Page 17 of The Heir's Bargain

I huffed. "All right, but if it were me?—"

"But it's not," Moris said, interrupting.

I cocked a brow and started again, "If it were me, I would get tired from the small talk after the first two or three partners. How many times can you talk about the weather?"

"If I know my brother," Terin said, raising his glass to his lips, "there's no way they're talking about the weather."

"Then what—" I snapped my mouth shut as mischief lit Terin's brown eyes. I forced myself to nod, ignoring the sour taste in my mouth.

"This is his day. He deserves the attention," Terin said with a shrug.

And for that, I was grateful that the attention wasn't on me and my lack of promotion.

"But did he have to dance with Rosalina? I thought he finally put her in the past?" Graeson asked.

I snorted. Graeson had a point, but I didn't wish to talk about Fynn and Rosalina. Turning to Terin, I asked, "Is it strange for you?"

"Is what strange?"

"The fact that Fynn has officially been named heir?"

"Sometimes being second isn't all that bad. I've never wanted the title or the responsibility. My mother and her advisors might have debated who would be named heir for the past few years, but it was all for show. It was never going to be me."

"You can't mean that."

He quirked a brow. "Come on, Dani. Fynn has always been more outgoing than me."

"But—"

Terin waved me off. "Fynn is the right choice. It might take some people a while to see that, but they will. My brother can be reckless, unserious, and?—"

"A complete moron," Graeson added.

Terin chuckled. "And a complete moron, but he is a good man and will be a great king one day."

I nodded and took a sip of wine. From the corner of my eyes, I spotted Fynn twirling Rosalina across the dance floor, her olive green dress glittering beneath the flickering lights of the chandelier.

Right now, no one would have questioned whether the heir to the Pontian throne was having the time of his life. Fynneares Andros Nadarean had everything: wealth, power, strength, and the support of an entire island. Not to mention a decent physique. Even though I had put aside my crush years ago, I was not ignorant of what the other women around me saw when they looked at the newly named Crown Prince. A tall, muscular build, tousled hair that suggested he had just rolled out of bed, and arms that could easily lift his dance partner into the air without breaking a sweat. He was, in simple terms—and in that feigned ideal sort of way that women my age gawked at—perfect.

But no one else saw the way he brushed a light hand across his temple when he spun Rosalina outward, the way his brown eyes squinted, or the way his shoulders sagged as the song came to an end. No one else saw who he was without the title upon his head.

No one saw the man. They only saw the prince.

For a second, though, when his gaze met mine across the ballroom, Fynn was just Fynn—a tired man with too many responsibilities thrust upon him.

Only a best friend could see that.

No matter how much had changed or how little we saw each other, that friendship would still exist.

My gaze swept across the room, landing on Queen Esmeray. Fynn's mother beamed at her son as he danced in the center of the room. Beside her, though, my mother stood, her critical gaze locked on me. Even from here, I could see her eyebrows scale her forehead as she tilted her head to the center of the room, as if asking, "What is your excuse for not dancing?"

Refusing to think about our conversation earlier at the ceremony, I turned away from her.

"Want to get some fresh air?" I asked the others.

Graeson pushed himself off the pillar. "I thought you’d never ask," he said, leading the way through the crowd to the patio doors, not bothering to look back to see if we followed.

Having finished performing a ridiculous solo act in the middle of the garden, Moris bowed low, his arms spreading out wide. He leaned forward, and his legs wobbled.

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