Her steps were measured and elegant, as though she had no destination at all. Penelope let herself drift through the edges of the crowd, pausing now and then as though admiring the flowers arranged in towering crystal vases, or the musicians poised upon the gallery above, her gaze remained fixed upon him.
Closer, she told herself. Just a little closer.
Prince Lucian had turned now, speaking briefly with a lord near the edge of the floor. Upon noticing his change of position, her eyes brightened.
This was her chance.
Penelope drew in a steadying breath and prepared herself to step forward, pulse racing, thrumming in her ears. Her legs felt weak, yet resolve was stronger, approaching his direction.
Her mind scrambled with practiced words, mentally reciting the things to say, what to do, how to act; shoulder squared, chin up, eyes—only to collide violently with another figure.
