Her ball gown swished side to side as Iona made her way from the sleeping quarters to the grand ballroom. The golden accents twinkled from the firelight of the sconces lining each side of the wall. The second she stepped out the door of her bedroom, a fresh cloud of anxiety began to form over her head. It wasn’t the slight discomfort donning the unfamiliar gown and matching heeled boots; she was worried about looking foolish. Much to her mother’s chagrin, Iona was a terrible dancer.
She had ducked ballroom lessons more often than she’d attended them in her younger years at the palace. Elia took to them easily, of course, but Iona always struggled. She could adhere to a rhythm, and her footwork grew to be impeccable thanks to her combat training. But when it came to dancing, Iona could not follow someone’s lead to save her life. She would grow rigid in her partner’s arms, and the waltz would inevitably end up blocky and tense. She used to count on escaping to the edges of the crowd after her obligatory dance with Heston or some courtier’s son. But now, as High Commander and ranking member of the court, Iona would be expected to dance- a lot.
She reached the massive double doors of the ballroom which opened onto the landing of the grand staircase. Her stomach tightened into a knot at the very sight of it. You’re excited. You’re going to have a great time. Stop being so insecure, you’re the fucking High Commander. Iona pressed the palm of her hand to her abdomen, stilling herself. How a dance floor filled to the brim could be more daunting to her than a battlefield, she’d never understood. She pushed past the reluctance, feeling like there was glue on the soles of her shoes, and she had to wriggle herself free of it. Straight away, she saw one of her soldiers standing guard at the top of the stairs. His eyebrows rose, beholding the sight of his commander in all the trappings of a royal courtier. It suddenly occurred to her that none of her men had ever seen her in anything other than training clothes or battle armor. Iona shot him a warning glare to prevent a snarky comment, if he should so dare. Stifling a smile, he bowed his head to her, and reached out his hand to assist her down the stairs, but Iona blew right past him.
She surveyed the party- almost four hundred guests, spilling out onto every balcony and winding down to the courtyard. Chrysos’ palace was unrivaled in size and opulence, and the grand ballroom was its jewel. The ceilings seemed upwards of a mile high, filled with magnificent golden and crystal chandeliers overlooking the finest black marble. This grandiose room stood empty for years, but tonight, it was alive again, filled with buzz, excitement, and optimism about the future of the kingdom.
The chatter was deafening; endless goblets of jammy red wine sat on the bars along the edge of the room, and attendants circulated with platters of roasted vegetables and mutton, pastries filled with herbs and cheese, and fresh fruit. Iona looked down at herself- there was no denying she would fit in. Elia would be thrilled to see her like this, and Iona was filled with gratitude at her old friend’s enduring thoughtfulness.
The High Commander made her way down the rest of the stairs, navigating through the crowd toward a platform on the other side of the hall. King Theron was seated on his throne atop it, his second son standing to his side, while Heston had already begun his mingling.
Leo whistled cheekily as he watched her approach, and hustled down the steps, offering his arm. Iona scoffed at his unnecessary politeness, but hooked her hand around it anyways, and the two ascended to Theron’s seat. “I hardly recognize you,” Leo remarked, “Thank the gods you got rid of that wretched, potato sack of a dress you used to wear.” Iona pinched his skin through his tunic eliciting a small yelp. She smirked at that, but looking over at him, Iona noticed they nearly matched, and her lips softened to a smile. The tunic was made of luxe, woven cotton with lavish embroidery of golden wildflowers and ivy vines. His amber locks were left loose and wavy, and the sun from training every morning had brought out his freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose.
“Hoping to hit it off with one of the many women who won’t be successful in courting Heston this evening?” she inquired, pulling her gaze away from Leo.
“You could say that, I suppose,” he answered, as they reached King Theron. “It’s about time for another glass of wine, though,” he declared, nodding at his father, and sauntering off towards the crowd. Iona thought about how she could use one of those goblets of wine right about now. More than one. Five, perhaps. Instead of indulging that need, she maintained her composure and greeted the king. “Your majesty,” she bowed as deeply as her corset allowed. As she stood, she reached out to meet his hands, extended from where he sat.
“I think it’s safe to say that you are the loveliest High Commander this kingdom has ever had,” Theron grinned, the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes growing in prominence.
“That’s very kind of you, sir.” Iona took her place at the King’s side, turning to face the crowd of partygoers with her hands clasped behind her back. She knew how hopeful Theron was for tonight; he needed to ensure that Heston was positioned as well as he could be to take over the crown. Marrying was an essential part of that in his view. Heston would meet a slew of eligible women from well-respected families tonight, all working to impress him and secure the kingdom’s future. Iona never much liked the tradition, but she supposed it was better than the way Theron and Margot were forced on one another. At least these women chose to accept the invitation. And one of them would be the next Queen, so hopefully Heston picked well.
After an hour or so of eating and drinking and mingling, the crowd began to gather, meandering in from the balconies and courtyard. The music began, and a wave of colorful gowns and sleek suits crashed onto the dance floor as peppy violin and cheerful piano filled the room. Couples formed with ease, synching up their movements with each other, all in perfect time. Iona watched them all swap partners, twist, turn, come together and fall apart like they’d been practicing for months. She was dreading the moment that the King would insist she descend off their podium of safety and make an embarrassment of herself. Dancing was imminent.
Four or five songs had passed when Iona heard the King clear his throat. “You know Iona, I appreciate all the effort you put in to make this a successful ball, so I must encourage you to join the party.”
“Thank you, sir, I am absolutely enjoying the party.” Iona said, looking straight ahead to avoid his look of displeasure.
“Is that so?”
“And on top of that, there are so many guests, I should really be here to ensure your safety at all times,” she nodded, holding on to a small sliver of hope that the King was buying her nonsense.
“So what you’re telling me is that you’ve done such a poor job securing this ball that you have to be my personal guard all evening?” Amused, the King shifted in his seat to look at Iona.
“If I say yes, will you let me stay?” she pleaded.
“Iona.”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“Go dance.”
Iona resigned with a sigh, “Yes, sir.” She gathered the sides of her gown, and descended the steps. To her relief, a short intermission began, and Iona wandered over to the closest bar for a goblet of wine. She thought she had spied Desmond somewhere in the throng when she first arrived. If he wasn’t still peeved at her for leaving their last liaison so abruptly, she figured she could hound him into dancing with her, if necessary, for sake of ease. Heston emerged from the crowd, and leaned against the bar, swapping his empty goblet for a full one. “I see you’ve been sent out to dance, finally!”
“Unfortunately, the King did not find it in his heart to excuse me from this torture.”
“Poor Iona, our little woeful waltzer. I would offer to be your partner for the evening, but my duty is to dance with as many beautiful women as possible.”
“What a nightmare,” Iona quipped, though she knew it was a bittersweet evening for the perpetual bachelor. Iona twisted to ask if Heston could spare just one dance at the start of the next song, but he was already off chatting with a group of ladies that had traveled in from the southern villages. She sighed and took a large swig of her wine.
Iona felt a tap on her shoulder. “High Commander.”
Iona’s attention was brought to a young woman with jet black hair expertly braided in a crown atop her head. Her eyes were the same jeweled tone as her dress, a unique blue-green, the color of an emerald dropped into the ocean- a common feature of the people who live off the coast. “My name is Jessa,” she said as she gave Iona a bow. “I wanted to say thank you for your work in my city. I know how difficult it was to reconstruct Chrysomar’s ports- and your troops completed them rather expeditiously.”
“It was my honor, Lady Jessa,” Iona replied. She had promptly clocked the bodyguard that closely followed the woman. Only high ranking courtiers would have their own security.
Jessa motioned toward her the man behind her, a stately, porcelain skinned fellow with the same ink colored locks. His presence exuded strength, his jawline carved from granite. Iona wondered if he was head of his town’s legion. “This is my guard, Kono. He serves as chief command for our town.”
Knew it. Iona and Kono dipped their heads toward one another. It was unusual for a High Commander to make any show of respect to lower ranking soldiers, but Iona wasn’t much for tradition in that way. These people had given up years of their lives to fight the Ladrons, and protect their homeland. To Iona, they deserved the same acknowledgment and respect as she did.
“I did not see you on the dance floor earlier,” Jessa said, “You are not required to work all night, are you?”
“No, no, I am off-duty. Dancing, however, is…not my forte. I typically try to avoid it as long as I can,” she admitted. “Heston is a fine dancer, though. Have you had a chance to meet the prince?”
“Not yet,” Jessa laughed, “He’s quite in demand. Apologies if this is too forward a question, but I heard that you spent a great deal of time at the palace when you were young. Are you not considered a prime match for Prince Heston? It seems as though that would be a strong pairing for the crown- High Commander and King.” Iona thought of the deal she’d made with Leo- one down.
“I did, in fact, spend much of my younger days at the palace, thanks to my mother. She was the royal siblings’ teacher. Heston has been a great friend and advisor, but no, we are not a match. And even if we were, I would be required to give up my post as High Commander which is not something I could ever foresee doing. But I look forward to serving Heston as King, as well as whomever he chooses as his queen- hopefully someone with a strong will and pension for politicking. This kingdom is due for a queen with her wits about her.”
“Ah, I agree. We have not had one in far too long,” Jessa responded. The break in music came to an end, and people began working their way back to the dance floor. Jessa turned to Iona, “It was lovely to finally meet our High Commander in person. The North Forest blessed Chrysos with your leadership.”
“That’s very generous of you to say, thank you,” Iona replied, “I will make sure Prince Heston seeks you out, Lady Jessa.”
Jessa grinned, “Just Jessa. I never much liked the title. And thank you, I would appreciate that very much.” Iona gave a nod to Kono, as well, and they began to move on. She glanced over to the throne, where Theron’s disapproving look bore into her- apparently, she had stalled enough. It was time to do her duty and knock out some dances. Iona took a long breath, finished her wine, and turned toward the festivities behind her.
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She scanned the crowd, searching for familiar ashy blonde locks and blue eyes. Ah! There was Desmond on the edge of the floor, surveying his options for his next partner. Iona positioned herself on the other side of the room, settling among a group of observers to catch his eye. Desmond’s gaze passed right over her, and Iona got the distinct feeling that he was purposely avoiding her stare.
Fine, I will ask you myself, she thought. Iona made her way through the outer fringe of partygoers, slipping between swaying bodies, careful not to trip on the hem of her gown. Desmond must have felt her presence coming towards him, since he turned her way as she closed in on where he was standing. His tall frame was outfitted in a chic black leather tunic and his hair was stylishly slicked back. A sense of relief was about to set in only for Desmond to breeze past her without so much as a glance. The High Commander cocked her head in disbelief. She glimpsed over her shoulder, trying not to be too obvious following Desmond’s brush off, only to see the foreign prince requesting a dance from another courtier. The woman accepted with a gleeful squeal, and as Desmond led her toward the floor, he flashed an arrogant look at Iona.
Unbelievable.
Iona had been on the receiving end of Desmond’s snobbery and pettiness before, when they were in the middle of reconstruction and he didn’t like her throwing commands his way, but this was different. She had been counting on Desmond to keep her from standing around awkwardly, waiting to be asked for a dance. Maybe her reputation had preceded her and none of the courtiers would give her a chance. Though perhaps that was less embarrassing than actually having to get out in front of all of these people and pretend like she knew what she was doing, when she clearly did not. Even if that meant Theron would be upset with her for not participating.
Iona made her way back over to the nearest bar, and snatched up a glass of wine. She watched Desmond dance with his partner, and her cheeks began to heat again with timidity. The alcohol burned her throat as she drank it in a few large gulps. Just before she could grab another goblet, someone appeared at her side, so close it jolted her from her wallowing.
“I expected you to be out there by now with a line of men waiting desperately to be your next dance partner,” Leo teased. Iona let out a huff, but her confidence was shaken a bit too much for her to put together the right comeback. She rolled her eyes and remained silent instead, staring at the crowd. Leo followed her line of sight which was once again following the Prince of Morencis. “Iona, tell me you’re not bothered by that idiot.”
“He’s not an idiot,” Iona said as she dropped her eyes down to where the hem of her gown met the marble floor. If anyone was an idiot, it was Iona for letting herself feel this way; she was High Commander for crying out loud.
“He is if he’s dancing with some random courtier over you,” Leo rejoined.
A tiny smile tugged at the sides of Iona’s lips. “That’s…nice of you to say,” she mumbled.
“Well, you know,” Leo lilted, stepping forward past Iona, toward the dance floor. He turned toward her and extended a hand, “You can’t go letting him have all the fun.” Iona looked at his outstretched palm and then at the crowd of dancers. She stayed planted where she stood.
He could clearly sense her hesitation, so Leo closed the small distance between them. “I won’t let you look foolish, if that’s what you’re thinking. I promise,” he said to her quietly, his deep voice taking on an alluring edge. “Just follow my lead, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I can’t follow anyone’s lead,” she responded, “You know that. It’s why you refused to dance with me when we were kids, remember?”
“Well I was stupid when I was a kid,” he said in earnest, “I’ll take care of you out there.” A playful smirk appeared across his lips, which Iona returned. With a grounding sigh, she took his hand, and Leo walked them out to the center of the floor.
You can do this.
At first, like all the times before, Iona’s body stiffened as soon as she turned to face her partner. She regretted not polishing off another goblet, but no amount of wine could loosen her muscles. Leo slipped one hand behind her back and held her hand loosely with his other. She really didn’t want to embarrass herself, which meant letting Leo control their movements to the best of her ability. All of the couples moved synchronously, waltzing along with the melody. Leo murmured the step count aloud for Iona to follow. He gently nudged her one way and pulled her another, and slowly but surely, Iona was picking it up with Leo’s encouragement.
“See, you’re not so bad,” Leo encouraged, as their feet shuffled in time, “You’re too hard on yourself.”
Iona scrunched her face and confessed, “My mom insisted on giving me some refresher lessons before she left.”
“Thank goodness for Asa,” he said, throwing his head back, like he was praying to the heavens. Iona laughed wholeheartedly, grateful, as well, for her mom’s pushiness.
A new song began, this one extra spirited and lively, and the Prince pulled her clockwise in time with the rhythm. Iona reveled in the looks she caught out of the side of her eye from Desmond across the floor. The time came in the routine for a switch of partners, much to Iona’s dismay, and Leo squeezed Iona’s hand before sending her off to the lord nearest to her, as he moved over to the woman to his right. Instead of focusing on her new partner, Iona glanced back at Leo, who was now dancing with Jessa. They looked so natural, effortless in their waltzing, and something resembling jealousy echoed in the back of her mind. Iona shook it off, feeling incredibly silly for a moment, and concentrated once again on her steps- one step right, one step right, one step back with her left, wait, no, forward-
Her partner stepped on her toes, and they bumped into each other; a pained look washed over his face, as if he was counting the seconds until he could dance with someone else. Luckily for the both of them, the choreography brought Leo back to Iona after a minute, who breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was a little rough to watch,” Leo joked to her, “But you survived. I’m proud of you.”
“No more switching, I’m just getting used to you,” Iona grumbled with a sheepish tone in her voice.
“Yes, Commander,” Leo nodded, his eyes fixed on Iona.
Leo kept his word, avoiding any other courtier from taking her from then on. Another song began, and Iona found herself more at ease than she expected, finally following his lead with full comfort. Leo guided her through every motion, giving her security in each turn and dip with his strong, confident grip on her hand, the small of her back, her hips. Iona couldn’t believe that she was dancing, willingly, and enjoying it.
A second song rolled into a third, a fourth, a fifth. The night grew darker and darker outside, and a sultry sounding violin number crept up in place of the poppy, bright music which kicked off the party, filling the room bit by bit. Iona’s heart began to beat a little faster as the melody escalated, and Leo tightened his arm around her waist pulling her closer to him. If Desmond was watching them, Iona could no longer be bothered to notice.
Iona wondered if that was another other universe, some strange world in which she didn’t mind being at the whim of Prince Leonon. One in which she not only trusted him, but wanted to be as close to him as possible. With nimble footwork, through spins and dips, Iona followed Leo in every movement. The chatter of the crowd had fallen away. Iona’s chest thrummed with the rich and haunting music, wrapping itself around her and Leo, drawing them ever nearer. He gripped each side of her hips and swept her into the air with ease.
The pace quickened, along with Iona’s breath, and the violin built up and up into a sweltering climax before it halted. Leo and Iona stood pressed against each other, their eyes locked together as they had been the entire dance.
The heady violin promptly gave way to a gentle, romantic melody. Iona and Leo had not moved from where they stood, as if they were tied to the marble beneath them. Iona became keenly aware of how close her lips were to Leo’s, her stomach brewing with nerves in response. She felt Leo’s grasp loosen, but he did not retreat, instead leading them into a gentle sway to match the sweet song that played. She slid her hand across his back and laid her head against his chest. Iona could hear the steady thump of Leo’s heart beneath his tunic. As much as she worried about making it through a single dance, he had guided her through them all with grace. He’d more than kept his promise not to let her look foolish. Iona was sincerely grateful, and a sense of peace breezed through her. All the tension that had built dance after dance released from her body, and she melted into the security of Leo’s arms. Back and forth, back and forth, they flowed.
The notes of the piano slowed, and Iona lifted her head, still holding her hand against his back. She stepped away just enough to look at him while the song came to a close, and the crowd broke into applause. Leo peered down at her, his gaze hot on her skin. Iona felt compelled to say something, anything to interrupt whatever it was that radiated between them. Before she could think of the words, Leo leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Iona’s eyes closed without a thought as she absorbed every facet of his kiss, warm and dreamy, tender and firm. All too quickly, he pulled back just until his nose grazed hers.
Eyes wide, Iona sputtered, “I, um…I need some wine.” Dropping his hand, she turned on her heel and sprinted through the dispersing crowd. A faint call from behind her suggested that Leo might follow, but she continued to speed ahead. Wine and air, that’s what she needed. Iona reached the bar, grabbed a goblet still in motion, and scrambled out to the closest empty balcony. Showered with the cold winds, Iona tried to gather her thoughts.
What the fuck just happened? What was he thinking?! It was just a dance…since when did Leo…do I…
She knocked back the full glass of wine in one go, attempting to wash away the mess in her head, and slammed the goblet onto the balcony edge. Raising her hand to her mouth, she grazed her finger along her bottom lip. The image of Leo’s eyes just before the kiss was seared in her memory. Those eyes…as rich as copper and dangerously enchanting, they commanded every bit of Iona’s attention not just in that moment, but even before, song after song, dance after dance…
Iona stared out over the balcony, sunken in her thoughts when two hands gripped either side of her hips, sliding around her waist from behind. Heat burst into her cheeks at the touch.
“If you’re trying to make me jealous,” Desmond growled in her ear, “It’s working.” His breath was swollen with the stench of too much wine. Iona exhaled, realizing that she’d been holding her breath. She turned around to face him, shaking off a feeling too close to disappointment for her comfort. Of course it was Desmond. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said over his shoulder, already wrapping his hand around hers and starting for the doors. Still in a daze, Iona stumbled behind him into the ballroom, preoccupied with the kiss.
Iona looked around as the crowd flashed past her while Desmond led them towards the exit. Her eyes darted from left to right, but there was no sign of Leo. Just a few yards from the double doors, she looked back once more and found those beautiful amber eyes staring back at her from the edge of the dance floor. He had been looking for her, too.
Leo’s face fell at the sight of them, washed over with a heartrending look of hurt and anger. The guilt settling in her stomach, mixed with all the wine, made her queasy. Iona opened her mouth, but what was she to do? Shout across the room to him? Her thoughts were muddied, as is. Even if she could find the words, Leo spared no time reaching to his side and pulling a waiting courtier onto the dance floor- the woman looked enamored with him straight away. Iona’s heart plunged. Half a minute later, and she was still staggering down the hall, hand in hand with Desmond.
“Dez,” she said, finally coming to her senses, and stopping them both, “I think I’m just going to call it a night.”
“Aw, come on Iona, don’t make me go back in there alone like some pathetic reject.” He leaned down to kiss her neck, but she pulled just out of his reach.
Desmond’s playful tone dropped. “Is this about Leo?”
“Leo? No…no. I’m just tired. I was working all day before the ball,” she sputtered.
“Bullshit.”
Iona remained quiet; she didn’t have anything to say.
Throwing up his hands, Desmond blustered. “Oh, I get it. You’re collecting princes now, huh?” he slurred.
“Fuck you,” she spat back.
“Who’s next? First me, now Leo…maybe Heston? Or are you going to wait until after he’s made king to try fucking him?”
A familiar voice thundered from behind them, “Speak to her like that again, Desmond, and I’ll slice out your tongue and hand deliver it to your father.”
Iona’s gaze snapped up to Leo, standing just down the hall. The queasiness rumbled through her again.
“Ah, here’s the man of the hour. We were just talking about you!” Desmond stumbled toward Leo, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Enjoy my leftovers, Leonon, she’s a good ride.”
CRACK.
Leo’s fist collided with Desmond’s jaw in an instant. Iona gasped, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth at the scene. The crash of Desmond’s limp body slumping to the ground reverberated through every inch of the hall. He was out cold, his lip split, and Iona could see blood gathered on Leo’s knuckles. His eyes slid from the man he had just laid unconscious up to Iona’s face, painted with shock. Without a word, Leo swiveled away and marched back to the party.
Iona stood frozen, staring down at Desmond, who had started to wake up. Her legs began to walk her toward her bedroom, but her mind was still lodged in that hallway. She went through the same routine as she did every night- undress, rinse her face, pull on a nightgown, shake out her sheet, settle into bed. But the sound of Leo’s right hook connecting with Desmond’s face crowded out all other thoughts in her head. Though the night’s surprises- all of them- still buzzed around her mind, they had thoroughly drained her energy, and the sweet relief of sleep embraced her.