Maylee had immediately swept in. “I can fix this.” She’d taken the ice pack from the woman and realized too late that she’d more or less just elbowed aside the princess’s mother and another royal highness. Nothing she could do about that, though.

And so Maylee had removed the ice pack, put her hands on the sides of the princess’s neck, and began to talk. When someone was hurting, she pitched her voice low and smooth and made the person describe the injury. It seemed that the princess’s hair stylist—who was the woman sobbing in the corner—had been trying to curl a few stray tendrils with a last-minute application of the curling iron. A nervous servant had dropped a tray of wine, breaking a bottle, and the woman had jumped.

When she did, her curling iron ended up flattening on the princess’s neck and burning the tender skin. The mark was long and bright red, and it looked like it would blister. The skin surrounding the burn was hot to the touch, so she stroked her fingers over the good skin next to it and kept the princess talking. Was she excited about her wedding? Did she want to dance at tonight’s party? Was Luke a good dancer?

He was not, the princess admitted, and her admission made Luke laugh. He squeezed her hand even as Maylee continued to urge the princess to talk. Every so often, she’d ask the princess if she wanted to give Maylee the pain. The woman seemed a little skeptical, but agreed every time Maylee prompted it.

If pressed, Maylee didn’t know exactly how her ability worked. Her mama had passed down the skill to her, and it was an old Meriweather tradition. Some families had water-dowsers and people who could predict the weather. Meriweathers were talkers. Maylee touched the burned skin and gently rubbed the inflamed mark one last time. “Now, Miss Alexandra—”

“Your Highness,” her mother stiffly corrected next to Maylee.

She sounded so much like Griffin in that moment that Maylee got distracted. But she recovered and finished her sentence. “Go ahead and give me the rest of the pain.”

Alexandra blinked for a moment, and then a smile crossed her face. “It’s not hurting anymore. How on earth did you do that?”

Maylee lifted her hands. They always felt a little warm and achy after a good talking. “Don’t know. It runs in my family. My mama can talk the warts off anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”

“Warts?” said a horrified woman nearby. “How vulgar.”

“I don’t care,” Alexandra said, smiling into the mirror at Maylee. “I wasn’t quite sure when Griffin told me, but I have to say, I’m impressed. You have my thanks.” The princess waved her makeup attendant forward, and the woman rushed in, cosmetic sponges in hand, to fix the crown princess’s makeup.

“Just be gentle with it,” Maylee cautioned. “Put some aloe vera on it tonight and cover it so you don’t irritate the skin more. The mark will go away in another day or so, but it shouldn’t blister.”

“That’s incredible,” Luke said, a relieved smile on his face. He grinned at the princess again. “You sure you’re okay, baby? Up to this party?”

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not,” Alexandra said, but her smile took the sting out of her words. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go downstairs.” She indicated at a chair nearby. “Sit, Maylee. In case we need you again.”

“No more curling irons,” Luke said firmly. “You’re lovely just as you are.”

Alexandra’s smile curved her mouth. “We’ll just pin the rest.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at her hair, and the crying woman wiped her eyes and sprung into action.

Maylee approached the chair designated for her, but she smoothed her dress nervously. “If it’s all right, Miss Alexandra, I’d rather stand. I’m afraid I’d bust a seam or something awful, and then Mr. Griffin would be really unhappy with me.”

The princess stared at her mirror, but her gaze flicked to Maylee and then back again. “Speaking of Cousin Griffin, I see he’s dug out the family jewels?”

Maylee quickly touched both earrings and the necklace again. “Lordamercy, yes, and they’re making me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

Luke snorted a laugh.

“Indeed,” Alexandra said in a pleasant voice. “Still, he must be pleased with your work.”

“Oh, this is just a loan,” Maylee said again, her hand pressing against the far-too-expensive necklace. “I think he felt sorry for me because I didn’t have any jewelry.”

“That doesn’t sound like Griffin,” the princess said.

“What doesn’t sound like Griffin?”

Maylee turned at the sound of his familiar voice, suddenly uncertain. “Hello, Mr. Gri—um, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

He moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. The move was oddly possessive for an employer, Maylee thought, but she didn’t pull away. It was kind of nice, really. Like he was including her in the group instead of making her feel like an interloper.

“Has George been sniffing around?” Griffin asked, and she felt his fingers tense on her shoulder.

“He has not,” Princess Alexandra said, leaning in so her attendant could whisk mascara on her lashes. “We’re about to head downstairs, which means the dancing will start. Are you going to run out as soon as it does, like usual?”

Griffin scowled. “I do not.”

“You do,” Alexandra said, and their bickering sounded more like siblings than princess and viscount. “I told Luke you always sneak out of these functions because you hate dancing more than he does.”

“Oh, are we going before we watch the dancing?” Maylee couldn’t help the wistful note in her voice. Now that they were here and she’d met the princess—who was quite nice, really—she was feeling more relaxed. And she wanted to see what an actual royal dance was like.

“I suppose we could stay for one,” Griffin said.

“Two,” Alexandra corrected, and got to her feet in a swirl of delicate blue frothing lace. “The first dance is for myself and Luke.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the princess and her fiancé had been announced to the crowd, and the band started to play. The official ball had begun, and Alexandra and Luke moved around the dance floor in an elegant swirl.

“She’s so beautiful,” Maylee breathed. “I’m so happy for her. She looks wonderful.”

“She does,” Griffin agreed at her side. He hadn’t left Maylee since they’d emerged from the princess’s chambers. When someone called Griffin over to chat, he’d more or less dragged Maylee with him. She’d been flattered, but remained silent as Griffin chatted with another politician about the recent Bellissime election of a prime minister. She watched him as he talked, though. Even if he didn’t want to be here, it was clear that he could handle himself with the crowd. He looked utterly at ease, small talk coming naturally to him.

Meanwhile, she stood at his side, tongue-tied and terrified of speaking and embarrassing him.

A round of applause made everyone look to the center of the floor, and Alexandra and Luke were leaving, heading to the dais where the queen watched the festivities from her throne. An additional throne had been set for Alexandra, and she sat down, Luke moving to stand just over her shoulder.

They looked wonderful, Maylee decided. Romantic and like something out of a fairy tale. She could have watched them all night, and judging by the dreamy expressions of some of the other women in the room, she wasn’t the only one.

Once Alexandra had her skirts settled, she gave a nod at the direction of the band, and the strains of another song began to play. Couples moved out onto the dance floor, and Maylee watched them with shining eyes. She wanted to etch the memory into her mind so she’d never forget it, all these expensive, gorgeous dresses and beautiful women on the arms of dashing, formally dressed men.

A hand extended in front of Maylee. “Shall we?”

She stared down at Griffin’s hand, then looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” he agreed. “Though I must warn you, I have two left feet.”

“That’s okay,” she said happily, and slapped her hand into his. “I’m not much of a dancer, either.”

“Lovely,” he said in a dry voice. “We shall make a terrible pair together, then.”

His acerbic humor only made her laugh.

Her breath fluttered in her throat with excitement, and Maylee let Griffin lead the way as they headed out onto the floor. The song was stately, and everyone around them was clasping hands and moving closer to dance. Oh, how magical.

Griffin’s hands went to her waist, keeping her a modest length from him. Unsure of where to put her own hands, she slid them to his neck.

He gazed at her for a long moment, and she felt her breath catch all over again with the intensity of his stare, even through the square frames of his glasses that normally hid his expressions. His eyes flicked from her face, then down to the necklace at her throat. “I see you haven’t lost them.”

His words confused her. Was that meant playfully? Or did he truly think she’d do her best to lose his jewels? “No. I’ve been very careful.”

“Of course.”

They danced, more of a swaying than any sort of waltzing, which was what she’d imagined. It actually reminded her a bit of a high school prom, and a giggle escaped her throat.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking this reminds me of a school dance.”

A hint of a smile curved his austere mouth. “Oh? In what way?”

She nodded at a couple that moved nearby. “The dresses. The awkwardness. The cool kids and the wannabes.”

“Cool kids and wannabes?” His eyebrow rose. “Which one are you?”

“Oh, definitely a wannabe.”