They hated based on an ideal, and that was the most ignorant kind of hate.

She reminded herself of Asha’s advice. “Sticks and stones,” she murmured and took the first step down. At the bottom, the Duke of Embry stood waiting, and she almost stumbled as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Gorgeous in his tailored evening wear, his brilliant ocean-blue gaze glittered with pride and smoldering desire.

His voice was low, only for her ears. “Woman, you’re killing me.” And then louder, “Princess, your beauty casts everyone in the shade.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with an elegant curtsy, though she felt her body respond as he devoured her with his eyes. Only Rhystan had ever looked at her that way, as though he could hardly keep his hands off her. She would miss that.

“May I escort you to my mother?” he asked.

Basking in his admiration, Sarani accepted and took his arm. She kept her head high, but she could feel the contempt and wariness from many of the guests, scrutinizing her distinctive gown and studying her face, looking for signs of her other half—the lesser half.

Her dual heritage would be evident in her choice of gown and in the gold bangles on her wrist, the extravagantly embroidered veil falling from her crown, and the heavy kohl lining her eyes. But her skin was as beautiful as theirs, the blood beneath her skin just as red.

When they reached the dowager duchess, she gave her a small smile as Sarani made a curtsy worthy of the queen’s court. “Your Grace,” Sarani said.

“Your Highness,” the dowager greeted her in return. “That’s a rather intriguing choice of dress.”

Sarani almost fell over at the use of her title and then bit her lip at the fastidious survey of her gown. Despite their recent truce, she’d expected nothing less. “It was designed in Joor where I grew up.”

The dowager duchess gave the tiniest of smiles, the light in her eyes reminding Sarani of her son’s. “It’s extraordinary, and I have to say, it suits you remarkably well.”

That was a resounding stamp of approval if ever there was one.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

The strains of a waltz echoed through the ballroom as the musicians tuned their instruments. “Dance with me?” Rhystan said.

Sarani bit her lip and nodded. All eyes were on them as the duke escorted her into the set. Sarani’s entire body felt wooden, but she followed his expert lead. Normally, she felt deliciously light in his arms, but for some reason, she felt only hollow.

This was the last time they would dance.

The last time he would hold her.

Her eyes stung.

“What is the matter?” he asked, ever in tune with her emotions. “You looked sad for a moment there.”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m happy.”

“Fibber.”