Page 58 of Of Curses and Courtship

I turn to the barkeeper, ordering myself another strong one. Nerves dance in my stomach, and while the liquor may not be enough to stomp the feeling out, it will give me something to do with my hands.

Maybe it will mend the wound in my heart as well.

I lift the glass to my lips and watch her as I sip, delicately this time. The last thing I want is to make a fool of myself in front of her—no more than I already have, considering that she’s already seen me cry. To my great surprise, she touches my arm. Her hand lingers there, and even with the stiff fabric between us, I’m warm wherever she touches.

“I heard,” she says.

Two words, and they’re so simple, yet they soothe me more than anyone else has. My parents, my betrothed, even my dear friend Tibalt—none of them could comfort me as she does with a look and two damn words.

It’s clear she has heard what happened to Spark—everyone has—but admitting it feels like a weakness.

I smile wryly. “Shall I pretend I don’t know what you are talking about?”

“No. You mustn’t pretend for me. I want you as you are, in honesty.”

Dammit all. Why must she make me feel this way? Affection twists in the pit of my stomach, light and fluttering, like the wings that flap behind her.

“Enough.” I groan and set my glass down. “You’ve not hadso much to drink that you should be this candid. I don’t wish to speak about it tonight, if that’s all right.”

“It is.” She leans in, peering at me earnestly. “I know people don’t talk about the curse, but?—”

“That’s not what has rendered me silent.” I chuckle and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “And you already know, and as my friends constantly complain, I am rarely a silent man. I’ve no issue speaking of the curse. Others think it adds power to the thing, but I think it takes it away. I’ve spent much of my life studying it, you know. I’m not afraid.”

“Oh?” She raises a brow. “You’re different than the rest.”

“I try to be.” I lift a shoulder. “I don’t wish to speak of it, not out of fear, but because I wish to forget about the blasted thing. I wish for all to be well, and I wish for my friend to?—”

“Shh. That’s enough.” She rubs my arm, and her hand remains there.

Perhaps it’s scandalous to receive her touch, lean into it, and crave it. I no longer care. The world fades away, and I’m sucked into her soul. I can only hope the others in the room are as drunk as I am.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks.

“You can dance with me, little halfling.” I lean down, desperate for another whiff of her perfume. “Please? I think that would be the ideal distraction.”

“Ah…” She looks away, likely searching for her friend, but the other maid has already busied herself with someone else. “Yes. We shall have one dance and not speak of the horrors.”

I swallow the last of the liquor. “An excellent plan.”

“Are you sure you can be steady on your feet?”

“I can try. You won’t hate me if I dance horribly, will you?”

“I could never hate you, Emyr.”

Not prince. Not Your Highness.Emyr. That’s who I am to her.

Her hand slips into mine, and we float through the room.

A dance is perfectly acceptable. The cheery tune makes it all too easy to spin her, laugh, and dance around as though all is well. This is our first time dancing together, but there’s something familiar about it…

About her hand in mine, our bodies so close, and the laughter falling past her lips.

Try as I might—and I certainly do try—I’m unable to pinpoint what it is.

Life goes on,but the next morning, I’m still spinning in that dance with her. No amount of headache or stomachache can keep me from thinking of how comforting her soft touch and voice are.

It’s the same comfort I should receive from Minetta, but as she and I stroll through the garden, I’m more ill at ease than before. This is a waste of my time. Last night was, too, but I was too drunk to care.