“I don’t make a habit of it.”

Something sparked in the onyx of his eyes. “You’re an easy partner,” he conceded; then added, more softly, “We’re well matched.”

There was nothing Daphne could say to that. She knew just as well as Ethan why they danced so well together. Because Ethan knew her movements and she knew his—because, beneath the heated verbal sparring, they were ultimately the same.

The song ended. There was a burst of applause, and the band struck up another one. Daphne and Ethan, through some unspoken agreement, continued to dance.

“I’m going to miss you, you know,” he said in an undertone.

“What do you mean?” Her heart had curiously picked up speed.

“Once you and His Highness get back together, I’m going to miss you.” It was strange of him to refer to Jefferson by his formal title, but Daphne pretended not to hear it. Just as she pretended not to hear the subtext of what he was saying.

“I don’t exactly plan on leaving.”

Neither of them was smiling, as if they had reached some point that was beyond smiles. Although they were surrounded by hundreds of people, it seemed to Daphne that they were completely alone: a bubble of uncertain silence in a sea of noise.

“Daphne,” Ethan said at last. “What do you want? Really.”

Some strange part of her whispered an answer she refused to acknowledge. Daphne brutally silenced that voice.

“I want everything,” she told him.

There was no need to elaborate. Daphne wanted a crown, which might very well be the only thing in the world Ethan couldn’t give her, no matter how wealthy or powerful he became, no matter how much he schemed or struggled or succeeded.

“Everything.” Ethan repeated drily. “Well, if that’s all.”

His words inexplicably made her laugh—and then they were both laughing, their laughter twining around them as they moved in the familiar steps of the waltz.

Ethan’s eyes were still fixed on hers.

“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” he asked, so softly that he might have been talking to himself. At Daphne’s curious look, he explained. “It’s a paradox from ancient philosophy. What happens when an unstoppable force, like a weapon that never fails, meets an immovable object, like a shield that can’t be broken?”

“Well?” She gave an impatient toss of her paprika curls. “What’s the answer?”

“There is no answer. That’s why it’s a paradox. A riddle.”

But Daphne knew. What happened was sparks. She caught her body inclining toward Ethan’s and forced herself to step back.

She really should know better—especially after what had happened between them last May.

Daphne refused to let her mood ruin Himari’s birthday party, though her smile felt increasingly precarious as the night wore on.

She was worried about her relationship. Things with Jefferson had been rocky for some time now; he was blowing her off, ignoring her for days on end, going out with his guy friends and letting himself be photographed with some random girl’s arm snaking around his waist. Daphne had a panicked fear that when he graduated high school next week, he would break up with her.

It didn’t help that he was currently in Santa Barbara, at the royal family’s first wedding in decades. His aunt Margaret was finally marrying her actor boyfriend—and Jefferson hadn’t invited Daphne as his date.

The tabloids were eating it up. DAPHNE DITCHED FOR THE WEDDING! read the headlines. Several blogs had reviewed the guest list in obsessive detail, wondering who might tempt Jefferson to cheat on her. Meanwhile the bookies had dropped her odds on marrying the prince from one in seven to one in eighteen, somewhere between his third cousin Lady Helen Veiss and the six-year-old princess of Mexico.

Daphne drifted aimlessly around Himari’s house, a margarita glass in hand—that was her signature move at parties, to carry sparkling water in a margarita glass, because it looked so festive that no one ever questioned it—except that tonight its contents weren’t sparkling water, but straight tequila. She kept hoping that if she drank enough, she might temporarily forget that her hard-won, high-profile relationship was unraveling at the seams. So far it hadn’t worked.

When the party devolved into a sloppy free-for-all, everyone jumping and making out on the makeshift dance floor, Daphne hit her limit. She slipped outside, across the cool flagstones of the terrace, to open the sliding door of the pool house.

The pull-out couch had been made up with sheets and blankets: probably Himari’s parents’ idea, in case someone got too drunk at the party to make it home. It was so blessedly quiet in here. Daphne let out a breath and sank onto the edge of the bed.

And then the floodgates opened, and she began to cry.

“You okay?”

Ethan stood in the doorway. The light spilled out from behind him, making him resemble one of those medieval paintings where the figures were limned in gold leaf.

“I’m fine,” Daphne snapped, her pride kicking in. She brusquely wiped away her tears. Hadn’t she sworn never to let anyone see her cry?

Ethan came to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “What’s going on?”

Daphne couldn’t look away from the liquid dark irises of his eyes. They had spent so many hours together—of course they had, as the prince’s girlfriend and his best friend—and Ethan had never acted anything but friendly toward her. But for some reason, Daphne had a feeling that he knew her. That unlike everyone else in their world, he wasn’t fooled by the way she behaved. That he saw the thoughts swirling beneath her calm veneer.