“Why are you out prowling the halls rather than enjoying the ball?” Blythe asked, trying to draw his attention away from the painting. “You’re the host. Shouldn’t you be busy getting harassed by every mama and affluent businessman by now?”
He scrunched his nose, and for a split second Aris looked boyish enough to appear almost approachable. “I suppose they’ll be looking for me, won’t they? It is the season, after all.”
“Is that not why you’ve invited us? To find yourself a princess to carry on such a proud lineage?”
“I don’t recall inviting you at all.” There was a tic in his jaw as he watched her, and it took everything in Blythe not to show her embarrassment. He truly had avoided inviting her, then. She supposed it was only to be expected, given all that had happened with the Hawthornes, but it hurt more than she cared to admit to be scorned so thoroughly.
“I apologize if my presence offends you,” she said with every ounce of bitterness she had to spare. “I was recently sick and confined to my bed for some time. Now that I am well again, the excitement of seeing my cousin’s invitation got the better of me.”
Had she been looking up, Blythe might have noticed the heat in his stare. She might have seen the millions of gossamer threads that surrounded them. There were even some attached to her, and Fate studied them with great interest.
“You,” he said at last, “are the girl who defied death.”
Blythe stilled at the odd phrasing. She didn’t need to ask how he knew that; this whole town reeked of gossip. Still, it was jarring to hear it said aloud, and she didn’t care to give that time of her life any more attention. “I am a woman,” she corrected. “But yes, I very likely should have died several times over. It is a miracle that I did not.”
“A miracle indeed.” She wondered whether she was imagining that Aris’s voice had cooled significantly, or that he seemed to have taken a renewed interest in her. “I am glad that you came, Miss…”
“Hawthorne,” she said. “My name is—”
“Blythe!”
Blythe spun toward the urgent voice that called to her from across the hall. Signa’s skin was flushed and her curls disheveled as though she’d been running. Rather than look at her cousin, however, Signa had her eyes trained on the prince. Blythe tried to gather Signa’s attention and warn her that this man was the one they’d been searching for. This was whom they needed to impress. Yet her cousin didn’t once turn toward her. It took Blythe drawing a step closer to realize that Signa’s eyes were even stranger than usual, wide with alarm.
“Blythe,” Signa repeated with the gentleness of an ox, “we should get back to the ball. Byron’s bound to notice your absence.”
Once again Blythe tried to send her cousin a message with her eyes, but if Signa understood it, she paid it no mind as Aris slid past Blythe and closed the gap between them. “Ah, Miss Farrow,” he said. Blythe could have sworn his voice was lighter, a sudden pep in his step that had not been there seconds before. “I was hoping you’d come.”
Signa inched closer, nearly knocking into one of the strange sculptures. Her eyes never strayed from Aris. She was behaving like a skittish fawn staring down the barrel of a rifle.
“My cousin and I were just heading in to enjoy the ball,” she said, sidestepping and grabbing hold of her cousin’s arm with such vigor that Blythe winced. “Our uncle will be looking for us.”
“Signa, behave yourself.” Blythe kept her words low, spitting them through a smile. “This is the prince.” She’d hoped that the news would relax Signa. That she’d stand up straight and stop behaving so boorishly. But it seemed that Blythe would have to be twice the lady to compensate for Signa, who didn’t so much as flinch.
“Miss Farrow is right.” Blythe smiled with each word, her heart hammering. For her father’s sake, she needed to make a good impression. “Someone might get the wrong idea if they caught us out here alone. We’d be happy to have an escort back to the ballroom, however. I find myself in need of a partner for my first dance.”
“I don’t think that’s a good—” Signa lurched forward just as Prince Aris offered his arm. His eyes glinted as gold as the gilded panels around them.
“Of course, Miss Hawthorne.” He smiled as Blythe slid her hand over his forearm. “I would be delighted.”
ELEVEN
IF LOOKS COULD KILL, SIGNA AIMED TO OBLITERATE FATE AS HE strolled onto the dance floor with Blythe on his arm. One corner of his lip quirked when he caught Signa glaring. From the placement of his hands to the smug gleam that lit his face, it seemed Fate was making every effort to get under Signa’s skin. Unfortunately for her, it was working.