Isobel looked crestfallen at the mention of Chloe. Dion picked up his goblet and cursed his tongue as he tilted the cup back and drank a large gulp. The evening wasn’t going the way he’d wanted it to. Being on display was causing him to say and do all the wrong things. His head was starting to swim. He was making a fool of himself. He regretted the drink immediately.

‘I think I need to retire.’

A look of disappointment crossed Isobel’s face. Dion stood up, but suddenly sat back down again and put a hand to his forehead. Glancing at his uncle, Dion saw him smiling slightly and shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry . . .’ Dion put his hands at his sides, planting the palms on the bench to steady himself. ‘Perhaps we could get some fresh air?’

‘Of course. Let me help you,’ Isobel said.

Already mortified, he knew he would be regretting his behavior in the morning when he had no choice but to let her help him stand. He was the king, and a multitude of eyes were on him as he was forced to lean on her to leave the banqueting hall. Weaving around stools, he felt a surge of relief when the cacophony of the music grew more distant.

He wondered how Philippos felt about his daughter helping him, but then he was forced to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other. With an effort of will, he glanced back into the hall and saw Glaukos and Philippos watching them depart, both looking pleased with themselves.

‘Perhaps your balcony upstairs?’ Isobel suggested.

‘Good idea.’ Dion nodded and immediately headed toward the steps that led up to his bedchamber. Unlike the Orange Terrace, the balcony would be far from prying eyes.

Taking the steps slowly, one at a time, Isobel helped him climb up to the palace’s highest floor. She smiled as she led him by the hand, and as he gazed at her he suddenly remembered the feel of her lips. She truly was beautiful. He almost fell when he lifted his leg and found that the floor had leveled, and again when he tried to fend her away and stumble along the hallway, but she was always there to catch him.

‘Sorry,’ he kept saying.

‘Stop saying that, Dion.’

He finally made it to the doorway of his bedchamber and then leaned against the wall, blinking and licking his lips. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to walk in a straight line, heading for the balcony, but then something struck his legs and he realized it was his bed a moment before collapsing onto the soft mattress. With a groan he rolled over and forced himself to sit up. He found himself laughing and shaking his head as Isobel sat beside him on the bed.