Treacherous Witch

16. The Ball

She refocused on the steps, but her shoulders tensed. Only a few seconds left, she thought, forcing her trembling arms to maintain position. She was sweating with concentration. 

Avon twirled her around for the final flourish, then drew her back, one arm around her waist, the other extending her arm into the air. The music ended, and polite applause filled the air.

She'd done it. She'd gotten through it.

Avon's breath tickled her ear. "Well done."

She smiled, then stopped. Don't be silly. Placate him, don't fawn over him.

The second she could excuse herself, she did, slipping away to the buffet table where the guests could enjoy the local cuisine. Lady Melody joined her. Valerie poured herself an extra-large glass of wine.

"What a display," Melody said. "I fear you stole Dryden's thunder."

"I just did what we practised." As often with Lady Melody, she'd been presented with a statement for which she could think of no suitable response.

"Oh, not the dance, darling. You won't be winning any awards for that. No, your dress. Did Lord Avon approve of those colours?"

She flushed. "Yes, he did."

"Interesting. It's quite a statement to make—a Maskamery trophy, if you like—"

"There you are," an oily voice interrupted. Lord Gideon joined them, immediately popping a prawn into his mouth. "Lady Valerie, you look ravishing. May I have this dance?"

She stared at him and almost refused until Lady Melody nudged her forward. Later, she learned that swapping dance partners was another Enyrn tradition. It didn't seem like the ladies had much choice in the matter. She danced with Lord Gideon, who leered at her and whose hands kept slipping below her waist; then Lord Hafnir, who was elegant and gracious; then Lord Dryden, who gave her a searching look that reminded her of Avon.

He looked about Avon's age too, though thinner, with high cheekbones, freckles, and sideburns that accentuated the planes of his face. A handsome scholar, perhaps, if she favoured the sharp features common to many Drakonians.

"I've heard a lot about you," he said.

"Good things, I hope, my lord," she said lightly.

He smiled. "Lord Avon is an old friend. I suppose I'm quite protective of him. I wouldn't want him led astray."

Her muscles tensed. She forced her shoulders down. "Led astray?"

"By sorcery and guile."

"I don't know what you mean, my lord."

"I know the Maskamery royal family. Some things in that palace are best left undisturbed."

"If you believe that, convince Lord Avon. You don't need to convince me."

"Really?"

"Why would I want to give the Drakonian Empire more wealth?"

"I don't imagine that's what you want."

She bit back her frustration. "Then what do you think I want, my lord?"

"I saw a man bewitched once. He would have done anything for the witch who ensnared him. Did, actually. He took a bullet that was meant for her, and that was that."

"Maybe he loved her."

"James has more sense than that," Dryden said, and she wondered for a moment who he was talking about until she remembered that James was Lord Avon's first name. "You're pretty, to be sure, but I don't see why you'd be worth the hassle."