Page 16 of The Heir's Bargain

I sighed and scanned the crowd.

Across the ballroom, Graeson leaned against one of the pillars, wearing his usual annoyed expression as he listened to Terin, Dani, and a few others discussing something. Perhaps I only needed better company to occupy my mind. As I stepped forward, the tension in my shoulders lessened. But too quickly, it returned as another woman intercepted me.

But not just any woman.

"Rosie," I said with a terse smile. My grip around the glass tightened.

"Fynneares," Rosalina said, dipping into a curtsy. When she straightened, she brushed back the soft caramel curls that had fallen over her shoulder. She trailed a finger across her bare collarbone, my eyes tracking the movement. "I wanted to give you my personal congratulations on being crowned heir."

"Thank you," I said with a polite smile.

Rosalina and I had a complicated history. Over the past decade, I had courted her off and on. We often fell into our old routine when I needed someone to attend a ball or a charity function one of the advisors or lords was hosting. However, I officially ended our arrangement a year ago when Rosalina finally realized there was no proposal coming any time soon. Apparently, I hadn't been clear enough about my disinterest in marrying her.

But then I heard her thoughts.

Mother better be right about the queen's desire for Fynneares to marry.

Of course, my mother was to blame. Lady Florentine was one of the women my mother often had tea with. According to Rosalina's unfiltered thoughts, Mrs. Florentine had weaseled her daughter's way onto my mother's list of possible wives for me.

My gaze darted to Terin. But before I could catch his attention, Rosalina grabbed my hand and snatched my wine glass before discarding it. As she snaked her hand over my shoulder, I saw my mother watching from the corner of my eye.

My mother smiled, wide and bright-eyed.

I held back a grimace and swallowed my pride.

I promised her that tonight, I would be the Crown Prince she wanted me to be.

Chapter 4

DANI

"I kind of feel bad for him," I said as I swiped the orange wedge along the rim of the glass.

"For Fynn?" Terin asked, snorting. "Why?"

"Look at him," I said, pointing the orange toward Fynn. "He's been dancing all night nonstop. That must get exhausting at some point." I split the orange from its peel and took a bite before dropping the half-eaten wedge back into the glass.

"Let me get this straight: you pity him because he's been bouncing from one woman to another all night?" Graeson asked, leaning against the pillar beside me, his arms crossed over his chest. The tips of his black hair brushed the pale scar running from his brow to below his cheekbone. The scar did little to soothe his features or the irritation plastered across his face. However, that annoyed expression had been a permanent mark on his countenance since we were children. And it had little to do with the scar.

Before the royal family was attacked, so much love, life, and laughter that spilled from the castle. After the attack, however, a fog coated its inhabitants. The queen's laugh lines faded, Terin's under eyes darkened, Graeson's features hardened. Graeson became more solemn than usual, preferring to hide away in the shadows than talk about the darkness lurking inside him. Shadows loomed large over him wherever he went. It was only on the rare occasion when the darkness in Graeson's silver eyes disappeared.

While he still laughed with us, the sound was tainted with a sorrow that wouldn't disappear. He spent most days either training or obsessing over a premonition his mother had before she passed.

Terin was sweet but quiet, often preferring to slip into the background of the action.

And Fynn—well, Fynn welcomed anyone and everyone with open arms. To many, it probably seemed as if the attack didn't change Fynn like it had the rest of the family. But when I was younger, I might have paid too much attention to the prince. After the tragedy, I had seen how a coldness lay beneath the mischief in his deep brown eyes.

Watching Fynn now, I wondered if the coldness had softened.

I hoped so. All three of the men deserved to live and be happy despite the tragedies that had befallen their family.

"Yeah, I feel terrible for the guy," Moris said, pointing his glass in Fynn's direction and wavering on his feet slightly.

Turning away from the prince, I rolled my eyes.

One would have never guessed Moris was a military man because of how he carried himself when he wasn't wearing his uniform.

"A dreadful position to be in, truly," Moris stammered.

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