âThen it appears we make a pair of dancing bears my lord.â Amara quipped as Sedwiff lead her into another twirl. She could hardly believe his self-deprecations when before her eyes he danced with such grace. He was just being modest she decided, but she was enjoying herself too much at the moment to really care either way. This dance was notorious for the closeness it required of its dancing pairs, but even the dance with Sedwiff felt like they were touching a murky line, it was almost intimate. Perhaps it was because of this that Prince Davinâs interruption came as such a jolt. Dutifully, she and Sedwiff parted to let him through, though she gave him a sour look for his utter rudeness. She watched Davin approach Logaric, who was dancing with a young Lady she did not recognize, and hoped absently that he wasnât planning anything cruel. The Lady the youngest Falyn was dancing with looked to be quite sweet if somewhat timid, and Amara did not care for the idea of Davin bullying her.
She turned back to Sedwiff to voice her concerns, but stopped abruptly when she saw his eyes. Amara had of course noticed the family resemblance between Sedwiff and his father, but for the first time in her mind, he really looked like Lord Marcus, and she took an involuntary half step back. In seconds, the charming almost playful man she had been dancing with had been transformed completely. His friendly manner was now gone, and the warm blue pools his eyes had resembled moments ago were now polished ice chips. The sudden change and his parting comment left Amara reeling with confusion, as she couldnât quite grasp what exactly had just happened. What could have caused such a swift and total change?
âMy, it appears Sir Sedwiff ran off in quite a hurry. He must have sampled something he found repulsive.â A voice crooned behind her, accompanied by a chorus of chortling. The voice was loud enough the half the hall could have heard, and Amaraâs cheeks flushed with embarrassment from the poorly veiled insult. Amara turned to see the woman who made the comment, and spied her with a group of young courtly ladies who were standing on the edge of the dance floor. They had been farther away the last time she had noticed them, and surmised they must have followed Prince Davin when heâd stomped over. The blonde, who was still making rude comments, Amara recognized from dinner as Lady Lyanne Banifor, and therefore loyal to house Falyn. Shocked, confused, and now insulted, Amara was suddenly struck by a terrible thought. The timing of it all had been a little too convenient. Had Sedwiff just set her up to be humiliated in public? She didnât wish to believe that of him, but then she didnât really know him at all. Raised at court of not, Sedwiff was still a Falyn, and they were supposed to hate each other. Just because sheâd allowed herself to forget that for a time didnât mean he had. Perhaps it was for the best that they had put a stop to this now, though the sting she felt from his rejection made that little consolation.
Sedwiff Falyn had most certainly not been suffering from stomach cramps when heâd coldly brushed past her a moment ago, but Logaric was only trying to be polite, so she refrained from comment. Amara had just been publicly snubbed by one Falyn brother, the last thing she wanted to do was dance with the other, but it would reflect badly were she to refuse him, and she didnât want to give Prince Davin the satisfaction of seeing her upset. So Amara took Logaricâs hand, ignoring the icy look sent her way by Lady Lyanne as he led them back into the fray for their second dance that night. This time around though, she felt wooden, her earlier thrill with dancing gone, leaving her feeling more tired than anything else.
âYes. On a clear day the sky is so open and wide from the peak that you can see for miles in every direction.â Amara replied softly when Logaric asked about the tower, which held many darker memories sheâd rather not relive. Once, when Amara was twelve and newly flowered, her uncle had brought foreign guests to see her. Prospective husbands he had called them, and all were old and wealthy with ships and controlling interest in several of the great port cities in the west. Her guests had inspected her thoroughly and done things that had made her want to curl up in a corner and die when they were through, and that was the first time Amara had truly realized what she was to her Uncle Lyle. Valueable livestock. Later the next day, sheâd climbed to the top of the tower and watched the sky, wondering what it would be like to be a bird and have the freedom to fly as fast and as far away as she wanted. If she were to try to fly, would some passing god take pity on her and let her be a bird? One of the tower guards found her their hours later, perched on the ledge as she watched the sky, and Lyle had beaten her himself for even that small defiance.
âTell me about one of the places youâve traveled to. Someplace far away where itâs always warm.â Amara requested gently. She didnât want to think about cold stone towers just then, and sheâd noted that Logaric had a talent for storytelling. That, coupled with his easy and cheerful demeanor made for a story that was bound to be both captivating and distracting, which at the moment sounded very attractive.
In his youth, Marcus Falyn had been a man who dominated the room whenever there was dancing. He was still a primly cut man and quite spry for a man of his years, but now he preferred to watch his sons from the shadows. It was their turn to do the dancing, and his to watch and observe their enemies. For nearly two decades he had been dreaming of destroying those who had ripped away his oldest son and threatened the prosperity of his house, and the time was nearly upon them. Watching the Dorian girl dance, Marcus began to realize just how much like Cam this daughter, whom he'd never had the chance to know, really was. Though she looked like Alya, almost painfully so, the way she danced was too playful and intense to resemble her mother. Alya had always been a coy dancer, leading from behind while she let her partner think he was the one setting the pace. Cam had been a free spirit when he danced, jumping in head first with an almost reckless abandon that was so unlike him in almost all other things. Because of this contradictory resemblance, watching his son Sedwiff, who now so resembled Marcus in his youth, dance with her brought mixed emotions. Marcus was no fool, he saw the spark that was there between this girl and his son, and it could be dangerous, but perhaps also useful if handled the right way. He would have to explore that avenue later though, after heâd assessed exactly how attached his son was to this pretty Dorian girl. For a moment, he simply allowed himself to watch and be reminded of days where he was the one dancing, and the eyes of the raven beauty in his grasp a vibrant green instead of haunting violet.
Marcus allowed none of his anger to show when he watched the whelp of a prince interrupt his son in such a disrespectful way. His spies had kept him well appraised of the antagonistic relationship the younger prince had with his son, and he relished the thought of giving the chance to exact revenge tenfold on that one when the time came. For now though he watched as his sonâs demeanor changed suddenly and dramatically after his encounter with the prince, and left his partner looking like sheâd been slapped. He was surprised the look of hurt embarrassment that he watched sweep over her face did not please him more, but he decided to ponder upon it later as the Dorian girl took up dancing with his younger son. She no longer resembled Cam.
As Sedwiff headed for the exit, Marcus intercepted him in the dimly lit hall just outside the chamber where the dancing was being held. His face was serious, as it always was, but Marcus tried to project some fatherly warmth as well as he laid a hand on Sedwiffâs shoulder in an attempt to stay him. He owed his oldest that much and more. âIf you leave now, the victory is his. You give him too much sway over your emotions, and so he controls you.â Marcus didnât clarify who âheâ was. His son would know exactly what he was talking of.