The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

Either way, the point was now moot. Once the plan was in effect—a plan she herself had set in motion—she would no longer be the princess. She would never face the court again, never have to wake up to the blank faces of her ladies, never have to sit in session on any issue, never see her mother again. If only they could leave as soon as possible, so she would no longer linger on the doubts that had started to cloud her decision.

Gill kept his strong arms around her, and his heart beat steadily in his chest. Marie decided she would spend her future with him, place her happiness with his. “Let us go, as soon as we can,” she whispered. “Please.”

“I’m doing everything I can,” he whispered. “I promise. It won’t be long now.”

She nodded and sighed.

“Now I need you to do something for me,” he said. “Dance with me, Princess. After all, we know the steps.”

She turned to him with a smile. To the strains of the Lovers’ Waltz, they danced the night away.

She was the princess. She had the fire, the dress, the magic, and—thanks to the power of the illusion spell—Marie’s face on her visage. The joy of the crowd. The hand of the prince on her waist. They finished the waltz and Leo escorted her to the podium, where the queen and the Merlin were waiting.

“My darling daughter!” Eleanor exclaimed, enveloping her in her arms and kissing her profusely on her cheeks. “Well done!”

“Princess,” Emrys said, bowing. The Merlin looked at her keenly, but Aelywn would not meet his eye and kept her chin lowered. The white stone that amplified the spell was tucked underneath her neckline, and the glamour it cast made certain that not even those with the power of sight could penetrate its haze. But still she trembled before the Merlin, her treacherous black heart cowering in front of the most powerful mage in the world.

Now Leo was leading her back to the crowd, back to the dance. He was looking at her with a wonder-filled light in his eyes, as if he had never seen her before. As he led her through the dance, holding her in his arms tightly, he was just as strong and confident and handsome as the day when they had first met in that hallway. She felt her body responding all too eagerly to his touch.

She had not felt this way since Lanselin.…

She could not think of Lanselin right now.…

His hand was on her waist, the other on her shoulder as she swayed to the tune of the music, their steps exquisite and perfect. It felt as if they were the only two people in the room, even while they were surrounded by the entire court. Leo had not said a word to her since her appearance. Instead he had a glazed, dazed look on his face, as if he could not quite believe his luck.

“My prince, you are so quiet,” she said coquettishly. “Do you not like the dress?”

“Who are you?” he asked abruptly. Before she could answer, he added, “You are different tonight. Where have you been all this time?”

“I have been right here, my lord. Right in front of you.” She smiled.

“Then I am a fool for never noticing before,” he said, and held her even more tightly. It was tradition at the royal ball for the princess to dance with lords and courtiers out of courtesy—to entertain the Viceroy of India and the Minister of Zanzibar, to laugh at the jokes of the Duke of Buckingham—but Leo did not let her go, would not let her leave his side, would not give her up to anyone in the room.

Instead, they danced for hours. With every waltz, every step, Aelwyn understood there was no turning back now. She had fooled the queen and the Merlin, the entire court of England and France: the great empire. She would be the princess. She would have love and power and position, higher than she could have dreamed.

It was everything she’d ever wanted.

Her feet were tired. Her dress was made of magic, and fit like it was made for her and her alone, but the shoes were another matter. The heels were very high, and the narrow shape pinched her toes. Ronan wanted nothing more than to sit down, but there were so many lords and gentlemen who had written their names on her dance card, and it felt rude to turn them away.

When she’d found out who “Heath” really was, she had wanted to hit him, or run after him—explain, or apologize—but she understood that it was too late. He had been looking for something, had been testing her, and she had failed. If she ran after him now, his disgust with her would be complete. And Wolf had looked a bit disgusted with her, she could tell; she’d seen his lip curl a little at the sight of her face when she received the news.

So she danced, and looked gay, and pretended that she was having a wonderful time, that she was just glad to be there, to be part of it all. When the princess appeared in a ball of flame that turned into a hundred blue songbirds, Ronan had gasped in delight and marveled at the depth and breadth of the Merlin’s magic. Her own moonstones paled in comparison next to the blue fire that was Marie-Victoria’s gown. Prince Leopold was as handsome as advertised, but he was too far away to analyze or worship thoroughly; since he was already spoken for, her interest in him had receded. No, she was only thinking of Wolf, dashing Wolf, who had walked away from her without looking back.

Ronan leaned against a wall, hoping that her next partner wouldn’t show up or had found someone else to dance with. But no such luck. She spotted Marcus Deveraux winging his way to her with a smug smile.

“Ah, there you are—I was looking for you. I believe you are mine.” He looked better than he had the other night, with his hair brushed back from his forehead. Away from the eclipsing glamour of Perry and Archie, one could go as far as to call him handsome—or as handsome as he would ever look in a white tie and tails.

“Lord Deveraux,” she said brightly. “What a pleasure to find you here.”

“No need to be so formal,” he said with a dismissive wave that was meant to be nonchalant. “Just call me Marcus, like everyone does.”

“Marcus,” she smiled. She was tempted to tell him she would rather sit this one out, if he did not mind, but somehow the words never came out of her mouth. She fell into his arms, and they fell into the small precise steps of a minuet.

“Having a jolly time, are you?” he asked, straining to make his voice heard over the strings.

She smiled and nodded politely.

“Had a chance to see any of the countryside?” When she shook her head, he said, “Oh, no matter. We won’t have to live there for a while yet. In fact, we could even live in America, in your ‘neck of the woods,’ as they say. I’m an adventurous chap.”