This will be the last night you spend with her.

Stephan’s words linger in my head well into the night—though Elle and I temporarily distract ourselves with far more pleasurable things—and they’re the first thing on my mind when I wake in the morning.

He’s bluffing, I tell myself. My parents are on my side. Matthias is keeping an eye out for any trouble. And—most importantly—Elle and I are in this together. Standing together. Stephan might be a cunning weasel, but he’s still only one man. We’ve already sidestepped his machinations a couple of times, and I have no doubt we’ll do so again.

As usual, Elle is still asleep. Today, though, I’m not inclined to leave her. I reach for my phone on the nightstand and send a text to Matthias asking him to order us some breakfast and bring the tax files to Elle’s rooms at his earliest convenience. Then I lie back and wait.

Stephan won’t harm us, I think. I won’t let him. But there are some things outside of even my control.

I run my fingers through Elle’s soft hair. I don’t want her to lose her medical license for the sake of me or my family, but I have little say over what the medical board in the United States will do when she tells her story. I might be allowed some say over whether or not she can practice medicine here—but the damage to her professional reputation would still be done.

I can’t help but think about our conversation last night—about the way she seems so unwilling to believe that she could live life here. It’s almost as if she’s afraid to be happy, to enjoy life too much, for fear that it will bring something terrible down upon her. As if pain must invariably follow pleasure, or sacrifice must follow abundance. If she is too happy, if she fully accepts the joy life gives her, she seems to believe she is only inviting future anguish.

Of course, given the way life has treated her, I can’t say I blame her for such beliefs. I have never been afraid to accept the joys life has given me, but I have not suffered the way she has. She dares not trust anything or anyone around her. How do I sweep away those fears?

A soft knock sounds in the outer room, and I quietly slide out of bed, taking care not to disturb her. Matthias is at the door with a cart of tea and food.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he says cheerfully.

“Good morning, Matthias.” I step aside so he can bring the cart into the room. “Are those honey rolls I see?”

“Yes,” he says. “Chef was in a good mood today. The rumor is that she’s formed a romantic attachment to our newest footman—that young fellow.”

I grin. “If it keeps us in honey buns, then I give them my blessing.”

As he sets out the trays, I clasp my hands behind my back and think. Part of me wonders if the best way to deal with Stephan is simply to ignore him—to stop acknowledging that his little plots are getting to us in any way. I’ve done nothing but feed his dislike and distrust since I arrived here with Elle, and perhaps the best strategy would be to stop engaging him.

On the other hand, I’m not willing to take any risks where Elle is concerned.

“Matthias,” I say softly. “To your knowledge, has Stephan been up to anything suspicious since yesterday?”

Matthias straightens, frowning. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of him, Your Highness. Do you think he will attempt something in retaliation for your scuffle yesterday?”

“He threatened me and Elle last night,” I say. “I fear he may be planning something.”

Matthias nods grimly. “Then I will see what I can discover. He isn’t particularly popular among most of the staff—though there are a few who will be loyal to him—and if I ask the right questions in the right places, I’ll probably learn a few things.”

In spite of my worry, I find myself smiling again. “You should have been a spy, Matthias.”

“Who says I’m not?” He returns my smile. “But do not thank me so soon, Your Highness. I haven’t learned anything yet.” He’s finished with the food and tea, so he bends over and pulls my pile of tax files from one of the cart’s lower shelves. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Highness?”

I pace a few steps, my earlier thoughts coming back to me. “I don’t know.”

His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Your Highness?”

“Forgive me,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’m not really sure if you can help me or not. It’s just… Well, you see I’m having a little issue with Elle. And you promised me you’d always be honest with me about my relationship, Matthias.”

“That I did, Your Highness. Did you have a particular question?”

How do I show her there’s no reason to be afraid? Or help her understand that it’s all right to believe in a happy ending for us? But both of those questions sound too ridiculous to say out loud, even to Matthias. And before I have the chance to reword my predicament, the door to the bedroom opens, and Elle is standing there in her dressing gown.

“Good morning,” I say, both disappointed and relieved that I no longer have the opportunity to consult with Matthias. “I hope you slept well.”

She still looks a little groggy, but she smiles as she pulls her hair over her shoulder. “Very well, thanks. Good morning Matthias.”

“Good morning, Doctor Parker.” He quickly straightens up the cart, picking up on my hint that we’ll continue our conversation at some other point. “Is there anything else I can do for either of you?”

“Actually,” I say, “I was thinking Elle and I might start our dance lessons today. What do you think, Elle?”

She blinks. “Already?”

“The sooner we start, more practice we’ll have,” I say. “And I could use some practice myself. Matthias, if you could arrange for us to use the northeast ballroom this afternoon, that would be perfect.” Distracting ourselves with something productive and fun should keep our minds off of anything nefarious Stephan might be planning.

“Consider it done, Your Highness,” Matthias says.

I feel my spirits returning as he pushes the cart back out into the corridor. Yes, I think, we’ll show Stephan we aren’t afraid of him, that we’re planning to finish what we started. And I’ll show Elle that this life can be every bit the fairy tale she deserves.

* * *

We spend the morning working. I continue to go through the tax documents—it gets easier the more familiar it becomes—and Elle begins reading through one of the history books I had Matthias bring for her. I can’t tell if she’s enjoying herself—the times I look up to watch her, she’s chewing on her bottom lip and twisting a bit of hair absently around her finger—but I hope she finds something at least mildly entertaining in the pages.

Matthias brings us lunch around noon, and when Elle goes into the bedroom for a moment, he informs me that he has yet to discover anything about Stephan’s plans.

“A few other members of the staff have said he seems touchier than usual,” Matthias says, “but if he’s planning anything, he’s being very discreet about it.”

“Hm.” I don’t like this at all—but I try to tell myself I might still be getting worked up over nothing.

“I’ll keep making inquiries,” Matthias says.

“Thank you. I think that will be for the best.” What is that rat up to?

After lunch though, as planned, I have something more important to occupy me—dancing with Elle.

“Don’t you have dancing instructors here in Montovia?” she asks as I lead her to the northeast ballroom.

“Of course,” I tell her. “But where is the fun in that? You’ll enjoy the lessons much more with me as your teacher, I assure you.”

“We’re a little cocky, aren’t we?”

“Don’t doubt me before you see me dance,” I tell her with a grin.

“Oh, I’ve seen you dance,” she says. “A couple of years ago on the gossip sites there was some cell phone footage of you—”

“I’d had a few drinks in that video,” I cut in. “And I wasn’t trying to dance well—in fact, I was mimicking someone who danced poorly—”

“So you were making fun of someone?”

“Not at all,” I say, my mind scrambling. “I meant mimicking in a general sense. I wasn’t trying to insult anyone. I was merely being foolish.”

“So the foolishness was intentional, got it.”

“Precisely so.”

She laughs. “You are the worst liar. And apparently also a very bad dancer—”

“That video doesn’t even matter,” I say. “That was in a club, and the form of dancing we’ll be doing at the state dinner is quite different. And I am quite skilled at that form of dancing, I assure you.”

“As long as you haven’t had too much to drink?” she says, still laughing.

“Naturally. But I think that’s true for most people.”

We’ve reached the door to the northeast ballroom, and I push it open and lead her inside, eager to show her what I mean. The northeast ballroom is the smallest of the palace’s eleven ballrooms—formal occasions require venues of different sizes, of course—but it’s still quite impressive. Two of the walls are lined entirely in windows, filling the room with warm natural light.

“On the night of the state dinner, we’ll be in the Grand Ballroom,” I tell her. “But I thought it would be better to practice here. It’s a little more intimate.” I lead her deeper into the room. “We’ll also have a nine-piece string ensemble there to play music throughout the evening, but for the sake of ease, we’ll practice with prerecorded pieces.”

The door to the small chamber housing the sound system is open, and Matthias was thoughtful enough to make sure a number of classical pieces were already queued up to play over the speakers.

“Where would you like to begin?” I ask her. “The waltz, perhaps? Or the foxtrot? The tango is always fun, too, but we won’t have many occasions to dance that one at the state dinner.”

She smiles and shrugs. “I guess the waltz would be fine.”

“Then let’s begin.” I rearrange the musical queue to begin with several waltzes, and then I hold out my hand to her.

She takes my fingers, but her smile seems uncertain as I lead her out into the center of the ballroom.

“Trust me,” I tell her. “Someone as graceful as you will have the steps in no time.”

Her laugh sounds almost nervous. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now this hand goes here,” I say as I place her hand on my shoulder. “And the other holds mine like this.” I take her fingers in mine. “My other hand goes here, just above your waist.”

The music begins playing over the speakers as I slide my hand up across the curve of her waist and partway around to her back.

“The waltz is done to a count of three,” I tell her. “If you let yourself feel the music, the rhythm will come naturally. One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three.” I count along with the music, continuing until I see her start to bob her chin in time with the counts.

“Once you have the rhythm,” I say, “you simply need to remember to follow your partner’s lead. If he steps toward you, step back. If he steps back, step forward. If he knows what he’s doing, he’ll make it easy for you to follow.”

She nods. “Got it. I think.”

I smile. “Want to try moving?”

“I think so.”

“Remember, just follow what I do.” I lead her gently into the dance, guiding her a step forward, then to the side, then forward again. “Feel the rhythm.”

We make it nearly nine counts before she moves forward instead of back and hits her forehead against mine.

“Shit,” she mutters, stumbling back.

“It’s all right,” I tell her. “It takes practice.” I place my hand on her once more. “Let’s try again.”

This time we only make it seven counts before she moves the wrong way and I step on her foot. She curses again.

“You have a sense of the music,” I murmur. “Now you just need to get a sense of your partner. With practice, you’ll come to know which way he’s moving before he moves at all—you’ll feel it through the places you are connected.” I squeeze her fingers where our hands are clasped. “Let yourself become aware of me, Elle. Let your body react to mine.”

Her cheeks go pink. “This isn’t sex, Leo. This is dancing.”

“They are essentially the same thing. And the moment you accept that, you’ll understand. Now, do you want to try again?”

She nods, and this time I pull her a little closer to me.

“Listen to my body,” I murmur as I pull her into the dance again. “Let yours react.”

I feel something shift in her—it’s subtle, but I can tell by the way she moves now that she’s starting to understand. At first, I continue with the safe, easy movements, but as the music swells, I sweep her out across the floor, moving us both across the room.

“Traditionally in Montovia, all the dancers will move in a large circle,” I tell her. “You’ll learn to become aware not only of your partner but of the other dancers as well.”

She gives a single nod. I suspect she’s concentrating very closely on the music and my movements. I dip my head a little closer to her ear.

“You’re doing very well,” I tell her. “Not many are able to learn the waltz so quickly.”

Almost as if my words have cursed her, she steps the wrong way again.

“Fuck,” she says as she nearly trips over her own feet.

Fortunately, my arms are still around her, and I catch her before she can fall.

“You’re doing far better than I did when I first tried to learn,” I tell her.

“Oh yeah? Exactly how old were you then?”

“Seven,” I admit. “But age makes no matter. I grew up needing to learn these things and you did not. No one will fault you for not being an expert dancer.”

She raises her chin. “Let’s go again.”

I smile, sliding my hand back into position beneath her arm. “Of course.”

We spend the next couple of hours spinning around the floor. Elle gets better and better, but she still gets frustrated with herself whenever she takes a wrong step or loses the rhythm of the music.

“We have plenty of time to practice,” I tell her when she starts cursing at herself again.

“This is only the waltz,” she points out. “We still have others to learn.”

“And we have plenty of time.” I pull her body close to mine again. “Trust me, Elle, I can think of few more pleasurable ways to spend our afternoons here.” I slide my fingers down the length of her spine.

A smile spreads across her lips. “We could spend them in bed.”

“That would be delightful,” I say, stopping my hand just short of gliding over the curve of her ass. “But you’ll want to learn this sooner or later. And as I said before, there will come a point where you’ll be hard-pressed to point out the difference between sharing a bed and sharing a dance.”

She tilts her face up toward mine. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I say. “And if you were in my head, you’d know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t have to be in your head,” she whispers, pressing closer to me. Her hips are right up against mine now, and I know she can feel exactly now much I’ve been enjoying our lesson.

“I think that’s enough practice for today,” she says, sliding her hand around my neck and pulling my face closer to hers. “I think we should spend the rest of the day back in my room.”

“I like that idea very much,” I tell her.

“You don’t have to go to dinner with your family, do you?”

I shake my head. “My father has another late council meeting. So you have my full attention again tonight.”

As I kiss her, though, something wiggles its way back to the front of my mind: We still haven’t seen or heard from Stephan all day. Part of me wants to be relieved—if he did something so very terrible, we’d have heard about it by now, after all—but the other part of me is filled with dread, wondering if the worst is yet to come.

I won’t let that weasel hurt us, I vow, deepening the kiss. I’ll protect this—protect Elle—at all costs. And God help that rat if he tries.