Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 108

Chapter 108: Yellow and Green
Anaisa felt Trace’s arms tense before she turned to the newcomer. She nearly jumped when she saw his costume.

Yellow, and green, and looking exactly like Sapphira had described.

“May I have this dance?” He asked in a deep affectation that was surely not his natural voice.

For once, there were not half a dozen to choose from; this man was particularly bold to ask before the prior dance partner had even released her.

“I’d be delighted,” She pulled away from Trace and addressed him briefly, altering her tone slightly for the benefit of the stranger. If he wanted to change his voice, she would do the same. “Thank you for the dance, Sir.”

“It was my pleasure,” Trace answered tersely with a barely-concealed glare at the new man.

That was interesting. Anaisa had gathered that part of Trace’s blackmail must have been to implant dreams about this man into the princess’s mind, but why he couldn’t just tell her that was a mystery.

“I love this dance,” The stranger bowed and took Anaisa’s hand. Trace’s expression changed subtly from detestation to bewilderment as he continued to look at the newcomer.

Being drawn into the new man’s arms was uncomfortable, but Anaisa schooled her expression into fascination as the quick music resounded through the room. Truly, she did want to know who this man was who had gone to so much trouble for the princess’s affection.

“It is a lively song, to be sure,” Anaisa said, a little out of breath from the exertion of the rapid steps.

“I’m disappointed that is the dance, rather than my charm, that leaves you breathless.” He smiled in what he probably imagined was an appealing way. She hid the distaste.

“How can I be charmed if I do not know whom I am addressing?” She teased lightly.

“Ah, but isn’t that the fun of a masquerade ball?” He countered. “To remain unknown, to charm and be charmed without knowledge of identity.”

“I’m afraid I do not have such an advantage, as the ball began with my name being announced to the entire room,” She retorted. “Would you dare to have an advantage over the princess at her very own ball?”

He grinned.

“I see you are quick-witted,” He smiled, “but I’m not quite ready to tell you my name just yet.”

The stranger’s artificial tone had faded as he concentrated on the dance and on the conversation. He now spoke with a more natural, and more familiar, tone. The press of the dance warmed them both, and the air around them seemed hotter.

“And when will you find yourself comfortable revealing your identity?” She tilted her head curiously.

Anaisa studied his face, at least, what she could see of it. Unfortunately, he returned her appraisal openly, intensifying her discomfort.

His gaze was familiar. She frowned. She’d originally thought that Barnabas was Trace’s blackmailer, due to Conlan’s connection to both. Trace had all but confirmed that to her before, but the man who now held her hand for the promenade was too young to be Barnabas.

Neither was it Conlan, to her great relief. She would have been mortified to find herself in his arms for even a moment.

“When the time is right,” Her dance partner smiled in what was likely intended to be a friendly manner.

She looked into the man’s eyes just as a turn began, and then nearly tripped as the information hit her like a ton of bricks.

It should have been immediately obvious to her. The mask can only obscure someone’s identity so much. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?

Her dance partner was none other than Denholm, Barnabas’s worthless son, and her own distant cousin. The new heir to the title that would have been hers.

Everything made sense. Barnabas had always been power-hungry, but was too old, himself, to be able to secure a princess’s heart; he was at least twice her age. But his son?

The only son of a Count was in the ideal social strata to marry a princess, and of sufficient wealth to not be considered a treasure-hunter. He was also of a good age, and considered attractive by Anaisa’s peers.

And that was before he was titled. She was sure they would consider him far handsomer now that he was richer.

She held her tongue, not eager to be found out for who she was. Of all the men so far, he knew her best, and the last thing she wanted was his suspicion.

“Your hair is beautiful,” He complimented. “I’ve never seen such a lovely color before.”

Inwardly, she scoffed. Ridiculous on top of being a lie. She schooled her face into an expression of subdued appreciation, and nodded.

“You are too kind,” She replied, having to work hard to keep the ice out of her tone. How long was this song? When would it be over?

“Not at all, it’s true, your beauty is captivating,” He crooned.

It was gross. Anaisa felt utterly disgusted. She hoped it didn’t show on her face. The heat in the room seemed to burgeon and she swayed under the weight of the emotion.

“I’m terribly tired, just now.” She lifted the fingers of her free hand to her forehead before he could spin her again. “I think I require refreshment after so much dancing.”

“Allow me the honor of escorting you,” Denholm whirled her to the edge of the dance floor, where she snatched a canape from a passing servant’s tray.

“Are you thirsty as well? I will fetch you a drink,” Denholm bowed slightly.

“No–” Anaisa flinched, still wary after being poisoned. “That is, I will walk with you.”

“That would be an unparalleled delight,” The man beamed victoriously, and she regretted her clumsy refusal to let him touch anything she ate or drank. She should have thought of another way out.

He offered his elbow, and reluctantly, she took it. It would be suspicious not to. At least there was slightly more distance between them now. It felt cooler to not be facing him. She happened to catch a glimpse of Trace’s face–he wore that stormcloud expression he usually saved for thinking about Conlan.

She tried to think of some way to signal to him that she knew better than to trust the man on her arm, but there was nothing subtle enough for the room full of people staring at her. She just had to hope that he understood, and trusted her judgment.