These balls always seem like a really fun idea, but after about an hour, I always realize that I was wrong.

You’d think that they’d be great for getting to meet some young men from the kingdom. Maybe dance my brother’s cute friends — especially — Declan, and it would all be sweep-me-off-my-feet romantic.

Not so much.

As a princess, I’m not here for fun, and with my brother and father watching me like a hawk, I’m definitely not here for that kind of fun. I pretty much have to dance with anyone who requests the honor, since it’s only polite, and naturally, it’s the kings and foreign dignitaries who are the most important.

I dance with Declan’s father, but not Declan yet. I dance with Beckett’s father and Kieran’s father and my own father, then all of their cabinet secretaries and advisors. They’re all good dancers, and they’re all quite skilled at making charming, appropriate conversation, but they’re not exactly exciting.

I’m dancing a waltz with Señor Amarosa, a Spanish dignitary, when the string quartet ends that song. He bows, I curtsey, and then I quickly scan the crowd.

Check, I think to myself, eyes dancing over the knot of gray-haired men standing around my father. Check, check, check...

Is that everyone? Is it true, have I really done my duty?

Just as I think that to myself, from across the dance floor, Declan catches my eye. He’s standing there, one hand in his pocket and one holding a glass of champagne, and he’s just staring at me.

Hungrily. Like I’m a steak and he’s a tiger, or something.

And I can’t stop staring back, like a deer mesmerized by her hunter’s eyes. I know I should look away, find someone else to dance with, stop looking at Declan.

I know he’s dangerous. I can feel his eyes practically devouring my body, like he can see right through my gown, and I swear his gaze gets even hungrier.

Despite myself, I don’t mind. No, worse: I think I like it. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes me want to take this gown off, just for him. See what he thinks about me in just my bra and panties, or even naked.

I have a feeling the look would be the same, and that thought makes a sharp tingle run through my whole body, from the back of my neck, down my spine, all the way there.

You know. Down there. The tingling is in the vagina region.

Still watching me, Declan turns. His eyes don’t leave mine as he walks along the dance floor, moving gracefully but like he’s in control. People naturally move out of his way, and he rounds a corner, heading straight for me.

I’m frozen. I can’t move.

And then someone steps in front of him. It’s a girl, and I don’t see her face but she’s got long, nearly-black hair piled on top of her head and a bright blue, tight, backless dress that’s completely inappropriate for this event.

There’s no way she’s wearing a bra underneath that, I think. There’s no way she’s wearing panties.

I watch as she laughs, puts one arm on Declan’s arm. He glances over her shoulder at me, and just as he looks like he’s about to say something to her, there’s a polite tap on my shoulder, and I turn.

It’s another gray-haired man, only this one I haven’t danced with yet. He smiles, all perfectly good manners, and bows his head slightly.

“Princess Aurora, my pleasure,” he says. “I am Pierre L’Enfant, Count of Saxony. Would you do the honor or giving me this dance?”

He holds out one well-manicured hand, and my princess training kicks in full-force. I take it, smiling automatically.

“Of course, Count L’Enfant. It’s my pleasure.”

As the Count leads me onto the dance floor, I can’t help but glance over at Declan. He’s leading his partner onto the floor, too, and now I can see her face: bright red lips, the kind of smoky eye makeup I’ve never been able to manage myself.

Somehow, despite her lack of bra, her boobs are defying gravity, practically racing each other to escape her dress through the low neck.

Maybe she did dress right for a christening, I think sarcastically. I bet Stefan’s getting hungry just looking at those things.

We take up our positions, stiff and formal. The dance starts, and Monsieur L’Enfant whirls me around the dance floor, proper and elegant as you like. He’s a total gentleman, a competent dancer, and he’s even able to make a light discussion about the panda at the Paris zoo while he does it.

But I feel bad, because I’m only half paying attention to the panda talk. Instead, every time I see Declan and Slutty McBoobsalot, I can’t help but watch until they disappear again behind the other dancers.

And I can’t help but get the tiniest bit jealous. I know I shouldn’t.

I know how Declan is. Everyone thinks I’m some innocent, sheltered child, but please. I’m fully aware of the reputation he and my brother’s other friends have. I’m fully aware that they pretty much run dick-first into crowds of women, that they sleep with someone new almost every night.

Of course he’s dancing with someone whose boobs look like that. It’s Declan.

The dance finishes. Monsieur L’Enfant bows again, and I curtsey. He thanks me for the dance, and I respond appropriately, but I’m really looking at Declan and McBoobsalot.

She’s got her whole body pressed against him, tits first, like she had some sort of horrible superglue accident.

Then, while I watch, she raises one knee against his hip, sliding her leg up, along the outside of his. Right there on the dance floor. For my baby nephew’s christening.

I think she’s expecting him to dip her and kiss her dramatically, or something, but Declan just smiles. He pats her knee, says something to her, and she pouts and lowers it before they both walk from the dance floor.

I move away as well, trying to pretend that I didn’t just watch all that unfold. There are no more foreign dignitaries in my path, and I’m pretty thirsty, so I make a beeline for the bar. Maybe a drink will help me deal with this whole sometimes-Declan-dances-with-other-women situation.

But before I get there, I feel another polite tap on my shoulder.

I turn, and there’s Declan’s face, cocky grin in full force.

“Princess Aurora, may I have this dance?” he murmurs.