My eyes widen. No. No, no, no. I don’t know how to dance, but that’s not even the issue here. The thought of spending any more time in the king’s presence has me nauseous. I’m either going to get sick, or, more likely, I’m going to try to kill him.

“Not at all,” my father says, his words clipped.

“Fantastic.” The king flashes him a smile, and his attention returns to me. He raises an eyebrow. “Shall we?” he asks, as though I’ve already agreed to it.

“Only if you ask nicely.” The words are out before I can attempt to censor myself. I shut my mouth before I can say more.

Those around us fall quiet. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the camera crew, my guards, and the king’s retinue shifting nervously, their eyes darting between us. I don’t know what reaction they’re waiting for, but it’s not this.

The king cocks his head, a small smile growing across his face. He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to dance with me, Serenity?”

“I’d love to.” I bite the words out because I have to say them.

Once I accept, the budding tension releases.

“So would I,” he says, and again I can see he’s being genuine. He gives the hand he’s still holding a tug, and I’m gently whisked away.

I can tell everyone there is already aware of us—or him, more precisely, though I can feel curious eyes on me. As soon as we walk onto the dance floor, the king tugs me close. Too close. I can see the rough skin of his jaw, the gentle wave of his hair, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

His hand presses into the small of my back, and we begin to move. After glancing at other couples, I move my free hand to his shoulder like the other women do. The footwork, however, completely confuses me.

“I don’t know how to dance,” I say.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m leading,” the king responds, his expression amused. He glances down at my chest. “Beautiful necklace,” he says, though I know it’s just an excuse to stare at my chest.

“It was my mother’s.”

“Mmm,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

“She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you’re not.” I can’t get my mouth to shut up. Not right now when I’m caught in the arms of my mother’s killer. “She died when your army dropped a bomb near our home.”

Now I’ve caught his attention. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look angry. More like I intrigue him.

“It was the same day that I received the scar on my face,” I continue.