Spellbound

Chapter 9

Tyrion hated balls. Especially royal ones. He peeked at the dancers from his place behind a pillar.

There was a point in time when he didn’t mind attending celebrations; he had even enjoyed them. But, he supposed he’d grown out of it long ago. Or—Tyrion shot a glare at the princess wandering through the crowd in her best blue dress—someone had completely ruined his experience, and he simply couldn’t stop dreading it anymore.

“What are you doing?”

Tyrion about jumped out of his skin. He whirled around, ready to use a close circle of businessmen to make himself look busy. But, it was only Prince Billan, and he relaxed.

“Don’t tell me you’re hiding from Pria again.” Billan chuckled. It was an airy sound that reminded Tyrion of a little boy. Billan, at the age of twenty-one, could still pass as seventeen or eighteen. Not only did his dimpled cheeks and soft chin make for a rather youthful look, but Billan had, for some inexplicable reason, kept his black hair loosely hung over his eyes and rarely styled it with oil. Sometimes, Tyrion felt like he was babysitting.

Tyrion coolly leaned against the pillar that he was absolutely not hiding behind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why are you hiding in the shadows like a cat?” Billan swept his hand towards the dance floor. “I invited you to the ball so you’d stop alienating yourself. Don’t you think it’s time you found new friends other than myself?”

“Like hell.” Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “I bet Pria begged you to drag me along. I can’t even mingle with anyone when she constantly ambushes me and demands me to dance with her.”

Billan still smiled, but his eyes glistened with what Tyrion could interpret as sorrow. “Pria doesn’t have long, you know? And neither do I.”

Tyrion knew what Billan meant. It was tradition for the royal children to be betrothed by the time they were twenty. If they didn’t have someone in mind, their parents would make the decision for them. Billan was able to hold off until now under the pretense that he had found someone he was interested in, and even then, it was only because his mother was lenient. Pria, who had just turned nineteen, would soon be engaged to one of the many suitors who requested her hand unless she presented her parents with the one she wanted to marry. Tyrion did not intend to be the one caught in her web.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” Tyrion replied.

“You are aware that if Pria presents you as her choice, you will be engaged. She’s already expressed her interests to her father. He’s given her until the end of the ball to finalize her decision.”

“Shit.” The situation finally weighed down on Tyrion. He had been so focused on hiding from Pria that he’d forgotten what really mattered. If he didn’t figure out a way to make himself unavailable for marriage, he’d be trapped with her forever. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, he supposed, but it wouldn’t be fair for either of them. Tyrion simply couldn’t be the husband Pria wanted, and both their lives would end up being miserable.

“So, what are you going to do?” Tyrion asked Billan.

Billan shrugged. “I suppose I’ll make the most of the ball. I’ll get to know as many girls as possible and see if any of them will be suitable. At least then, I’ll know what she looks like.”

Tyrion squashed the pity Billan’s words evoked. The prince had long since accepted that there was no escaping it, but Tyrion knew Billan wasn’t particularly happy about the arrangement. Still, Billan carried on with a dignity that demanded respect not pity.

Billan shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know…” He kicked at the ground, his head hanging low enough that his hair covered his eyes. “I can’t do anything about my situation or Pria’s. But, I know what it feels like…to be pressured into doing something you don’t want to. That’s why I’ve been pushing you to come to the ball. I…I might know a way you can stop Pria from forcing you to marry her.”

“Really?” Tyrion raised a skeptical brow. Billan wasn’t exactly known for bending the rules or beating the system. “What are you thinking?”

He swiveled his head to make sure no one was listening, then closed the distance between them. They were nearly the same height, and Billan easily leaned into Tyrion’s ear to whisper his plan. With each word that left Billan’s mouth, Tyrion’s eyes widened. By the time Billan finished, Tyrion was sure he’d stretched the skin around his eyes.

“What?” he said, recoiling in shock. “You want me to get engaged with another girl?”

Billan half-smiled. “Not exactly. Make a prior arrangement with her. Let her know that the engagement won’t be real at all, that you’ll only pretend to be engaged until Pria is betrothed. Once you’re free, you can quietly break the engagement, and none will be the wiser.”

“That’s madness!” Tyrion shook his head, still processing what the prince was suggesting. “It’ll be a scandal if anyone finds out. And who in their right mind would agree to it, anyway?”

“That’s why you have to get to know people.” Billan inclined his head towards the dance floor. “Find a sensible girl who’ll understand.”

“No girl would ever agree to this. Do you know how insulting it’ll be to say that I’m only pretending to be interested?”

“Ah…I suppose.” Billan shrugged. “I didn’t think that far.”

Tyrion winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so snappy, especially when Billan was only trying to help. But there was no way his plan could work. Tyrion already didn’t have the best reputation, and any girl who agreed to marry him—whether it was fake or not—would be insane given Pria’s very public declaration that Tyrion was ‘already taken’. It would be social suicide.

“I appreciate the offer, Prince Billan,” Tyrion said. “I really do. But, I don’t think it’ll work.”

Billan stared at his shoes, and Tyrion wished there was a way to lift his spirits. Shrugging again, the prince said, “I understand. Then, perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to find someone you truly want to marry before Pria’s twentieth birthday.”

“Perhaps.” Tyrion doubted it.

“You might as well make the most of the ball. You still have the rest of the week to think over it.” Billan waved a hand and disappeared back into the crowd.

Tyrion kept his eyes in Billan’s direction, mulling over what the prince had said, still in utter disbelief. To think Billan of all people would come up with such a scandalous plan. Where had that come from?

“Boo!”

This time, Tyrion was sure his skin had split open. He stiffly turned around and swore under his breath, realizing that in his shock, he had jumped away from the safety of the pillar. Pria giggled and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Did I scare you?” she sang.

Tyrion mustered his most hostile glare. “What can I do for you, Princess?” he bit out through gritted teeth. Why was she still clinging on to him after he’d been so horrible to her? He didn’t understand. After the first time he made her cry, he thought she would quit, yet here she was, still vying for his attention. Why? Did she have no dignity?

“Ask me to dance.” It wasn’t a request any more than it was a command.

“I’m not going to dance with you, Pria.” Tyrion’s eyes darted for an escape route. He needed to slip away before she dragged him out into the dance floor. Dancing with her in front of all these people would only reinforce the rumor that he was going to be Pria’s betrothed.

“Don’t be so mean.” Pria pulled his arm into the valley between her breasts. Tyrion blinked. When had she gotten so close? “Tyrion.”

“Let go of me.” Tyrion tried to slip away, but the princess only tightened her grip.

“Dance with me. Don’t make a girl beg.”

“Pria. Let go before I do something I regret.”

“Who is that?” Two girls passed by, one pointing at the dance floor. “The girl Etan Cook is dancing with. I’ve never seen her before.”

Tyrion glanced at the dance floor, easily spotting Etan’s shiny brown hair. His partner wore a shimmery green dress and her glossy black hair was loose against her back with only a silver pin holding it back; it took Tyrion a moment to recognize who she was.

“Oh.” Pria’s reproach surprised Tyrion. Hadn’t that girl helped her when Tyrion was on the verge of blowing up? “Pity. We can’t dance with a commoner. Look at her. She looks all flustered. I bet she’s never had someone like Etan ask her to dance before.”

It seemed the girl’s ability to keep up with the dance went unnoticed. That was not a sign of someone who hadn’t attended high-class parties before. Tyrion observed the fluid motion with which she followed Etan through the other couples. Yes. She wasn’t a stranger to balls.

“I know!” Pria pointed to the long tables at the other side of the dance floor. “Let’s go have a bite to eat. Come, my darling. Let me feed you.”

“No.” Tyrion somehow managed to slip his arm from her grip. “I’m done for the night. I’m going to bed.”

“What? Already?” Pria pouted. “But the ball just started!”

“I’ve had enough.” Tyrion’s mood was getting fouler and fouler the longer he talked to Pria. “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Oh, fine.” Pria sighed. “At least tell me, is your mother here? I would love to say hi to my future mother-in-law.”

Tyrion stiffened. This was bad. If his mother found out Pria was going choose Tyrion as her betrothed, he would never be able to get out of it. Thank the heavens his mother hadn’t attended today.

“No, she’s not,” Tyrion said. “Stay away from her, Pria. I’m not going to marry you.”

“So you say.” Pria flapped her hand dismissively. “But you’ll change your mind, I’m certain. Goodnight, then, dear. I’ll be waiting for a dance tomorrow.”

And before Tyrion could escape her clutches, Pria leaned on the tips of her toes and pecked his cheek. Then, with a gleeful giggle, she hurried away. Tyrion’s temper flared.

“Brat,” he hissed under his breath. His eyes drew to the dance floor for a final time, and the sight of the black-haired girl who dared to stick her nose in his business soured his mood even more. A commoner. A commoner dared to humiliate him in front of all those people?

Steaming with rage, Tyrion burned his way towards the exit. His palpable negative energy seemed to have a parting effect on the crowd, and he was grateful that no one else dared to approach him that night.

Billan’s plan echoed in his mind, and Tyrion scoffed. A fake engagement? What a ludicrous idea. Who would ever agree to such a thing? And, regretfully, with Tyrion’s notorious temper, he doubted any girl would ever agree to be his fake fiancée. He would need to figure out another way to slip from Pria’s grasp. A more sensible, full-proof approach. If only he had more time. With his mother coming to the ball in three days, Tyrion needed to come up with something soon.