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The king walked me to the center of the dance floor, where the other dancers parted easily for us to take our place. The music swept around me, slow and pleasant. The king placed his hand at the small of my back; his hand was so big it nearly spanned the width. He guided my hand to his shoulder, and instinctively I set my hand at his nape. The king’s eyes flashed gold at the touch, and he hitched me a little closer as he took my hand in his to lead the dance.

Being this close, my worries began to melt away. I felt the switch as if it was happening to someone else. I knew the knots in my stomach shouldn’t be loosening, and my attention shouldn’t be drifting from my father—but I couldn’t help it. It was like the king’s touch made my body relax, which in turn eased my mind. It was so easy to let myself be led by him in a slow, comfortable waltz. Desire rolled subtly inside me, in the cradle of my hips. The memory of that night in his room lived in my body, and the closeness ignited a spark.

“So,” the king said with an easy smile. Could he sense the way I was relaxing? It seemed like he could.

“So,” I echoed.

“Enjoying this dinner?” he asked. “Your father hasn’t mentioned anything about the behaviors of his court member.”

“He has not,” I said.

“Interesting,” the king said. “Does he know?” “I don’t know,” I murmured.

“Griffin didn’t mention it in the dungeons?” he asked.

“Must you bring that up now? Do you want your guests to see your fiancée break down?”

He pressed his lips together hard. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

The apology surprised me enough that my further arguments died on my tongue. “Thank you. If he’d mentioned it, I would’ve remembered.”

“Right,” the king said. He squeezed my hand once. “You know, I’m not used to these little verbal sparring sessions we seem to have.”

Despite my irritation, I chuckled, smiling half-heartedly down at our feet as we waltzed. “The women of Nightfall don’t offer such conversation?”

“Not to their king—certainly not.” His eyes flashed gold again. “It’s one of many things that drew me to you.”

My wolf positively preened, rolling around in the compliment like she might a dust bath on a hot Daybreak day. “Someone has to do something about that ego,” I said.

That made the king laugh, tossing his head back and even garnering a few looks from the other couples on the dance floor. We danced through another song, and the simplicity, the closeness, was almost addictive. A balm after so much turmoil. And yet, even the balm was a fantasy. I was still a pawn in someone’s game, pulled between what the king wanted, what my father wanted, and whatever this prophecy meant.

As the night wound down, the king led me away from the dance floor. Many of the guests had already left, and the remaining guests were wrapped up in each other dancing to the slow, delicate music, or lounging on the couches with brandy glasses slipping from their fingers and drunken blushes high on their cheeks. The king murmured his good nights in passing as he walked me toward the doors of the dining room with his arm around my waist.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” my father said. He stepped in front of him quickly enough that we both had to stop abruptly. My father bowed slightly, then extended his hand. “If you’d be so kind, I’ll escort my daughter to her chambers.”

“Certainly,” the king said, so low it was nearly a growl. He tightened his hold on my waist briefly before he stepped away. The anger radiating off him was nearly palpable in the air but my father didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled at me, hand still hovering out expectantly.

I nodded and took it delicately. I didn’t even want to feel his clammy palm, least of all spend time alone with him. But the king had given his permission, and it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter. That was how this had worked so far and would continue to work. I was just a tool, handed off to where I was needed. The king couldn’t let my father know he had any suspicions, not yet. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” I said.

The king nodded in acknowledgment. His expression was stern yet neutral, as if it was taking most of his self-control not to lash out at my father. He wasn’t exactly the restrained type.

My father took my wrist with a bit more force than necessary and led me out the door. We walked in tense silence until we reached the corridor outside my quarters. Only then did my father drop his tight hold on me. I drew my hand to my chest, rubbing the red imprint of his grip.

He cast his eyes around for any signs of curious eyes and ears. Finding none, he paced restlessly back and forth across the width of the hall. He pushed one hand through his graying hair. I’d seen him like this before, wrestling with his circling, angry thoughts before he could articulate them to whatever court member had failed him this time. I pressed my back against the cool stone of the hallway as if it would shield me from the onslaught.

“Griffin was an idiot,” he hissed, sharp with anger but quiet enough that we wouldn’t be overheard. “I gave him one task, and he failed me.”

Nausea ripped through me, hot and dizzying, and bile burned in the back of my throat. So my father was behind this all along. It was his scheme—his idea. I pulled my arms closer to my body like I could curl up and hide. I felt like a pup again, helpless and vulnerable under his seething rage.