold… I worry that…”
“That something could happen to her?”
“I fear that someone could use the estate for something.” She lets the words linger, just for a moment, before breezing it away. “I’m probably worried over nothing, aren’t I? Too much novel-reading.”
“Not always a good idea for a young woman.”
Selene bites her tongue. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”
But she sees something change in his face. He’s curious. If nothing else, he’s thinking.
The dance ends. Selene bows to her King. “A pleasure, sire.”
“And one I hope to repeat,” he says. “After some wine!”
