The room boomed with new gossip. Three weeks was barely any time to plan a wedding. It was also, barely any time to gain the king's approval. He could feel Valewyn's hostile stare, she couldn't even keep the surprise from her face.
"And now," he cut in before chaos ensued. "I'd like to dance with my betrothed."
He offered her his hand and she hesitated for the shortest of moments. No one would detect the delay—but him. She was calculating him, trying to work out where the next trap laid. It amused him how suspicious she was of him.
But with the pressures of an audience and an unusual desire she had for wanting to make this union work, she placed a delicate hand in his.
Valewyn didn't seem like the person who'll let someone else lead. She was one who took charge and rode at the helm. Yet she also bowed the lowest when it came to the crown and who wore it. She was an enigma. One that Leoric was sure he could crack if he'd just applied enough pressure.
But she seemed so delicate.
The crowd fell away, allowing them to step onto the dance floor, leaving the Crown Prince behind them. And like everything else Valewyn did, she stepped into dance form with grace, wrapping herself in him and his hand found purchase on her waist.
She waited for him to step and with elegance and ease, she followed. Together they moved across the dance floor in a flurry of her skirt swishing with their movements and twirls. She really was the crown's treasure. She held herself as if she was the jewel, beautiful yet stone-faced and duty itched into her every move.
With a swish and a step, Leoric's behind her. Hand in hers, the other on her stomach. He was dangerously close. The scent of chamomile in her hair and her back pressed gently against his chest. Valewyn had claws as sharp as any big cat and a dagger strapped to her calf to prove it.
"You should smile," he said, low and close to her ear.
"And why's that? Because you're trying to fool the crowd?"
"No," humour hinted in his tone, "because you're madly in love with me."
Her giggle burst out, true and brilliant in its sound. Onlookers bowed their heads close together, whispering in awe at Valewyn's joy. They'd only seen her laugh with the Crown Prince, never anyone else, let alone another man.
It was all a charade after all, a dance of lies being sold to whoever would snatch at them—and the aristocrats were always greedy.
Leoric needed to dig the lie deep enough to put more pressure on Valewyn. He didn't believe she'd be able to persuade the king into freeing her to marry anyone, let alone the man who opposes him the most. If Valewyn, or better, the king was forced to dissolve this engagement, then it'll tell the story that's been ignored by neutral lords for too long. That the king's a tyrant, and those who serve him, a means to an end.
"You think you're a man of just cause?" she challenged.
"Are you still trying to work that out, Lady Valewyn?"
"I'm trying to work out what makes you think."
"Fine." His hand at her stomach pressed her closer; she stiffened beneath his palm. "Whom should the kingdom protect and serve?" he asked, hushed and close to her ear.
"The—"
"Think carefully, Lady Valewyn."
She was too quick. Too sure.
She paused, gaze catching his, trying to read him. Whether she caught his tells or not, he wasn't sure.
He'd happily watched her resolve problems with ease last week and suddenly the lady who was rumoured to be just an arm piece of the Crown Prince happened to be the hand.
"Its people," Lady Valewyn answered. The words came clipped; worried it could be a trap.
Leoric hummed, amused.
"And the lord's duty?"
A step, a turn and she's facing him now. But the look on her face told him the answer she had locked behind those poised lips—the crown.
"Then how about we do it this way? Who's at the bottom of society, who has no power other than that they have with their tools over the land?"
She all but rolled her eyes—she nearly did. Valewyn didn't seem one to be easily provoked or irritated to the point of breaking her composure. But every now and then, Leoric noticed the cracks.
"The people."
"And those who are next on the rung?"
"The Lords."
"And next—"
"The Dukes and then the king."
He smiled satisfied. Or was it the annoyed look that ghosted her features? His own private performance.
"So, you're making out that you're some just duke who's fighting for the people?" Valewyn muttered.
"That's where you've got it wrong, Lady Valewyn. I am merely proposing equality for all people."
The words struck her. Maybe she couldn't believe that he, out of all people, was uttering them.
"So, you want lords to be as easily interrogated as that of a commoner?"
There she goes again—thinking the worst of him.
"No, I think that common people deserve the same rights as lords, to not be interrogated just on a lord's whim. The same for the king," he had her and then she stiffened, "if a law is seen to be broken, the criminal breaking it should answer to justice. Equal justice for all across the board."
As she digested the words and the meanings behind them, they continued to dance, not missing a step. The music brushed against them, but everything else was just background noise. The chatter of gossips, the tap of shoes on marble and the ever watching eyes of the Crown Prince.
Valewyn was frowning as she thought. Clearly it was something she contemplated deeply for she had no realisation of her guard and mask falling away. Leoric held her closer, their cheeks brushing against each other and their bodies skimming. He needed to make her smile.
"Have you never heard any of my speeches?" he lulled close, his lips grazing her ear.
He didn't feel the tension ease from her in the form of laughter. Instead, she tightened her grip on his shoulder, turning her head away.
Leoric didn't know what he'd done, he was sure that she'd laugh at the absurdity of it. Before he opened his mouth to backtrack, he heard her quick shaky breath. She was stuttering on her courage to speak—which was so unlike her.
"I've read transcripts—of some," Valewyn's voice, smaller than he'd imagined.
"It's treasonous to admit, Lady Valewyn," Leoric's voice was low, the amusement buried in every word. "And yet, you still missed the premise of my thesis?"
He found it entirely baffling that the most loyal Royalist had sought out his speeches. He'd only spoken in the north, where it was safe for him to voice his concerns and opinions. Anywhere else, anywhere not encased in the safety of his personal guards and borders. But to request transcripts of the speeches in the south would've been unheard of. He wondered how she'd come upon them.
"Well, I skim-read them," her words cut short and sharp.
She wasn't used to being vulnerable—admitting her secrets. She held it in the way she curled into him, using him to hide as much as to comfort. Though he was sure she didn't realise it.
"When I'm busy I skim and I miss things," she admitted.
"My, my. My betrothed is so busy, I have no idea how you plan on doing all your tasks and have time for your husband."
"Well, you can always call it off if you'd rather a wife at your beck-and-call," challenge entered her voice again. Those deep blue eyes set on him again. He played the card that'll put her back on familiar ground.
"I'll wait for you to do that." He smiled down at her and watched as she faltered.
He didn't know why she paused or went silent for a moment when he smiled. But he liked using it and watching the way she blinked unsure, before gathering herself by glancing around at her surroundings.
"So," Leoric hushed quietly to her, "should we really sell this engagement?"
Valewyn's questioning gaze eyed him suspiciously only moments before Leoric spun her out, then with a fluid twist of his wrist, pulled her back in. He wrapped his arm around her, freehand cupping her face and as realisation registered in her gaze, Leoric dipped her.
Surprise screamed from her eyes, hands clasping onto him in reactive reflex and Leoric liked it. There was a moment, a brief second before their lips met, where her breath caught in her throat and heat pulled in her chest. But then their lips sealed and he could feel her let go for a second. The hands that held onto him for fear of falling, gripped tighter out of something else.
Then, Leoric pulled them upright, Valewyn falling away and not quite being able to compose herself straight away—perfect. They need it to look believable, if he was going to sell the lie that she supposedly wanted to peddle.
But that also meant making the southern lords believe he was just as infatuated with their crown's river-rose. So he took a step closer, closer than he would to just intimidate a lord or lady. They are all but dancing again, the way their bodies pressed close and Leoric was sure to slip a hand at the dip of her waist, to prevent her from retreating.
His eyes explored hers in a way he'd seen lovers do, as if lost on a current, but with no desire to be saved. Her own eyes grew, perplexed disbelief at how earnest he seemed and before the hardness of accusation could set into her features, he spoke.
"I can't wait until you're mine, Lady Valewyn," he purred, just loud enough to be heard by those closest. That'll spread like fire. "Until then," he lifted her hand, and without breaking eye contact planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist and gave her his most dazzling smile.
She tried to pull away, but couldn't against his grip. Her body tensed underhand, cheeks flushing faintly and her chest rose a fell with every shaky breath. Exactly the reaction he wanted—he just didn't expect to get it from her.
Then, as quickly as he wrapped himself around her, he retreated and stalked into the receding crowd. Leoric wasn't sure if he should do it, but he'd seen many lovers glance back one last time before they were out of sight, a compulsive itch to catch one last look.
Before he started up the stairs, Leoric half turned to find Valewyn still standing there, blinking after him. She'd been lost in a thought. That was until he'd turned around. Now she looked lost in him. A breath and then there was that composure she was famous for.
Leoric turned back to the stairs and made his climb, sure she was still watching. It was worth catching that last look on her face—it told him a lot of what she was thinking. That, and gave him a lot more questions. He knew she was fascinating, but there was so much more to it.