Page 138 of A Storm in Every Heart
She waves a hand in the air. “Before. Whatever. I just wondered if you were going to tell me about the girl.”
“What girl?” I grind out, purposefully misunderstanding.
“The Vernalli girl you’ve been spending all your time with the last few days. The entire court is talking about it. I wondered if there would be an engagement announced tonight, after all.”
I scowl. “She’s no one. Nothing is happening, the court just likes to talk.”
Suddenly, as if punctuating my point, a ripple of whispers passes over the ship. Serena looks past me and smiles smugly. “That’s odd, becauseno onejust arrived.”
I whip around so fast I have to catch myself against the railing. Fortunately no one notices, except perhaps Serena, because every single person has stopped to watch as Odessa makes her way up the ramp to the ship.
She’s wearing a silver mask that covers her eyes and nose, but there’s still absolutely no question that it’s her. She looks perfect. Her hair is long and loose, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s wearing a silver dress that looks like it was painted onto her body.
I can’t move. I’m rooted in place, watching the way the lights reflect off her dress and her huge violet eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone. Me? Or someone else?
I’m overwhelmed in a way that’s hard to describe. Not just by her beauty—though, honestly, yes, that’s part of it—but by the realization of how well she fits in here. She would make a perfect princess, but she doesn’t want to be. She doesn’t wantme.
I yank my eyes away and turn my back.
My sister looks away too, refocusing on me. She cocks her head. “You certainly seem agitated if she really is no one.”
“I’m not agitated,” I snap.
Serena smiles. “Right, of course you're not.”
I glower at her. “She’s attractive, sure, but that’s all it is.”
Serena’s smile falters. “I don’t want to hear that! I’d like to think you were raised to be a better man than that.”
Serena is so much older than me it’s almost like being scolded by my mother, and I duck my head, suitably ashamed. “Fine. Sorry.”
She scoffs. “I’d be angrier if I thought you really meant it. You like her, I can tell. Why don’t you introduce me?”
“No!” I say so fast her face falls. I clear my throat. “I mean, no, that’s not a good idea. I’m already betrothed, remember.”
“Right, and where is Lyra this evening?” Serena asks in a tone of mock concern. “Shouldn’t she be with you if you’re so interested in her?”
I grit my teeth. “Good point. I think I’ll go find her now. Excuse me.”
I walk pointedly away from Serena, nudging the crowd out of the way. I couldn’t care less about finding Lyra, but I suppose she’s not the worst person I could get stuck spending this evening with. At least if I’m with Lyra, I’ll have a good excuse to avoid Odessa.
It takes me a bit longer to find Lyra than I would have expected. Usually I can always find her exactly where she’s supposed to be, whether that’s standing with her father, or following my sisters around like a lost dog. Tonight, though, everything seems to be going wrong.
I loop around the ship several times, wishing I’d worn a larger mask that covered more of my face. Finally, when I pass the bar for the third time, I spot her. Lyra is standing off to the side of the bar wearing a periwinkle dress and looking nervous.
I walk up to her. “Good evening.”
Lyra glances at me, swinging her long curtain of dark hair around. “Oh, of course it’s you,” she says, sounding both annoyed and distracted at the same time.
I stop and stare at her, startled enough to forget for a moment what I’m doing. It’s not what she said, it’s who said it. Lyra is always polite—too polite, if I’m honest. She usually curtseys and greets me formally as if we’ve never met, but for some reason tonight she looks like she’d rather be talking to anyone else.
“Are you feeling alright?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Obviously,” she says acidly, then looks back at me and startles. Seeming to pull herself together, she shifts her postureand fixes me with a simpering smile. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve told you that you don’t have to call me that.”
“Right…” she says again, still sounding odd. Her eyes dart from me, to the crowd, to the bartender. She’s clearly still nervous.
