“I don’t even know how to dance,” she hissed. “Aren’t you worried I’ll make you look like even more of an idiot?”
She expected any expression but the smile he gave her. If it had met his eyes, it would have been tender. “Some sacrifices must be made.”
He spun her around the floor with effortless grace. She had no choice but to follow his lead. She cast glances around the room even as Rogan dragged and pushed her footsteps. Malika was dancing now, and Luca—she was across the room, and Touraine desperately attempted to make eye contact, but the steps carried her away again.
Touraine didn’t know how long the song would last. Her hand was a sweaty claw in Rogan’s, and his cologne burned her nose. Fury clawed up her throat. It tasted like bile. She couldn’t do this anymore. In the middle of a complicated turn, she yanked her hand away. Rogan grabbed it back. She pushed him off, but he held her fast. Others stopped to watch them and whisper, and the whole dancing formation ground to a halt.
“Everyone here knows what kind of meat your new master prefers, now that she’s parading you so openly. I’m not the one who looks the fool tonight,” he said.
“Are you entirely certain?” Luca said. She had come up behind them when their scuffle broke the flow of the dance. And her voice was even colder than usual as she almost whispered to Rogan.
Touraine’s world shrank to that voice and the desire to break out of Rogan’s grip.
“You will release her, Captain.”
He didn’t. He held on tighter, forcing a grunt out of Touraine as he pressed her against him. Warm. Hard muscle and breastbone, soft cotton. “Your Highness, surely there’s nothing wrong—”
“Release her, Captain, or Guard Lanquette will release your testicles from your body.”
Lanquette and Guérin flanked Rogan, and Gil stood just beyond.
Rogan’s grip slackened slowly. He puffed his chest forward, bowed sharply to Luca, and brushed through the guards.
Touraine stood rigid, her whole body hot with humiliation and fury.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured to Luca, her voice tight. Her fists shook at her sides. She resisted the urge to wipe her hands on her trousers.
The princess put a hand briefly on Touraine’s shoulder. “No, I apologize. I should have rescinded his invitation after the trial.” The ice had melted—a bit.
“Take your place at the dais.” Luca’s voice remained just audible. “I don’t advise a retreat on your part. It wouldn’t look good for either of us.”
Touraine was torn. She would be damned if Rogan ever made her retreat. And yet—“And if I hound your heels? If he’s right and everyone does think you… a fool?” She uttered the last words barely audibly, afraid even to say them aloud.
“I would never send one of my guards to her room like a child.” Cold again, and her eyes left no room for argument.
It was the middle of the night when the last guests left. Luca still sat in her fine chair on the dais. Touraine’s legs were as stiff as if she’d been standing on the parade grounds a full day. The house felt too empty now, even with the extra servants on hand for cleaning up. Lanquette and Guérin were securing the house. Silence pressed on Touraine’s ears. It was wonderful.
The reprieve was brief.
“Lieutenant,” the princess said sharply.
Touraine snapped to attention out of habit before rounding Luca’s chair to stand in front of her.
“What did I say about embarrassing me?” Luca let her head loll forward, then side to side before her eyes pierced Touraine’s. She inhaled sharply through her nose, as if she were dragging her temper back from the edge of a cliff.
The retorts ran through Touraine’s head.
Rogan grabbed my arm. He made me dance with him. He insulted you.
I didn’t ask to be here, paraded at your right hand, dressed like a prize.
I don’t want to be your pet.
She bit her tongue on every sky-falling one. She hadn’t forgotten the warning in the cramped dark of that sky-falling jail. And she had asked for Luca to save her from that darkness. It was this or the sharp nothingness of half a dozen rifles.
She wasn’t sure if living was worth it. She rubbed her wrist. Her legs and feet ached from standing all night. She’d told Pruett she would help the Sands. That she would rise, and here she was already. Dressed like a noble, with a princess whose eyes searched her openly.
Luca was as much a jailer as she was a safe bunker.
Touraine bowed low. “Have I done something wrong, Your Highness? Forgive me.”