Page 3 of Pippa of Lauramore
Maybe I’ll join them and see what has my serious, and sometimes surly, instructor in an improved mood. I take a few steps and then shake my head.
No, I have someone more important to find.
I reach the stage and pause on the first step. It will be only a matter of moments before someone notices me, and then I’ll be forced into another conversation. I bounce on my toes, a nervous habit that Anna hates, and continue my search.
He must be here still. The cake’s just been served.
I take two more steps up the stage.
“Looking for someone, Princess?” a deep voice says from my elbow.
I turn, ready to give the man a polite brush off. Instead, my breath leaves me.
If possible, he’s even more handsome up close. His eyes—oh, those eyes—are a bright, sky blue, and they are focused right on me.
He offers his hand, and I only hesitate a moment before I set my palm in his. Something passes between us, and as I step down, I feel like I’m floating.
“Prince Galinor of Glendon.” He bows low.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss my hand, but he doesn’t.
“Princess Pippa of Lauramore,” I answer and then feel foolish. Of course, he knows who I am, or at least he should after the toast.
He straightens, and much to my disappointment, drops my hand. “I imagined the word of your beauty was exaggerated, Princess.”
My spine stiffens, and I stare at him, stunned.
“But I was wrong. You are so much more beautiful than rumor gave you credit for.”
I squirm a little at the sincerity in his words. This isn’t the first time a man has told me I’m beautiful, but the sentiment is always joined with a cheeky smile. Galinor is looking at me like I’m exquisite and precious.
I almost wish he wouldn’t. I’m afraid I will disappoint him.
“You are from Glendon, Prince Galinor?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Just Galinor,” he says with a dimpled smile. “And yes, I am from Glendon. I’m the second born son.”
Glendon is just to the east of our kingdom, only about a day’s ride away. We are friendly with them, though there is very little trade between us. Their kingdom has rich grazing meadows, and they have very little need for Lauramore’s wool, which is the backbone of our economy.
“I don’t believe we’ve ever met, Galinor,” I say, perplexed.
He flushes. “I have visited Lauramore several times in recent years. Unfortunately, you were always otherwise engaged.”
I have evaded a few of Father’s non-celebratory feasts. Perhaps I should have surveyed the guests before I disappeared.
I lower my gaze and look at him through my eyelashes, giving him a small smile. “I’m glad to meet you now.”
“As am I,” he says, stumbling a little bit. His tanned cheeks go from embarrassed pink to red.
He’s sweet—just as I would expect a young man from Glendon to be.
“I have only been to your kingdom a few times, but I know your land is much lower in elevation than ours. What do you think of Lauramore?” I hold out my hand for him to take.
He gets the point and offers his arm. I lead him to the large glass windows near the front of the room. In the daylight, they look over my mother’s extensive flower gardens, but now they are black with night and reflect the celebration like giant mirrors. The food tables are on the other side of the hall, so not as many people loiter here.
“It’s cooler than I am used to but very beautiful.”
“Not as cold as far north,” I point out. “We still have a warm summer.”
