The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 49 - Part 1

**A/N: Thank you all for being so understanding last week! The next part was long, so I split into two and wanted to post the first half to make up for missing the last update because of my new work schedule. I know it's short, but Part 2 is coming on Wednesday!**

The royal fanfare had never sounded as ominous, nor did the heavy thunk of the double doors behind my parents' thrones as they clanked shut behind us. But there was no turning back now, not when my father's eyes burned a hole in the back of my neck. I'd forced on my best, most relaxed grin when he'd arrived for our entrance, stuffing down every last panicked thought of mine. I could afford one night. And I could make the most of it, too. The entirety of the royal court was in attendance, which meant the ballroom was a breeding ground for gossip. All it'd take were a few strategically shared rumours, and the truth of Frederico's considerable force would be common knowledge by dawn. Maybe if I had others more willing to help me when I was inevitably hauled up before Father's war council, I'd stand a chance of suceeding.

"Thomas," Mother said quietly beside me, ripping me from my thoughts. "They're waiting for you to pick a partner."

The ballroom had hushed, all of them dropped into reverences, waiting. And, exactly like they'd done during all of Andrew's seasons, the kingdom's most eligible debutantes had arrayed themselves at the front of the ballroom floor. Setting my jaw, I didn't allow myself to study them. Not when I wasn't sure what my heart would do when I saw her. Instead, I pinned my eyes on the first young woman they landed on: Gertrude Roxton, Penenlope's younger sister, and daughter of Lord Roxton, the Marquess of Eastcliffe.

Eastcliffe, with its port city that lay far closer to Vareinne than Ardalone. The place Dulciana might strike first if she turned her armada around and sailed for Highcastle.

I took the steps down to the floor with a practiced saunter, even though all I wanted to do was run and get this over with. But no one could know anything was wrong. Not when someone else was helping Dulciana. Not when she was helping Dulciana.

Gertrude squeaked a muffled cry of delight when I extended my hand to her, though her brows quivered when her satin gloves snagged on my callouses.

"Good evening, Gertrude," I said, forcing on my dashing smile. She blushed.

"Good evening, Your Highness. You're looking well." She batted her eyelashes up at me as the violins began the first few trilling notes of a waltz. "We've all missed you so."

Something tightened in my stomach to echo the clench in my jaw. Impatience. Futility. The sheer and utter pointlessness of this dance and this ball and these people. But before I let the nausea that those thoughts evoked climb up my throat, I reminded myself who she was. Lord Roxton's daughter. Dancing with her would buy me an excuse to talk to him later, when I could press him about his port and its defenses. About any ships he might lend to form an armada.

"It's good to be home," I said, only realizing it was a lie when the words tasted bitter on my tongue.

I swept her around the dance floor, my eyes glazed over even as they stared down at her. She giggled and smiled and simpered and blushed, probably thinking my staring meant something. Really, it was just to avoid looking around. To avoid every flash of blonde hair as we whirled. But all too soon, the dance ended, and Gertrude was curtseying while a swarm of skirts surrounded me. I kissed Gertrude's gloved hand in farewell, then turned around, desperate for a drink to wet my dry mouth. It was a mistake.

Framed between Annabelle Canterbury and Camilla Parkhurst's tilted, smiling faces, she stood with her mother and uncle, along the edge of the dance floor. I ripped my gaze away before she could notice.

Except she had. I knew she'd seen me by the way she arched her neck, turning her head to highlight her perfect jawline. Her laugh rang out across the ballroom and my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.

"Camilla," I said, then cleared my throat when it came out rough. "Shall we dance?"

My heart hammered as Camilla nattered on about what had happened since I'd left. About how Gertrude Roxton was a poor choice, that her parents would throw her at me now that Penelope had agreed to marry someone they deemed as below their station. And while she prattled, I could barely breathe for the hatred swelling in my chest. For the disgust that clenched my throat at the way the simple sight of her, in her robin's egg blue gown, had affected me.

I was careful to end our dance on the opposite side of the floor, offering little more than a parting nod to Camilla. I seized a champagne flute from a passing servant and swallowed it in one gulp. It fizzed through the knot in my throat, and I was barely finished swallowing when the first of the courtiers accosted me.

As much as I longed to race outside for the bracing bite of the night air, though, I smiled and kissed Lady Marquette's hand. Her husband wasted no time, pressing me about my journey then leaning in close to inquire about Ardalone's civil war. Swallowing my reservations, I played along, planting the seeds I needed to aid my cause.

The conversations stretched on, an endless parade of curious nobles. But even when my own fatigue caught up to me, I kept going. Already they were whispering among themselves. Already news of Frederico's rebels was spreading. It was working. I just had to hope it was enough. My were stiff from smiling and, spotting Libby and Andrew headed my way, my shoulders sagged. Relief, at last.

But before my brother and his bride-to-be could reach me, someone touched my shoulder.

"Thomas."

I froze. Adelaide's lavender perfume stuffed itself up my nose. That oh-so familiar lump lodged itself in my throat. Except this time it wasn't lust, it was dread. Dread about what my body might do if I turned towards her. Would I seize her throat and crush it? Or, worse, would all my determination melt away if she smiled at me? I didn't want to find out. I couldn't.

I'm not ashamed to say that I fled rather than face her. I spun on my heel and dove into the sea of courtiers at as quick a clip as I could manage without running. I only realized I wasn't breathing when I shoved open the terrace doors and the night air gusted against my face. I sucked in a deep breath, purging the scent of her from my lungs. The cold air tore down my throat with a bracing bite, knocking all my senses back into place.

I'd survived the ball. I'd given the courtiers enough face time for one night. I had an entire day of plotting before I'd be forced to do it again. I pressed my hands against the cold stone of the terrace banister and sucked in another lungful of blissful, bracing cold before I straightened and loosened my cravat. I didn't have to go back in there. I'd done enough. I tipped my head back to look at the stars, picking out the constellations to slow my pounding heart. Whatever it took, I'd make sure Beatriz saw these someday.

The thought anchored me, reeling back from the precipice I'd stumbled towards with a mere touch and whiff of lavender perfume. My steps crunched against the gravel path as I set off through the gardens, back towards the royal apartments. But I'd barely made it three paces when the ballroom door clanged shut.

"You're back."

I swore so colourfully in my head that some of it must have slipped out as I whirled on Adelaide. She was staring at me with that hopeful smile, her blue eyes doe-like and innocent as she smoothed her skirts. A practiced show of shyness to mask the coming manipulation.

I should have expected her to be desperate enough to follow.

**A/N: As always, if you enjoyed it, please vote and comment! Part 2 coming Wednesday - get ready for it! :) **