I don’t care for dancing.

Unfortunately, for someone of my position, it’s something of a requirement at an event like this. Tonight, it’s even more necessary. It appears I am the only one in my family who cares to make it through this night without a scene—Leo has made a fool of himself once again, my mother has disappeared somewhere, and one can only wonder where Sophia has gone off to. It’s a blessing my brothers William and Nicholas aren’t here as well—my poor father would probably have had an aneurysm before this circus of a night was over.

As it stands, my father is doing his best to appear calm and collected, but I can see the tension around his mouth, and there’s a vein in his forehead that only seems to appear whenever he’s on the verge of exploding. He cannot get involved himself—that would be a sure sign something is amiss—so damage control has fallen to me.

Which, unfortunately, means dancing.

I look at the woman in my arms. Her eyes are on me, not on the door, which is a good start. She’s not particularly skilled at formal dance, but I’m not of a mood to show her the proper steps tonight. The next time I swing her around, I lower my face to her ear so that only she can hear me.

“No members of the press are allowed here tonight,” I say.

She pulls back slightly. “I’m not—”

“Don’t play me for a fool, Ms. Simpson. My family has done business with you before. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your name?”

She raises her chin slightly. “I was only trying to say I’m not here as a member of the press tonight. I’m here as the date of Doctor Elle Parker.”

“Ms. Simpson, you might claim you aren’t here as a member of the press, but that role isn’t something you can pull on or off as you might a coat. I’ve seen how closely you’ve been watching everyone tonight. And that is, I assume, the only reason my mother allowed this to happen. But I’m not as trusting as my mother.”

“Elle is my friend, and I’m worried about her. Of course I’m going to be looking out for her.”

“It’s not just Elle you’ve been watching. Can you honestly tell me you haven’t thought once about what sort of story you might be witnessing here tonight? That your professional curiosity hasn’t gotten the better of you?” I feel my body tensing, feel my grip on her tightening slightly, but I try to force myself to relax. “As I told you before, Ms. Simpson, I am not a fool. And I do not abide liars, especially not in my home.”

It’s almost infuriating how boldly she looks back at me, as if she has absolutely no remorse for coming here tonight. There’s only stubbornness in her green eyes. My mother has always liked Victoria Simpson—she says she’s a sweet but fiercely intelligent woman, with more integrity than your average reporter. And when I first spotted her across the room, I took my mother’s words as truth—Ms. Simpson certainly looks sweet enough, with her heart-shaped face and full mouth. But the look in her eyes right now is anything but sweet—insolent would probably be a much better word.

“I’ve done nothing wrong, Your Highness,” she says.

These damned reporters are all the same, even the ones who look perfectly innocent upon first glance.

“You came to this event knowing full well that we don’t allow members of the press to attend,” I say. “Do you truly see nothing dishonest about that? I know reporters have a twisted sense of ethics, but I expected better from the woman my mother praised so highly.”

“If your mother is fine with me being here, then why does it matter to you?”

“As I said, Ms. Simpson, I am not as trusting as my mother. Now, let us get down to business—how much is your silence?”

She blinks at me. “Excuse me?”

“I think I’m being quite clear, Ms. Simpson. What is your price? How much will it take to keep you quiet about what you’ve seen here tonight?”

Her lips purse, her eyes flashing. She misses the next step and nearly trips over my feet, but it makes no matter. She and I are done dancing. We’re at the edge of the room, near the main doors to the ballroom, and I pull her out of the way of the other dancers and into the corridor outside.

“Your price, Ms. Simpson. Please be quick about it—I have other business I must attend to tonight.”

She looks absolutely furious. “I do not take bribes.”

I sigh. “Ms. Simpson, please. We’ve already established that you have a questionable set of ethics. Now please just tell me what you want so we can settle this quickly and quietly.”

Her shoulders tense, and for a moment I think she might actually try to throw a fist at me. But after a moment, she seems to control her temper.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time, Your Highness, but I don’t take bribes,” she says. “Is this how you treat your guests here?”

“You are no longer a guest,” I say. “In fact, I request that you remove yourself and your things from the palace at once.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You are not welcome in this palace,” I start to turn back to the ballroom, then stop. “If you are as ethical as you claim, Ms. Simpson, then you will respect my request.”

“It sounds a lot more like an order than a request.”

“Interpret it as you like. But the result should be the same.” I plan on sending a couple of people after her to make sure she doesn’t try to cause any trouble—or do any snooping—on the way out.

This time when I turn away from her, I make it all the way to the ballroom door.

“You’re wrong about me,” she calls after me.

I pause at the doorway, looking at all the colorful couples swirling across the dance floor. “I highly doubt that.”

“Your family needs some friends in the media,” she says. “One day, you’re going to need my help.”

“I doubt that as well,” I say. “I’m more than capable of handling my own affairs. Farewell, Ms. Simpson.”

I feel her gaze on my back as I step into the ballroom, but I’ll send my people after her immediately to ensure that she fulfills my request.

I have no patience for reporters—and certainly not for ones who so flagrantly lie about their motives. Sweet face or no, I intend to ensure that Ms. Victoria Simpson never sets foot in this palace again.