Page 15 of Legacy of Glass
But as the silence stretched out, she once again noticed his clothing, and the way the crowd hung back, circling them and whispering. Surely the odd man from the hill couldn’t be the crown prince of Sovar. She pitied the kingdom if so. He had nearly walked straight off a cliff!
“It can’t be you,” he finally murmured in a hoarse voice, almost too quiet for her to catch. “It’s impossible.”
Olivia’s back straightened, her nerves fading as her anger rose. She had as much right to attend the Midsummer Ball as any other inhabitant of the kingdom—perhaps more if she really had saved the life of Sovar’s only prince. Was a little gratitude too much to ask for? He hadn’t thanked her then either.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said in her iciest tone. “But by all means, feel free to walk away.”
She hoped he would listen. Half the room had been staring at her for far too long already.
Unfortunately, he remained in place. But it was obvious from his expression that only his royal training kept his mouth from dropping open as hers had done earlier.
“Walk away? Are you serious?” he asked, again in a voice so quiet she could barely make out the words.
She glanced nervously at their fascinated audience. The prince—for it must be him, as little as she wanted to believe it—seemed more aware of the crowd than she was, and it put her on edge. She had no idea what game he was playing, but maybe it wasn’t wise to antagonize the crown prince.
But what should she do? What did he want from her? He just stood there—still staring at her—while the crowd waited as if in eager anticipation of a spectacle. If the prince wasn’t willing to walk away, did he expect her to turn around and leave the ball? Why!?
She drew a breath, ready to defend herself, only to realize she had no idea what argument to make. Was she in trouble for arriving late? But there had been two other carriages behind her!
Her mind scrambled to remember every scrap of royal protocol she’d ever heard. She wanted to simply melt away and lose herself in the crowd, but would it be treason to ignore the prince? Was she even allowed to turn her back on him?
In desperation, she threw him a pleading look. He had initiated the confrontation, and he should be the one to indicate what was supposed to happen next.
He met her look, and to her astonishment, his cheeks reddened slightly. He bowed again, more stiffly this time, and held out his hand.
“Dance with me?”
It was worded as a question, but he was already turning slightly, anticipating her acceptance. Everything in Olivia longed to reject him. Not only did his strange manner and cold assurance irritate her, but the last thing she wanted was for all the eyes to keep following her—if her aunt hadn’t seen her yet, she would soon.
But she couldn’t muster the courage to reject him so publicly—not when she couldn’t remember any detail about royal protocol. She should have grilled Marigold ahead of time. What if the women who chose to attend the ball were obligated to dance with the prince if asked? She didn’t want to misstep and bring royal disfavor on her family and their business.
Julius glanced back at her, his brow furrowed, apparently in confusion at her hesitation. She reluctantly placed her hand in his. Now she only had to worry about making a literal misstep.
The prince led her away from the door toward the center of the dance floor, the path before them clearing. For a moment, Olivia felt a flutter of excitement in her chest. Despite the strangeness of everything that had happened since she’d arrived at the ball, she couldn’t entirely deny the magic of the moment. She was at the Midsummer Ball in a gorgeous gown, and she was about to dance with the prince.
He pulled her close, putting one hand on her waist, and the brief moment of excitement was washed away by nerves. Since she hadn’t planned to attend the ball, she hadn’t joined her cousins’ dancing lessons, and the dance was new to her, although it resembled one she knew from Henton. For the first strains, she could focus only on following the steps and attempting not to step on his feet.
Only after she had relaxed into the rhythm of the movement did she finally look up and meet Prince Julius’s gaze. He was staring at her.
Olivia would have liked to imagine it was an admiring gaze—it would have fit her girlish dreams of dancing at the Midsummer Ball. But the only emotion she could read on his face was incredulity. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind—why ask her to dance if he disapproved of her so strongly? But she remembered he was the prince and stopped herself in time.
Instead, she tried to ignore him altogether, fixing her eyes to one side of his face and focusing on the movement of the dance and the swirl of her skirts. The glass slippers were even more comfortable to dance in than she had imagined, and at times it felt as if they were the ones matching the correct moves rather than Olivia herself. Their assistance allowed the dance to flow smoothly, despite Olivia’s inexperience, and she released the last of her worries about taking a wrong step. Instead, she released herself to enjoy the whirl of the movement.
A smile grew on her face as the magical feeling returned. Would any of her old friends in Henton believe her if she described the evening? They would probably think she was exaggerating, just as she had suspected her friend of doing. But no claims had exaggerated Prince Julius’s skill at dancing. He moved fluidly, his steps confident as his strong arms clasped Olivia close to his chest.
When he spun, he took her with him in a dizzying whirl of movement. Her eyes slid over his face and caught there, lingering on his expression. He was blinking at her, his arrested expression harder to read than the previous one. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time.
Olivia’s joyful smile faded, warmth rushing to her cheeks as the weight of his identity hit her anew. The silence between them made it easy to forget his erratic behavior and notice only the attractive combination of dark hair, blue eyes, and chiseled jaw. He might fall short in manner, but in appearance he fulfilled every possible childish dream.
“Thank you,” he blurted out, breaking the moment.
He had the looks of a fairy tale prince, but he lacked the suave charm. Why did rumors claim that Prince Julius was a match for his ancestor—the one who had first earned the nickname Prince Charming? Olivia had seen no sign of any similarity.
Olivia stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. Surely he couldn’t be thanking her for dancing with him. The ballroom was full of women who would have loved to take her place.
The prince cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable for some reason Olivia couldn’t fathom. He stiffened, his muscles tensing beneath her arm.
“My apology comes late, but I hope you will forgive my earlier omission.” He grimaced. “I’m most grateful for your quick action, although I think I was in too much shock at the time to acknowledge it. I should have been paying attention to where I was walking.”
