Dante watched Angelina glide across the dance floor. Without his interference she really was the most elegant and graceful woman present. And he didn't interfere – either physically or magically – but he did watch, his anger growing with every smiles, every touch, every glance at her partner.
Since the dour boat ride across the lake Angelina had made her decision – she would enjoy herself, regardless of Dante's mood. He had barely touched her, only offering his hand for balance as she stepped into the boat, he had not spoken a word and had refused to look at her on the trip across, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the boards beneath her feet, his expression grim.
At first she tried to draw him out, discover what had turned his usually exuberant mood sour. Then she recalled how the wonderful, magical events in the cottage had changed him. How the trip back across the lake last night had been almost a carbon copy of this journey – silent, grim and foreboding.
When they reached the castle dock and Dante still hadn't acknowledged her efforts, Angelina gave up. If he wanted to be a beast, fine, but he'd need to try a lot harder to ruin her fun tonight.
She took his grimly offered hand and stepped onto the dock, swept straight past him and on to enter the glittering ballroom alone. The solitude lasted only long enough for the single men to realise she was without a partner. Her dance card was well covered and she was on the floor by the time Dante arrived.
As she danced with various noblemen, she kept hoping Dante would cut in, that his dark mood would lift and he would join the fun. She stole glances his way whenever she neared that section of the floor, but he steadfastly avoided her gaze, seeming engrossed in conversation. Occasionally he would move and she would search the room as she danced until she spied him again, hoping he was preparing to join her magically, if not physically. He never did.
Eventually she stopped looking for him, stopped expecting to feel him and began concentrating purely on having fun with whoever her partner of the moment might be.
And now she danced with a young lord named Arturo. He was full of fun and a bit of a tease, making her laugh with the slightly rude comments he whispered in her ear about other dancers. By the end of the dance, she was gasping, trying to hold in her laughter. Arturo escorted her to her next dance partner, another young lord named Felipe.
She chattered and laughed with the two young men, who jokingly referred to themselves as "two-thirds of the musketeers". Dante, of course, was the absent third. They were lifelong friends, their fathers the most senior Dukes and frequent advisors at Dante's father's court. Angelina had more than happily accepted the invitations of his best friends to dance the night away – they knew she had come with Dante, even if they hadn't walked in together, so there could be no misunderstanding with him as to their intentions.
Once on the dance floor, Felipe became more serious, concentrating on leading her gracefully in a waltz. It was a dance Angelina loved and Felipe seemed made for it as well. They dipped and twirled around the room, Felipe effortlessly guiding them between the other couples, their feet in perfect synchronisation as they danced through the crowd and out onto the balcony. Felipe drew her in close and kissed her, whispered "you're far too good for him" in her ear and continued to dance her along the balcony and through another door, back into the ballroom in time for a tight flourishing whirl in the middle of the floor as the dance ended.
Angelina drew away, confusion driving her to seek out Dante. But he was nowhere to be seen, and nor was Arturo. Felipe gently took her hand. "I must speak with you."
He led her, first to the punch bowl and then, tracing their earlier steps, to the still deserted balcony.
"Felipe, this is –." Pressing a finger to her lips, Felipe stopped Angelina mid sentence.
"Don't say a word – please, just listen."
He took her hands in his and looked at the ground, seeking courage to say what he must, then sighed, bit his lip and looked directly into her eyes.
"I know he's my best friend, but I can't let this go on. Dante is a player, and he's playing you for a fool. It's all a game to him."
Angelina pulled her hands away. "No. You're wrong. He loves me. Why else would he take the risk..." She stopped, eyes wide – how close she had come to giving away the secret of his borrowed magic.
"Risk? What risk? What the hell has he been telling you?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything. I didn't mean it." She turned her face to his beseechingly. "He could get into big trouble. Please, Felipe, don't ask."
Felipe snorted, unable to rein in his exasperation. "Is that what he said? Is that how he got you to put up with being magically manhandled all over the dance floor? Oh God, Angelina. That's all part of the game – he gets a girl interested in him and then sees how far he can push her with his magic tricks. He even takes bets on it."
Angelina paled and stumbled back, leaning against the stone railing. "
His
magic? He didn't borrow it? He takes bets?" She stared blankly at Felipe, thinking over the time she had spent with Dante.
It couldn't be true. Not after last night, the beautifully romantic room he had set up for their first real sex – no furtive groping in the bushes. Suddenly it hit her why Dante was so distant tonight: they still hadn't had proper sex together. Time always ran out on them. He was frustrated with the constraints on their time together. He was staying away from her so he didn't get her all worked up again and then disappoint her, like he had two nights ago.
"No. It's not true. Even if he used to do that, he doesn't now. Not with me. He loves me. He proved it."
"Who proved what, Little Princess?"
Felipe spun to face the voice. Dante stood behind them, leaning against the wall, a lazy smile on his face, his eyes glittering darkly. How much had he heard?
