As if I would disobey him.
I lowered my voice and my gaze. “I apologize, Your Highness, I did not intend to disturb you. I needed some fresh air.”
He placed a finger beneath my chin. Another inappropriate touch. My heart turned over as I reflexively steeled myself for a blow. When he lifted my face, however, the corners of his eyes were crinkled with mirth. “Would you believe me if I said I sought the same?”
How curious, to wish to avoid his own birthday party. All the boys and men of my acquaintance would never waste an opportunity to be celebrated.
“Do you dislike crowds, Your Highness?”
He smiled and I smiled back at him. This marriage mart business would have been much easier if he were the one asking me to dance.
“Please, call me Wilfried. Lady . . . ?” “Gretel. You may call me just Gretel.”
He tilted his head. “I am not convinced there is anything ‘just’ about you. Nevertheless, I shall be amenable to your wishes.”
I nodded, too stunned to speak. No one ever gave much thought to my wishes.
“Now, Just Gretel, might I entreat you to venture away from the windows? I am not eager to be seen by anyone—present company excluded, of course.” He moved toward the balcony’s railing before I could reply.
I followed without hesitation, enraptured. We leaned against the cold stone and I welcomed the cooling it provided. I did not dare stand close enough to touch him, but I looked. Away from the torchlight that filtered through from the ballroom, the con- trast in his features was thrown into even greater relief. His pale skin was almost silver beneath the moon, but his eyes and hair were all burnt honey and late summer.
He broke the silence. “To answer your question: Yes, I dislike crowds. I find it difficult to be myself around strangers, much to the chagrin of my mother’s advisers.”
“Perhaps your sense of reserve is a trait gifted from the queen?” I offered. After all, his mother was also once a com- moner, the daughter of a baker, and surely had also found the court overwhelming when she first arrived at the palace.
His grin widened. “I suppose it is, though she forgot to also gift me with her charm, for use on nights like these.”
“I do not think she did, sir,” I blurted. Heat flooded my cheeks. “My apologies, Your Hi—”
He raised a brow.
“I mean, Your Wilfri—that is, just . . . I apologize. Sir.” I stared at my shoes.
“Worry not, I am not so easily offended.” He bent at the waist and brought his mouth close to the shell of my ear, careful not to touch me. “Though perhaps I will endeavor to feign irritation, if it continues to make you blush so prettily.”
This close, he smelled of fresh sugared almonds, just like at Yuletide.