Page 137 of Thorn Season
Garret turned into the crowd, hands fisted at his sides.
“As for you—” Erik squeezed my waist, startling me. I looked up to find a slow grin curving his lips. “You... are beautiful.”
My stomach unclenched.
“Do you like it?” he asked, gesturing around the ballroom.
“It’s extraordinary.”
His smile widened. “It’s all for you.”
The other nobles knew it, too.
Their eyes trailed me all night—even during the fealty ceremony, when, for a brief moment, every eighteenth-year noble should have claimed the center of attention. One by one, the courtiers of the new generation climbed the wide dais, where Erik gleamed like a sculpture before his silver throne.
Perla was ninth in line, shuffling up the steps and swearing her fealty so quietly that the gentry unanimously craned forward to hear her. Then she inched closer to Erik, the top of her head reaching just below his shoulders, and she fastened a pearl pin to his jacket. She held her breath, seeming to expect his sudden movement. But Erik stood in perfect composure, looking amused as she fumbled with the clasp.
She drew back and curtsied, awaiting dismissal. Erik delayed until her pose began to tremble. Then he said, with delight and good humor, “Thank you, Lady Perla. I gratefully accept your fealty.”
Erik’s jacket was bespangled with jewels by the time I clicked onto the dais. The idea of this ceremony had once filled me with dread. Now I dreaded all that would happen once it ended.
Knotted with nerves, I fastened a xerylite pin—my own symbol of fealty—to Erik’s jacket and said with empty meaning, “Please accept this, Your Majesty, as a token of my eternal service to the Crown.”
I was halfway into my curtsy, head lowered, when Erik’s fingerhooked under my chin. He tilted my face up.
Smiling faintly, he murmured, “Queens do not bow.”
Then he dipped his own head to brush his lips against mine—an action that rippled through the gentry in shuffles and whispers.
I spent the rest of the evening agitated, which Erik must have mistaken for nervous butterflies because he took extra care with me—holding me gently while we danced, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear. The room began to throb with music and laughter, and the crowd grew livelier, buzzing like flies being shaken in a jar.
Was the attacker here already, waiting to get me alone? I tried to spot the anomaly in the horde, but the faces blurred together.
“You’re distracted,” Erik whispered. Despite the lingering damage to his ribs, he let me lean against him at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes shining with such soft affection that I knew: If he ever discovered I’d been the one to strike him, he would sentence me to an excruciating death.
I mustered a sweet smile. “I’m just thinking.”
“Of?”
“A birthday gift for my king.”
Erik would turn twenty-two next month, and the servants were already speculating about my role in the occasion. Some had even suggested I hold my seating ceremony on the same week and declare a national holiday.
“You’re already giving me everything I want.” His hand found mine, and he caressed the spot on my finger where the engagement ring would go.
My insides churned, and I had to look away.
Perla’s eyes caught mine across the room. She turned her head instantly, as if she’d been watching.
“She troubles you,” Erik said, following my gaze. “Perhaps you could make her your lady-in-waiting.”
“I don’t desire a lady-in-waiting.” Especially one who would want to stab me with my own hairpins.
“Then create a new position for her. The Maiden of Melancholy, or some nonsense.”
I smacked his chest, earning his deep chuckle. I didn’t realize until a second later that I’d just hit the king of Daradon. I was the only person who could do so without consequence.
He said, more serious, “You were always my only choice. Don’t feel guilty for being superior.”
