Page 78 of War Hour

When I give him a small nod, he leads me further into the sea of dancing bodies.

Standing in the middle of the dance floor, pairs swirling to the surrounding music, I look up at Evander with wide eyes, heart pounding in my ears.

Evander watches me, moving slowly, waiting for me to protest again.

But I don’t.

He takes my right hand, raising it until my palm faces him at shoulder height. He then places his palm to mirror my own, the heat of his hand warming my own. “Keep your hand here.” I let him maneuver my position. “Use your other hand to grasp your skirts so you don’t trip on them.”

When I’ve done as he says, he nods. His other hand slides around the curve of my waist without warning, and I startle, stepping in closer to move away from the hand. But his handstays on the small of my back, but now our chests breathe a few inches from each other.

Evander looks at me with an arched brow, making sure I’m ready to continue.He moves backward, pulling me with him.

The feeling of being so close to someone else is foreign in a way that feels like an uncomfortable itch I can’t shrug. Like I’m going against everything I’d learned on Falland’s streets, every survival instinct. The instinctual hyperawareness I’ve gained to combat passing pickpockets in crowded street corners screaming for me to break away.

Being within reaching distance left you vulnerable, and by standing so close to Evander, I can see the gold flecks in his blue eyes--I’m too close.

Each time he tugs me in a new direction, I go with him, and we circle the room.

It is entirely to Evander’s credit I make it through one step into the next without making a fool of myself.

Unable to stand his focus for any longer, I move my gaze to the lapel of his suit, focusing on its gold decorative pieces. The weight of dozens of eyes following my every move becomes more obvious when snickers ring out after I step in the wrong direction.

Wincing, I open my mouth to apologize, but Evander only pulls me an inch closer. My cheeks get hot as I realize my palms are likely drenched in the same clammy sweat creeping down my spine.

How is this something people enjoyed?

What makes it worse is I’m not sure if the stares bother me more or the prolonged touch of someone else.

We fall into an easy rhythm, and I tear my eyes from my feet. Evander breaks our silence, just loud enough for me to hear, his mouth brushing the hair by my ear.

“What did my father say to you? While I was fighting during War Hour?”

Pulling my head back, my eyebrows furrow at his question. Of all the things he could ask, why is he concerned about my nonexistent conversation with his father?

Meeting his gaze, I notice a new rigidity in Evander’s shoulders and jaw. His lips are pursed, eyes flickering between my own with an underlying sense of urgency.

When I hesitate, Evander prompts me again, hand tightening on my waist.Shaking my head in confusion at Evander’s insistence, I think back to the discussion he is referring to. It had been mostly niceties.

“Nothing. Well, he mentioned it was your first time against Lord Rhen, and that he had things to get done before the Peace Ball as he was leaving.”

Evander relaxes, letting out a deep breath, fanning warm heat across my flushed cheek. Flushed from the dancing—nothing to do with being in Evander’s arms.

“What did you think he had told me?”

Evander lets out an awkward chuckle before muttering, “Nothing.” At my unrelenting gaze, Evander continues, “You seemed confused and anxious all of a sudden. I thought perhaps he’d discussed the judgment hearing tomorrow.”

Realization hit me. I had been rather anxious but less from Lord Gennady and more from Evander’s place on the battlefield. I’d only just seen what could happen in these battles from Lord Rhen’s fight with Bash—it hadn’t been pretty.

Eyes drifting toward my feet, I reluctantly admit, “I find War Hour unsettling still.” I shift under Evander’s gaze. “You all fight each other with such ferocity—it feels as if one of you won’t make it out of the battle alive.” When Evander says nothing, I risk a glance in his direction. The blue of his eyes has turned stormy. “It’s hard for me to remember everyone walks away in the end.”

My throat tightens as I think of my Trial. How sure I had been I wouldn’t walk away.

Evander nods, not letting his gaze move from mine, and it is as if he is trying to convey every ounce of understanding and comfort he has into one look.

“Spin,” he says in a low tone, gripping my hand to whirl me out away from him.

My skirt fans around my ankles, and the crowdooohsat the sight, swooning over the smooth move. Looking around, I see we are the only pair on the floor to have fallen out of rhythm, and it is all Evander and not just another part to the dance.

---