Page 53 of The Scarlet Star

Damon sauntered back, his hands in the pockets of his sage coat. She ripped her gaze from the doors when he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You should get used to running into me.”

“Estheryn.”

Ryn spun around.

Xerxes stood there. His crown was in his hand instead of on his head, his cape fluttering in the ballroom breeze. He glanced between her and Damon.

Ryn interlocked her fingers so she wouldn’t hold her hands against her hot cheeks to cool down. Her mouth was too dry to form a greeting. She kept her gaze on the floor.

Damon gave the King a smile and bowed though. “Your Majesty,” he greeted for both of them. “I hope you have an excellent evening.” Without being dismissed, he waved at someone nearby and headed in that direction. Xerxes watched him go.

A second later, Xerxes closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. When he opened them again, he tossed his crown at a passing organizer. The organizer fumbled to catch it, barely managing to keep it from smashing over the tiled floor.

Ryn couldn’t breathe when Xerxes stepped to her. She placed a hand over her chest. “I feel ill,” she said, brushing toward the ballroom door. “I think I should leave—”

“Don’t leave,” Xerxes said. “Stay with me.”

He didn’t ask about Damon, or what she was doing so close to him, or why she was flushed. Xerxes just held out his hand, and he waited. He didn’t offer her a smile like he’d gifted the other maidens.

His jaw flexed a little when she didn’t take his hand. “It’s rude to keep a king waiting,” he pointed out.

Ryn swallowed. She tried to hide her shaking when she put her hand in his. She didn’t know if Xerxes noticed as he guided her over the floor. His fingers tightened around hers. “Be careful around Damon,” he warned.

Once in the middle of the room, Xerxes stopped and turned her to face him. He took her waist, keeping a hold on her opposite fingers. Ryn’s feet were heavy in her sandals. She waited for him to lead.

“Ryn.”

The name snapped her from her daze, and she looked up at him in surprise.

“Can I call youRyn?” Xerxes asked. His mouth quirked at the corner. It wasn’t a wide smile—not like the loud, obvious smiles he’d given the other girls. He might have been trying not to laugh. “You can call me Xerxes,” he offered. “It’s only fair.”

“I… Alright.” She wondered where he’d heard that nickname—if Heva had accidentally said it in front of him. But Heva was so careful… How then? Marcan? No, he only called herEstheryn. Ryn chewed on her lip.

When Xerxes smirked like he could read her mind, an unlikely smile threatened her own face. Her feet eased into motion; she followed as he drifted back, pulling her along. The King’s dark hair was a stark contrast to the lights above, and the threads in his jacket sparkled as he moved.

“Damon is a troublemaker, and he can be quite convincing when he wants something,” Xerxes said. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he studied her, and Ryn blinked. Did Xerxes really think Ryn had been swayed by Damon just now?

“I don’t like Damon—”

“Who do you like then?” he asked, leaning in. The fragrance of sweet fruit and soap swept over her. “Do you like someone else?” And then he added, “Ryn?” He paused. “Ryn,” he said again.

A grin broke across her face. “Do you like saying my name?”

Xerxes tsked. “Of course not. It’s boring. It’s only three letters and it’s not exciting at all, and it’s boring.” He bit his tongue, and Ryn laughed.

“How childish of you,” she said.

Her gaze fell to his square jaw, the width of his shoulders, his arms. Her smile faded. The first time she saw him in the garden, she thought he was a Folke because of his build. He looked older than her but looks could be deceiving. She wondered if he reallywas still a child. She wondered if Xerxes had even been old enough to be married when he’d met his first wife.

“How old are you?” she asked, chasing away thoughts of his first wife.

Xerxes tilted his head. “That’s rude to ask.”

Ryn chewed on the inside of her cheek. “That’s the second time you’ve called me rude tonight. If you think I’m so impolite, Your Majesty, why don’t you just send me home?” She flashed him a fresh smile. “Spare me this torture.” She nodded down to their ‘dance’.

His lips peeled apart. “What…?”

Ryn raised an eyebrow.

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