Gyla walked on her father’s arm into the large ballroom. An orange glow cast shadows across the walls, giving life to ladies’ silhouettes as they twirled their skirts and flirted with the lords of the kingdom. Tonight would be her night to twirl among the gentleman and see whose eye she could catch. 

Her 21st name day quickly approached and if her next came and went without much of an offer, the courts would begin to whisper. Many fine young ladies betrothed before their 16th, a common time for a girl to become a woman. They would not actually marry until many years after, once their education deemed complete by their mothers and their fiancé had a stable home and land to provide for her. 

Gyla’s father had formed no such an alliance. Her 16th came and went like the seasons. His wealth and good relations with the king would afford him plenty of bachelors eager to be called son-in-law. Yet, he allowed Gyla to humor their advances until she had more than enough and sent them on their way. 

Baron Rooke sought to please his daughter with such broad control. A wild thing she had been and a wild thing she remains with all the manners blessed to noble women.

Gyla only had one man on her mind tonight. She spotted him along the far wall, speaking quietly with another finely dressed gentleman. 

“That one, Daddy.” Her eyes locked onto his tall form, slender muscle hidden under the smoke and vanilla finery of his dukedom. 

“We’re not here to pick horses, my wild nova,” her father chuckled and shook his head, the beads in his hair clinking as he did. 

Gyla opened her mouth to retort that she wanted to ride him like one but snapped it shut as they reached the end of the winding staircase and joined the others on the dancefloor. That would be talk for her and her ladies later tonight. 

“You are too much like your mother.” Her father shot her a disapproving look as if he read her mind. 

“Introduce me to him.” Because like her mother, when Gyla saw something she wanted, she would do her best to get it. 

Her mother practically hunted her father in their courtship. 

“Your Grace!” Baron Rooke bellowed as they approached Gyla’s current object of affection. The gentleman beside the duke bowed before vanishing into the crowds. 

They bowed politely to one another, Gyla flowing into a deep curtsey. Her hair for the evening let loose and some of the wine-dipped strands fell over her shoulder. Like her father’s hair, her locks weaved through fine, gold beads that shined in the candlelight. 

“My lord Rooke, my lady.” Duke Dominis swallowed nervously. 

“Allow me to introduce my daughter, Gyla.” Baron Rooke released her so that she may offer her hand to the duke and curtsey again as he kissed her bare knuckles. 

She wore only a few modest rings, mostly gold mined from her father’s lands.

“A pleasure.” He glanced between them, unsure of what else to say. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.” Gyla offered a sweet smile, trying to tone her excitement back lest she come on too strong. “I understand that Hermilants is a very beautiful place during the summer.”

“It is, my lady. It’s the north so the chill is present but Bellesea is no doubt colder,” he answered swiftly. 

“No doubt,” she agreed with him and did her best to discretely elbow her father away. “The forests are plentiful and perfect for riding. Do you enjoy riding, Your Grace?”

Her father coughed loudly, catching both their attention. 

“I shall leave you to discuss. I see another wishing to speak to me.” Baron Rooke left them alone. 

The duke opened his mouth as if to refute the idea but glanced down at Gyla’s hopeful, green eyes and instead, returned to their discussion. 

“I do enjoy riding through the forests and down the shore where it is allowed. Do the mountains make very good terrain, my lady?” 

“The terrain is not forgiving but it has never stopped me before.” Her words forced a chuckle out of him. “Tell me, you are also a count of…?”

“Lindsor Patch.”

“Ah, yes! My uncle used to do quite a bit of traveling before he passed,” Gyla lifted the simple gold chain from her neck and flashed the smooth turquoise in the candlelight, “and he brought this back to me on my seventh name day.” 

Dominis tilted his head to the side to admire the gem. He refused to lean too close for a look lest he is accused of being scandalous. Her neckline danced just under her collarbone and teased her cleavage for the lords of the night. 

“A fine piece. No doubt from the reef,” he nodded in approval. 

“Turquoise is one of my family’s colors so it fitted quite well.” She absently swished her skirt with one hand, letting the cloth glimmer in the light. 

Her dress for the evening was of a nuder than gold color, the folds decorated with turquoise silk and small crystals to catch the light. An orange sash covered one of her bare shoulders and knotted at her waist. 

“A fine fit for your house. I am happy the reef is able to provide an accolade to your family name. No doubt the mountains and mines prove a difficult task for your father.” He, finally, offered his arm to her. “With the dangers, I mean.” 

“Oh yes, there have been many precarious moments.” Gyla clutched his arm with the lightest touch. “You have steep cliffs along the coast, we have similar cliffs in our mountains.” 

“No doubt,” he said again and lead them in a circuit of the room. 

The music would be starting soon. A wonderful opportunity to speak more with him, but other suitors would flock to her side after some time and she would be forced to humor them. 

They walked their circuit leisurely, talking of their lands dried the conversation to nill. Gyla became nervous under the oppressive silence and nearly opened her mouth to ask after her first impression of him. 

She’d been riding with her guards outside the western gate when a merchant’s cart ran wild. The small crowd there gasped and shouted in surprise. 

The duke on her arm had dashed from the crowd with amazing speed to grab the cart. It must have been heavy as it slammed into him. He merely shook himself and pushed it with the help of a few others back to where the merchant waited. An elderly gentleman, whose grandson helped the duke wheel the cart back to the gate. 

His noble finery soiled completely through from the night’s rains. The merchant waved a hand, concern pitching his voice as he apologized for the mess and asked after his injuries. The duke kindly smiled, a small thing to keep from stretching the tremendous burn scar on his cheek. Still, the merchant’s eyes caught on the way it pulled and he stammered in the duke’s shadow. 

As quickly as he appeared from the crowds, the duke returned to his guards and disappeared into the city. 

Duke Dominis pulled her from her thoughts as he stopped them to stare down at her. His brows furrowed and his lips turned downward, his scars tautening as he did. The light made the burn along his right cheek shine. She wondered what it would feel like under her fingertips. The ridges and dips carved into his flesh in such a horrid way. Another scar ran from his hairline across his nose and down to the right side of his jaw. It cut through the burn mark and left an indent on his cheek. His high collar hid his neck from her view, most likely more scars underneath. 

Gyla swirled her skirts as her eyes noted every other feature of him. The deep sea irises, the midnight hair cut short and tidy, the well-fitted clothes of his house that fitted his muscles so right yet offered no embellishment of his titles. She kept her eyes above his shoulders though. No need to ogle so far south this close to him. 

Musicians began to start up on their raised platforms and gentlemen turned to nearby ladies and offered a hand. 

“Would you like to be my first dance of the night?” The duke broke their odd little bubble and offered her a hand. 

Gyla would be a fool to refuse. 

However, after their first dance, Gyla got swept into counts and viscounts. Another duke’s second son managed to garner two dances with her before her father intervened. 

She began to think this was the duke’s plan to rid of her. Swirl her in front of the others and duck into a dark alcove to be rid of her ogling. 

“An old man needs at least one dance with his daughter,” the Baron smiled at the young lord and swept his daughter back onto the floor. “Why do you frown at me so? Did you not want me to interrupt?”

“Have you seen Duke Dominis?”

“Not since your first dance. Did he not meet your tastes after all?” Her father frowned at her and squeezed her hand comfortingly. 

“I would have liked to dance with him more,” she pouted. 

“So much like your mother, my wild nova. You must have scared the poor man off.” The baron only teased her. “I am sure he must be off discussing business.” 

“I supposed I’ve lost my chance.”

“The duke is shy because of his scars. I am sure he is flabbergasted you picked him out. Did you not enjoy any of your other dancers?” Her father spun her with the crowd, letting her skirt fly in a flurry before bringing her back. 

“Only you.” As the dance came to an end, she kissed his scratchy cheek. 

“I will endeavor to arrange a second meeting since he has captured your attention so.” The baron led her off the floor, refuting another hopeful young man.