Cara’s world tilted at the sight of Eamon. There he stood, far more handsome than he had any right to be. Somehow more handsome than she remembered him. His time with the Draeconian barbarians had trained all the gangliness out of him; he now looked every inch the warrior, between the new muscles and the hint of a beard even redder than his auburn hair, and—was that a scar on his cheek?
A small nudge at her elbow brought Cara back to herself.
Father’s eyes wrinkled around the edges as he smiled at her. “Go on, little stormlark. You must initiate the first dance.”
“Of course.” Cara straightened and looked over the nearest nobles. She knew every young man here—as Father had said, she’d spent all her free time in the last year becoming acquainted with them. And of course, at the front of them all stood the handsome Lord Sean Galway, with his brooding dark looks and easy grin. She kept scanning before he could capture her gaze. She didn’t want to dance with him—not yet.
There was only one man she wanted to dance with. Or if she were being honest with herself, finally get answers from.
With one last smile for Father, she swept forward, conscious of her every step. A princess was supposed to look weightless. But the closer she drew to Eamon, the more the past weighed her down. Maybe it was anger. For so long it had been anger. The wary cast to Eamon’s expression as he watched her approach certainly said he expected anger.
But the knot of emotions in her chest were more convoluted than simple anger.
They always had been.
She stopped before Eamon, Lady Tague, and Orla. The women curtsied; Eamon bowed.
“Will you lead the first dance with me, Lord Tague?” Cara said. She hated how formal her voice sounded. But maybe it was for the best. Formality could shield her, protect her feelings from whatever trouble Eamon’s presence brought.
“I’m sure you could find someone else better suited—” Eamon said, but Lady Tague cut him off. She pushed her son forward.
“He’d be honored, Your Highness.”
Eamon’s smile was more of a grimace as his family fell back and he took Cara’s hand. Together they moved to the center of the dance floor. Other couples fell into place around them, but a small bubble of space remained. Hesitantly, he set a hand on her waist and drew her closer. The movement sent her heart racing.
Be formal. Be royal.
The music began, and so did they—until Eamon stepped on her slippered foot. He jerked back with a muttered curse. She looked to the side, where Lord Galway was dancing with a partner. He raised a single brow at her as his mouth twisted down. Cara dropped her gaze and swallowed.
“I see your warrior training has not improved your dancing,” she observed.
Eamon’s eyes flickered to hers before pinning to a point over her shoulder again. “I did try to say someone else would be a better choice.”
Did she imagine that slight curl to one corner of his mouth?
“I didn’t want someone else,” she said. His gaze jerked back to her, brows raising slightly. She continued quickly. “I only meant—I haven’t seen you in nearly a decade. You’ve never…” Her fingers tightened in his. “I know you’ve come home to visit before now. I heard from your sister.”
His jaw clenched. He’d finally found the rhythm of the dance, and they spun in slow circles.
“Why, Eamon?” The question clawed its way out of her in a pained whisper. “Why did you never visit? Never—I... you never even wrote me back. I know what I said before you left, but I thought, after you read my letter...”
“What letter?”
She nearly stopped dancing. Her heart clenched. “I wrote to you a month after you left.”
That line appeared between his brows as he frowned. “I never received a letter.”
“You...” She swallowed. She had poured out her heart in that letter. She’d admitted the feelings she’d always held for him, but months of silence had driven a nail into her heart. He’d gotten it and chosen to ignore it, she’d thought. Thrown it away, crumpled up her feelings as sentimental dross that an aspiring warrior had no time for.
She’d spent years believing that. Orla’s admittance that he’d come to visit with no appearance at the palace had only confirmed it.
He looked at her, those eyes of his searing into her soul as they always had. “I never got a letter, Cara. I thought you still hated me. I wasn’t going to subject you to my presence when I thought nothing had changed. I wouldn’t even be here tonight if Mother hadn’t insisted.”
The tangle in her chest loosened just a little.
“I don’t hate you,” she said. “I don’t… I don’t know how I feel, but I could never hate you.”
“I don’t hate you either,” he said, smiling wryly, “in case that was ever in question.”
The tangle loosened a bit more.
“It was.”
“Well, I don’t. You’re my oldest friend, Cara. I never wanted that to change. I’d hoped you’d be excited with me when I joined the Draecons—”
The tangle tightened again as anger swept in.
“Excited? For you to throw yourself into a reckless, suicidal future?”
He snapped his mouth shut and drew back at her sharp tone.
“The day you left to join those barbarians was the day I mourned the loss of my only true friend.” She looked to the side, willing the hot tears trying to escape to stay where they were.
“They aren’t barbarians,” he said at last. “Draecon culture holds more esteem for honor than Makaria does.”
She pressed her lips together. Anything she said to that would only escalate things further.
“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said softly. “That was never my intent.”
She glared at him. “What did you expect me to feel? How could I be happy not knowing if you lived or died? You’re only human, Eamon. You’re no match for dragons.”
“But the Draecons are. They are the only thing standing between the rest of us and the dragons.” His grip on her waist tightened. “And soon I’ll be one too. In less than a year.”
The words were a death knell.
Cara swallowed down the protests and the pain. She forced a smile into place. “I hope your new life is everything you hope for. Just know—we’ve missed you in this one. I’ve missed you.”
His whole face softened as he looked down at her. The music slowed as the dance came to an end, and they both slowed with it, but he didn’t remove his hand, and she didn’t step away. Being here, with him, in his arms... it was the dream she hadn’t allowed herself in such a long time. She would never be ready for it to end.
“Eamon, I...” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t say the words. It didn’t matter that she’d felt them for years, or that she’d already tried to confess to him once before, in her lost letter. His warrior path was entrenched in him now. He may not scoff, but he’d never pick her over the honor and glory of his new life.
He waited for her to speak, patient as ever. She just smiled and shook her head. “It’s good to see you.”
He reached up and gently tugged a lock of her hair—not hard enough to physically hurt, though the familiar action brought a rush of memories with an ache so strong she sucked in a breath.
“I’ve thought of you every day, Cara.” He looked ready to say something else, but then his hand jerked from her waist to his pocket. He drew out a blue stone, and at the sight of it, his whole body tightened with tension. “I have to go.”
He barely gave her a bow, and then he was lost in the crowd as his long strides swept him away from her. She tucked her empty hands together; they felt suddenly cold.