Page 62 of Royals
“Are you all right?” he asks, and I nod, pressing a hand to my chest.
“Yeah, just... you know. A stripped willow, I guess.”
He goes to lead me off the dance floor, but I shake my head, lifting my hand to hold it out at him.
“I’m fine!” I call over the music. “Gonna go get some air!”
I pretty much flee the ballroom, Cinderella-style, but at least I manage not to lose a shoe.
Instead of heading for the balcony where Milesmightcatch up with me, and then wemightbe alone in the moonlight, which is too much to contemplate right now, I turn down a dim hallway, pressing one hand against the wall and taking a deep breath.
Okay.
Okay.
I did not just have chest flutters for Miles. Those were heart palpitations caused by the crazy dance and nothing more.
Or this place is finally getting to me. There’s a chair against the wall, a kind of spindly little thing embroidered with a nature scene. Shepherdess with her flock, soft-purple mountains, that kind of thing. I sink down onto it, bracing my hands on my knees, the silk and taffeta of my skirt rustling, the tiara on my head suddenly very heavy again.
Running from a ballroom, wearing a freaking tiara. Could I be a bigger cliché at this point?
“That chair belonged to Queen Margaret I,” a voice says, and my head shoots up.
Queen Clara is standing in the hallway, hands clasped in front of her, posture as regal and terrifying as ever. She’s wearing a much bigger tiara than mine, and I bet it never hurtsherhead. I bet she can’t even feel it.
“It’s nice,” I finally say, because what elsedoyou say to something like that?
“No one is allowed to sit in it,” she continues, and I bite back a sigh.
Great. Of all the chairs, I accidentally plopped my ass onto the fancy special one.
Rising to my feet, I give a quick curtsy like Glynnis taught me. “Sorry, but there wasn’t a... sign. Or a rope around it.”
“That’s because anyone who visits this house should already know about that chair,” the queen says, and, wow, consider me dressed down.
There are about a hundred smart-ass retorts fighting to fly out of my mouth, but I keep every one of them in. Antagonizing the queen is not going to help me or Ellie, and while it would feelverysatisfying, it would not be worth it.
Maybe.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, and she watches me for such a long moment that I almost squirm beneath that hard blue gaze.
Finally, she asks, “Have you seen my son?”
“Seb?”
Her nostrils flare. “Prince Sebastian, yes.”
I shake my head, fluffing out my skirt. “No. I mean, I did, earlier, dancing with Lady Tamsin, but not since then.”
The queen keeps looking at me, hands clenched, her nostrils flaring a bit, but apparently she decides to believe me, giving a crisp nod. “Very well. I haven’t seen Tamsin, either, so perhaps they’re somewhere getting to know each other better.”
With that, she turns and heads back for the ballroom, and I blow out a long breath, ruffling my bangs. If the queen is headed in that direction, I am heading in theopposite.
I turn and move farther down the hallway, turning a corner, and groan when I see who’s standing at the other end.
“Daisy,” Seb says, walking toward me.
Excellent. Just what I need right now.
