Chapter 53: Bring Her To Me
This was the Selection at its most formal.
Lady Seraphine danced first, partnered with Draeven.
She moved gracefully, her burgundy gown swirling around her, her conversation practiced and charming. She spoke of her family’s holdings in the north, of her interest in politics and statecraft, of her hope that she might be worthy of consideration.
Draeven listened with polite courtesy and nothing else.
His golden eyes were distant. His responses were formal and brief.
When the dance ended, he released her hand without a moment’s hesitation and prepared for the next partner.
Seraphine retreated, her hopes dimming.
Lady Vivienne danced next.
She was more direct in her approach, complimenting the king’s bearing, asking him questions about his preferences and interests, trying to find some common ground. But Draeven’s responses remained polite and empty.
There was no spark. No connection.
Just a king going through the motions of duty.
When her dance ended, Vivienne’s expression was resigned. She had known, deep down, that it would end this way.
One less failure to process, she thought.
Other daughters danced with other kings.
Celeste with Kaelen. her nervousness making her stumble, his coldness making him pull away. They moved through the dance like two people made of glass, careful not to shatter, touching without truly connecting.
Lady Portia with Thorne, she was intelligent and engaging, and Thorne actually responded to her conversation with genuine interest. But even so, there was no spark of recognition, no sense that she was anything more than a pleasant companion for one dance.
On and on it went.
Dance after dance, partner after partner, the kings moving through the noble daughters like a key trying to fit into locks that didn’t match its shape.
And with each dance, the realization settled more firmly over the ballroom:
The kings were not interested in any of them.
Whatever they were searching for, these women, for all their beauty and status, did not have it.
The nobility began to whisper.
The servants began to exchange knowing glances.
Even the noble daughters, standing on the sidelines waiting for their turns, began to realize the futility of their efforts.
This was failing.
And everyone could see it.
Throughout all of this, Draeven’s gaze kept drifting back to the shadows at the edge of the ballroom.
To Morgana.
She stood there, holding her wine tray, her expression carefully blank, her eyes fixed on something in the middle distance. She was the picture of a perfect servant...invisible, efficient, unthreatening.
But Draeven could see the tension in her shoulders.
The way her hands gripped the tray just a little too tightly.
The way her eyes, when they moved, seemed to carry storms within them.
***
It was during his dance with Lady Isolde that everything nearly came apart.
Isolde was confident, almost aggressive in her attention. She leaned close as they moved through the dance, her pale blue gown swishing around them.
"I’ve been watching you all month, Your Majesty," she said, her voice low and suggestive. "I’ve noticed which women capture your attention. And I’ve noticed... when you look elsewhere."
Draeven’s jaw tightened. "I’m sure I don’t know what you mean."
"Don’t you?" Isolde’s smile was sharp. "You’ve been very obvious about your interest in that little servant girl. The one I so helpfully had reassigned to the stables."
Draeven’s hands tightened on her waist.
Isolde winced, not from pain, but from recognizing that she’d struck a nerve.
"She’s not suitable," Isolde continued, pressing her advantage. "Believe me, Your Majesty, whatever you think you feel for her is a distraction. She’s a distraction from your real duty, finding a woman who can break the curse, who can give the realm an heir."
"That’s enough," Draeven said coldly, and he spun away from her as soon as the music allowed it.
He left Isolde standing alone on the dance floor.
And he walked directly toward the high table.
Toward Cedric.
"Petyr," Draeven said quietly, to his personal manservant who stood behind him.
Petyr leaned in immediately, his ears attuned to any command from his king.
"Bring her to me," Draeven said, his eyes fixed on Morgana in the shadows.
Petyr’s eyes widened slightly, he understood perfectly whom Draeven meant. But he obeyed without question, bowing and beginning to move away from the high table.
"Your Majesty, a word if I may."
Lord Cedric appeared at Draeven’s elbow, his voice low but urgent.
Draeven turned sharply. "No. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it."
"With respect, Your Majesty, you need to hear it," Cedric said, pulling him slightly away from the other council members, speaking in a voice so low that only Draeven could hear. "I would strongly advise against what you’re about to do."
"Advise all you want," Draeven said coldly. "I didn’t ask for your opinion."
"No, you didn’t. But I’m giving it anyway." Cedric’s gaze was steady, unmoved by the king’s anger. "Your Majesty, she is a servant. Calling her to dance in front of the noble daughters would be seen as a profound insult to every one of them. It would undermine the entire Selection. It would make you look like a fool ruled by passion rather than duty."
Draeven’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond.
"More than that," Cedric continued, his voice becoming even more urgent, "it would place her in danger."
Draeven’s head snapped toward him. "What danger?"
"The noble daughters are already resentful of her," Cedric said. "I’ve heard the whispers. The servants have reported conversations. They suspect that the kings have been... interested in her. If you publicly favor her, if you call her to dance while they watch...they will retaliate. And Your Majesty, we cannot protect her from twenty scorned noblewomen. Not without revealing why she matters."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"Not without confirming every suspicion they already have about her significance."
Draeven stared at him.
He wanted to argue. Wanted to dismiss Cedric’s concerns as political maneuvering. Wanted to do what his instincts screamed at him to do, cross that ballroom, pull Morgana into his arms, and damn the consequences.
But he also knew Cedric was right.