“Prince Hawthorne, are you sure you wouldn’t like dancing lessons before the ball? Aria is a skilled dancer and teacher. I’m sure she’d be happy to walk you through the waltz we’ll open the ball with,” I say to the Prince and the room of advisors. We’ve been planning the ball this last week and decided to open it with a dance between the Prince and me. It’s a good opportunity for Silene and Fionn to sneak away, since everyone will be watching us, but I don’t want to do it. The Prince annoys me endlessly, always charming everyone with his dimple and his winks, despite being engaged. He’s a shameless flirt—it’s excessive. Never mind the way I feel when that flirting turns my way… If I allow him close enough to dance, he’ll use his stupidly handsome face to break through the carefully constructed wall I’ve erected around the Velmarans. The wall that is more difficult to maintain than I want to admit.

“Oh, my dance skills will measure up to your expectations, I’m sure of it.” He somehow makes the statement seem like an innuendo, and my cheeks heat slightly even as my blood boils in anger that he would say something like that in front of a room full of advisors. He truly has no shame as he leans back in his chair, smug and relaxed, clearly aware of how his statement sounds. This at least matches the rumors I know about him—a flirt, a womanizer, a handsome heartbreak. Aria, a young and pretty advisor, doesn’t seem to mind. She bats her eyelashes at him, and I want to roll my eyes.

“I would be happy to give you lessons, Your Highness,” Aria says with a sickly sweetness that makes something stir in my belly.

“I’ve been taught the traditional dances from many kingdoms. Even those I never thought I’d visit. I don’t need lessons.” His eyes shine as they lock on me, paying Aria no attention.

“Suit yourself,” I murmur, forcing myself to rip my gaze away from the way his rolled up shirt sleeves show off his strong forearms and large, calloused hands. The fact that his hands are rough instead of soft and smooth, like I’d expect from a Prince who does nothing but drink and flirt, affects me too much.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, should we review the menu?” Lionel, another advisor who manages the kitchens, asks. I nod, grateful to change the subject and get my mind off the idea of waltzing with the handsome—and irritating—Prince. Lionel stands, but before he can continue, Carex bursts into the room.