Page 9 of Frost and Death
Yet I cannot help but clarify, “My Lord Ulrik, I am currently looking for a good dance partner.” I rush down the center of the lines with a different nobleman, laughing at myself.
The moment dissolves when I accidentally bump into someone at the end.
My brows lift in surprise at the man I collide with.
Black hair, bright blue eyes, and a scar are all I catch before Ulrik takes my hand and sweeps me away.
The showmanship of Ulrik’s effort leaves me startled and amused, and his smile turns genuine as we twirl through the line of people. He does have his own sort of attraction, and I debate an arranged marriage with him again.
But then I remember the hatred he spews about me.
The music ends, and I break away, but Ulrik clasps onto my wrist before I can escape. “Was I an adequate dance partner?” he asks out of breath.
I dip my head, hoping the tightness in my voice doesn’t hint at anything more. “Yes.” I politely tug my hand away. “Thank you for the dance, Lord Ulrik.”
“I would like to talk with you in private later.”
“I will see if Lord Nikolaj can arrange something,” I say with dismissal.
Ulrik’s face tightens, and he flexes his jaw. “Of course, Your Majesty.” His lips purse as he blinks away his resentment. “I thank you.”
Ulrik departs as I scan the crowd for Niko.
Not finding those amber eyes I know so well lead me into scouring for the man I bumped into. I should apologize, but I don’t see any man with a scar.
Defeated in my search, I retreat to the small dais at the edge of the ballroom that hosts a throne.
Unlike the one in the main room, now frozen, this throne is perfect for appearances this week. It stands out against thebeige stones and marbled floor, but my thoughts drift back to the rooms slowly freezing over or already frozen over in my home.
Those quiet halls tug at my soul.
My old rooms, my sister’s rooms, and even the piano room, my favorite room of all, are completely frozen. It hacks away at my heart bit by bit as I lower into the throne, wishing to strum a melody on my instrument rather than be here, surrounded by people.
I lean into the chair and almost forgo appearances when no one approaches. While it could be interpreted as an insult, I count it as a miracle. No onereallywants to converse with me without Niko present.
His presence always gives them enough courage to face me.
A staff member approaches with a single glass of liquid.
I reach for it eagerly and tell them, “Thank you.”
I swig the contents down, my lips smacking at the mild sweetness of the wine, and I love how it instantly warms me. Returning the empty cup, I dismiss the man.
He bows and retreats to the sides of the ballroom.
Footsteps from behind have my lips tugging upward, and I know immediately it is Niko. And although I want to revisit what happened earlier, I can’t help but feel awkward.
I resist the urge to say something stupid, rubbing my clammy palms against my skirt.
The outline of my mother’s mirror presses into my thigh, and I clutch it in my pocket, a slight sense of calm returning.
He stands at my side, hands clasped behind his back. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Niko asks.
Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I bite the drying skin off at the side, trying to appear fine. “I am. The wine is marvelous.”
“It’s from Kezrar, the best in the kingdom.”
Another staff member steps up with a newly filled cup of wine.
