Disguised Vengeance

Chapter 27

Within the walls of the ballroom, music was still being played. King Damian stood on an elevated platform looking for his first born and her escort. They had disappeared.

Damian was unsurprised. He knew his daughter would try to slip out from her own ball the moment everyone was preoccupied with drink and dance. Earlier, during her first dance with the young knight who defeated Chris, Damian had thought that Catherine was enjoying herself and would later thank him for the ball. But Catherine never did anything predictable.

Despite the confusion, he was starting to piece pieces of the puzzle together, with the help of his wife, of course. He would never be able to decipher the complex mind of females on his own.

Damian had deduced that Chris was aware of Catherine's feelings for this mysterious young man and had chosen to step aside. The young man's identity, or rather lack of identity, worried Damian. On the surface, the boy was strong and handsome, a good match for his fiery daughter.

But who was he? Did he have royal blood in his veins? Was he a suitable partner for the heir of Bellerania? Most importantly, did he love his daughter?

"I need to have a serious word with that boy," Damian muttered, taking a step forward.

Queen Leila placed a firm hand on her husband's sleeve. "Sit, my dear."

"Why are you so calm? He could be a swindler, a thief, a killer! And where are they? I haven't seen either of them in the past hour!"

"They went through there." Leila indicated to the large doors that led to the courtyard.

"Alone?" Damian boomed.

"Your daughter is more than capable of taking care of herself. You made sure of that." Leila scowled begrudgingly at her husband. But her eyes were dancing with joy and laughter.

"We don't know anything about him!"

"He loves her."

Damian's mouth dropped open. "And how do you know that? You've never even spoken to him."

"I just know."

"And does she —"

"She loves him too." Leila interrupted her husband before he could finish his sentence. A wide smile graced her face.

Damian looked at his queen incredulously. "Why are you smiling like a retarded jester?"

"I never thought Catherine would get a chance to experience what we have."

She slipped her fingers through her husband's hand, gently sharing her happiness and excitement with him.

"With that scoundrel?"

Leila shook her head disapprovingly. "Why do you have eyes if you don't use them?"

"I use them to analyze war strategies, to spar, to hunt!"

"Indeed. But did you use them tonight?"

Damian opened his mouth to retaliate but his wife shot him a look that said she was not done and was not to be interrupted. He shut his mouth immediately, like a hungry fish denied of dinner.

"Did you observe the boy's posture? It was perfect. Better than yours. He danced with experience and skill. No commoner could dance the way he did. He's not a common scoundrel here to steal your money," Leila finished. "But you knew that already didn't you?"

Damian nodded begrudgingly. He knew from the boy's fighting skills that he had been trained from young. He had much more than brute strength. He wielded the sword gracefully and with precision. But that was what worried him. Why would a skilled swordsman with foreign technique enroll in his army? It was all very dangerous. Unless his wife was right. And he knew from years of marriage that she was always right. He just didn't see how.

"How do you know he loves her? The boy has as much emotion as a stone."

"So you were using your eyes after all. It's easy to mask the emotions on one's face. But it's much harder to control one's body."

Leila smiled. She was having too much fun explaining young love to her befuddled husband. She pointed to a young brunette who was dancing with a tall gentleman three feet away from them.

"Notice how even though they are dancing together, her head is angled away from him. She's staring at the bridge of his nose rather than into his eyes. Although their hands are pressed together, they are not holding hands. Now look at the pair of lovers by the potted plant. The man leans in and she does the same, unafraid of contact. His neck is slightly bent as he tries to get closer to her. Their hands are entwined together. I doubt they know that there's a potted plant a few feet to their left."

One look at her husband told her that he didn't see what she saw and she had just wasted five minutes of her time explaining what sounded like gibberish to him.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Remind me again how we fell in love?"

Damian's eyes regained focus. He grinned cheekily at her, seeming to be twenty years younger. He extended his hand and she took it.

"Let me remind you."

King Damian was a horrible dancer. Their love story began with him stepping on her toes at a similar, yet different, ball in this very room twenty years ago.

It was a magical night.