“Fine. What’s your point?”

He looks as irritated as I feel. “All of that, and you somehow believe I seek to humiliate you by dancing?” He slams down his beer stein. “My lady, I must ask—are you even thinking about what you are asking?”

Before I can respond, he rises from the bench and storms away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

RHEN

I storm to the edge of the Commons, where the ground drops away in a nearly sheer cliff, revealing the harbor below, docks and ships glistening in the rising moonlight. Smaller fishing wherries and larger crabbing boats are docked for the winter season, and ice clings to the posts in the water. Candlelight flickers in a few windows, but most buildings stand dark and quiet. Lanterns swing jauntily as sailors and dockworkers head home.

Along a deserted, icy dock, I spot a couple wrapped in a loving embrace.

So easy. So unfair.

Music carries across the clearing, and couples have joined to dance at the far side of the Commons. Torches blaze along tall posts surrounding the band. Despite the merriment, I can feel the weight of eyes on my back. I’ve provided enough gossip to occupy the people of Silvermoon for days. I seized control by stopping an attack and demanding allegiance—and now I’m about to undo it all because of one moment of irritation.

I never should have stalked off the way I did. I imagine my father’s voice.

People can create scandal from a word. From a look. You, son, give them no shortage of either.

Harper draws up beside me. I don’t look at her. I’m not sure what I want to say.

She must sense my quarrelsome mettle, because she says nothing herself.

I feel as though I owe her an apology—but possibly that she owes me one as well. We stand together, staring out at the water, at the night sky sprinkled with stars. Wind whips off the harbor to whistle between us, ruffling my hair and lifting her skirts. Silence stretches on for ages, until my irritation begins to dissipate, turning the quiet into something warmer. Easier.

“In the castle,” I say eventually, “the music never changes. Every season, the songs begin again, no matter what I do.”

She is quiet, and music swells from the opposite side of the clearing, muffled because we’re so near the water, and the creaking of the boats and the gently slapping waves provide an undercurrent of sound.

“I used to love music,” I say. “My family did, too. That is part of why the instruments play every day—my father once ordered it so. Music at every party, every event, every morning at daybreak. I once loved it.”

She still says nothing, but I can see the edge of her profile. She’s turned to look at me slightly.

I keep my eyes on the harbor. “Now I hate it.”

She lets out a breath. A sound of acquiescence—or defeat. “But the music here is new.” A pause. “Different.”

“Yes.”

“Asking me to dance wasn’t part of a calculated effort to win over your people. This was about distracting yourself from the curse.”

She’s right, but put that way, my motives seem childish, especially considering our goals here. I frown.

“Okay,” she says. “Show me.”

I look at her. Raise an eyebrow.

She wets her lips. “I’m not going to be good at it. When I was younger, my physical therapist recommended ballet to help stretch my muscles and improve balance—but I hated it. I was terrible. Mom had to use horseback riding as a bribe to get me to go.”

A bribe. To dance, of all things. So very Harper.

I extend a hand. “May I?”

She looks at my hand and hesitates.

I wait.

Her hand finally drops into mine, her fingers soft, light against my own. I turn her to face me, then place her hand on my shoulder.

Her breath catches. She is so still that I do not think she’s breathing.

I step closer, until her skirts brush my legs, and I rest a hand on her waist. “I am inviting you to dance, not dragging you behind a horse.” I sigh dramatically. “Must you look so tortured?”

That makes her smile. The expression must pull at the stitches along her cheek, because the smile flickers and vanishes. Her free hand hovers, pausing over my own as if she’s debating whether to shove me away.

She is so tense. The girl who climbed down the castle trellis and threw a knife at Lilith is afraid to dance.

“Is everyone staring at us?” she whispers.

Very likely, but I do not turn my head to see. “Doubtful,” I tell her. “The night grows dark.” A bit of warmth heats my voice. “My own eyes see only you.”

She blushes, then shakes her head a little and looks out at the harbor. “You’re too good at this. How many other girls did you dance with?”

“What number would ease your worries? A dozen? A hundred?” I pause. “None? All?”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“I have no answer. Who would keep count of such a thing? Besides, you must be aware I danced with other women even before the curse.” I pause and move closer. “I can say with certainty that I never taught any to dance at the edge of a cliff at Silvermoon.”

“I’m standing. Not dancing.”

“All part of your lesson. Close your eyes.”

She scowls, but her eyes fall closed. I move even closer, until we’re barely separated by breath. Not moving, simply standing, trapped between the quiet noises of the harbor and the louder melody carrying across the Commons.

The moment strikes me with a memory and I do not move.

“Before the curse,” I say slowly, “I would sometimes dance with my sister—”

“Arabella?”

I’m startled that she remembers. “No. Never Arabella. She had no shortage of suitors—and no shortage of temper to keep them in line. My youngest sister. Isadore.” My voice thickens with emotion, which takes me by surprise. I need to clear my throat. “She was barely fourteen, but the Grand Marshal of Boone River had expressed an interest in marriage. The man was three times her age. When he would come to court, Isa would make excuses about family obligations, then seek me out and attach herself to my side.” My voice trails off. I’m not entirely sure why I began this line of conversation.

Harper opens her eyes. Her fingers have relaxed on my shoulder, and now her forearm rests along my bicep, her waist soft under my hand. “You and Isa were close.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I was the crown prince. I was raised apart from my sisters. In truth, I rarely saw her.”

I blink, though, and I see Isa in my mind, the way I found her after my first transformation. Her body was nowhere near those of the rest of the family.

To this day, I still wonder if Isa was coming to find me. As if I weren’t the cause of the very destruction she sought to escape.

Harper’s eyes are dark with empathy. “I’m sorry, Rhen.”

“It was quite a long time ago. I do not know what made me speak of it.” My thoughts tangle with remorse, and I feel as though I have lost my way. I blink and shake my head, wishing the memories could be shaken off so easily. “Where were we?”

“Dancing lessons.”

“Ah. Yes.” I lean close again. “Close your eyes.”

She does. We have not yet moved, but conversation—or pity—has distracted her. I step forward, giving a soft push with my hand, and she yields, stepping back too quickly.

“Easy,” I say softly, keeping ahold of her waist. “Do not run from me.”

“Sorry.” Her eyes slide open. “I told you I was terrible at this.”

I shake my head. “Eyes closed.”

She obeys, which must be something of a miracle.

“Another step,” I say, “and then three to the side, then three back.”

While her motions are slow and halting, she stays within the circle of my arms and allows me to lead. Gradually, bit by bit, muscle by muscle, she relaxes into the movement. Our steps begin to match the music from across the clearing. For an instant, I allow myself to forget the curse. We dance in the moonlight at the edge of the cliff, surrounded by night air.

The song ends, quickly replaced by something fast and lively.

I stop, and Harper does, too. Her eyes open, and she looks up at me. “This one’s too fast,” she says quietly.

“We can wait for another.”

I expect her to pull away, but she does not. “I think the standing-still part is my favorite.”

I smile. “You do it quite masterfully.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction, catching sparks in the moonlight. “You’re not as arrogant as you pretend to be.”

I go still.

“You’re really good at laying on the charm,” she says. “But I like this Rhen better.”

“ ‘This Rhen’?”

“When you’re not scheming, and you’re just doing.” She pauses. “Like your story about Isadore. You made it sound like she was an annoying little sister, but I think you liked it. Or the way you won’t let Grey go after Lilith. At first I thought it was a pride thing—but it’s not. You’re protecting him.”

Her assessment reminds me of Grey’s when we stood outside the inn in the snow. When I teased him about punishment for falling asleep on guard. When he said, The king would have … But not you, I do not think.