Thorne doesn't say the words back.
There isn't time; another girl cuts in and holds him hostage in her arms. She introduces herself as Luisa. She has a pretty voice and she likes to coo at him.
"We've all been wondering about the handsome stranger who has earned Princess Cress's affections."
Handsome, huh?
Yes, good.
He hopes Luisa represents the general female human population—that she's an authority on handsome men and he can go back to believing he's gorgeous not just in the sea.
"Thorne?"
Oh, right.
"Affections?" he hedges, even though Cress has just told him she loves him. He really has no idea who he's dancing with, and for all he knows, it could be Sybil pretending to be someone named Luisa. Though if it is, she can disguise her voice quite well. This girl also seems taller. "The princess is merely offering me her hospitality. I cannot thank her enough."
"Oh, I'm sure you can't." Her laughter rings in his ear as a finger trails up his chest, lands lightly on his neck. "Yes, you seem like the giving type. Not only handsome, but heroic."
"Looks can be deceiving."
"Tell me about yourself," she says, simpering.
He quickens his pace, knowing he's off tempo by a lot, but he finds he doesn't want to tell her anything about himself, and for once, he doesn't want to waste his time making up lines for someone to believe. But Luisa is having none of it.
"I wish I had a mysterious stranger to rescue me from a shipwreck."
"We do come in handy."
"If you ever have time off from your duties to the princess…" She trails off and her finger moves up his neck to settle on the curve below his ear. He spins her away before anything else can come of that and hopes Cress isn't watching them. He usually doesn't turn anyone down when they flirt with him—has a penchant to flirt back—but he doesn't have an ounce of interest in making Luisa believe he might reciprocate. He glances around blindly, hoping Cress will see him and come back.
Luisa's hand gently caresses the nape of his neck, digs into his hair. A sigh escapes his lips involuntarily.
"You like that, don't you?" she coos.
He does, but—no, no, no.
"Maybe the hero needs someone to take care of him for a change."
He squirms away. "I should get back to Cress. I mean, the princess. Her Highness."
"Her Highness is indisposed at the moment."
That's not Luisa's voice. It's—
"Lady Sybil," Thorne says, wrenching his hand free from Luisa.
Another hand takes its place, and Cress's guardian cuts in, demanding several dances with him in which she crushes his toes with her shoes far too many times. At least with Sybil there's no need to talk and no flirting whatsoever. He tries conversation in the beginning, but it's clear she only means to keep him from Cress.
As they dance, Thorne grows increasingly unsure if everyone else is dancing or watching them, but if it's a show they want, then he will give them one. A lifetime of subjects watching him has prepared him well. He twirls Sybil faster to the tempo, suppressing his cringe with a bravado smile when her fingernails dig into his shoulder blade and she grips his hand with the pressure of an eel.
At least he has time to think.
He was going to tell Cress he loved her back.
Wasn't he?
But what even is love? Is it this strange thing he and Cress have, or is it the strange thing his father had with his mother while she was alive? They were never happy, even if their public declarations were peppered with I love you's. Is it what Cinder and Prince Kai will have if they are forced to marry? He's never had to think about it before. Mermaids have always thrown themselves at him and all he's needed are a few practiced lines and they turn to wilting seaweed before him. He's never thought about the words but he's said them many, many times.
Maybe he shouldn't say them to Cress after all.
He has the answer to half his question: Cress does like him. She loves him. His hesitancies should go away, because that's what he's been wondering this whole time. So why aren't they? Is it because he still doesn't know why Cress doesn't want people knowing her love in public? Or is it really him, not her, who hesitates? He is free with his hands and kisses but not yet with his heart or declarations.
A sudden breath on his ear, and Thorne jerks his head.
"I know who you are."
He fumbles a step.
"My lady?"
"I saw you."
He grasps for words, his mind spinning with what she could mean—what he hopes she doesn't mean. The music is loud, and he's growing tired. When the spin comes, he pushes her away, pulls her back again. Hopes Cress will finally cut in again.
"I'm sorry to say, my lady, that I cannot return the sentiment. I have heard of your beauty, however, from Her Highness."
"That's not what I mean."
"No?"
He sways them, revulsion mixing with a strange emotion: fear. Not the kind that he had in the sea, where it's for his life. No, this is a fear that slips down his spine and curdles his toes. Because he knows exactly what she means.
"In the sea," she whispers. "You think I didn't see you with Cress? You're nothing but a fish my chefs could spear for dinner."
"With all due respect, that's rather unkind, my lady. I know my injuries from the shipwreck have mangled my eyes, but a comparison to a fish is hardly necessary."
Her nails claw back into his shoulder blade and he can't stop his wince this time.
"You saved her. I don't know how you're here, but I promise you, I will find out. If you interfere with my plans again, rest assured you will not find yourself in a comfortable guest room in the palace. The cold floor of a dungeon will seem like luxury after I'm through with you." Her nails are so sharp he wonders if she'll puncture the material separating her hand from his skin. He feels her shift and soon her lips graze his ear. "Stay away from Cress, merman."
Just as quickly, she's backing away and her dulcet tone is back. "Your Highness, would you like to cut back in? My feet grow weary with such an excellent dancer." She half-snickers, as if Thorne's dancing is actually terrible and she means to tell everyone so.
Cress is thrust in his arms, but he can barely hang on.
Sybil saw him.
Which means she's more dangerous than he thought.
"Thorne? Are you okay?"
He shakes his head, tries to focus on Cress again. "Rather tired myself. Can we take this somewhere more private?" The laughter that follows his question—and not from Cress—makes him clear his throat. They have an audience. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I meant only to extricate myself from the dance floor. Perhaps a balcony of some sort, for fresh air?"
Cress mumbles something, clearly embarrassed, but she takes his hand and drags him across the floor. He doesn't bump into anyone, though, and he's pleased that at least her subjects respect their princess, even if Sybil doesn't. When the night air hits his cheeks, he's reminded of breaking through the surface, reaching Above, and the way the wind always cools his skin.
"You're sweating," Cress says.
He grins. "It's a good look, being covered in water."
"Sweat isn't water." Her tone is detached. "Up here it's smelly."
His grin falters. "Do I smell?"
"No, I…" She trails off, then lets out a breath that's ripe with frustration. "You can't say things like that to me in public, Thorne."
"Things like what?"
"That you want to go somewhere private with me."
"I corrected that. Apologized, even."
"You still need to be careful."
He lets go of her hand. Grips the railing and lets his weight sag against it, wondering how far down he would go if he bent too far and slipped. If he's as high as a ship and he could just tumble back into the water—to his home.
"Are you ashamed of me, Cress?"
A sharp intake of breath. "Of course not. I told you I loved you."
He tiptoes around the topic carefully. "Shouldn't those declarations be accompanied by outward affections?"
"There are expectations, rules of etiquette. This isn't the middle of the sea. What we do alone…can't always be the same when we have an audience. I'm a princess, Thorne. You wouldn't understand."
Ah, but he would, and he doesn't know why he can't bring himself to tell her that he's royalty as well. He reaches for the pendant on his neck, but it's hidden under his suffocating bowtie. Now that Sybil knows his secrets, he has to tread more carefully.
"I'm sorry, princess," he says anyway, searching for her tiny hand. But he remembers himself and places it back on the railing. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"Oh, Thorne…" Her voice softens. "You don't. You make me so happy."
"I do?"
He's fishing for compliments now, but there's a part of him that really needs to hear it.
"Like tonight. You're in a strange land, turned into"—her voice lowers to a whisper—"a human, and you can't even see what's happening. But you still came tonight to be with me, to this ridiculous ball that turned into a party for the entire kingdom."
"But you love balls."
"I do, but I also hate the spotlight. And I like wearing dresses, but I don't like the way everyone watches me in them."
"I revel in the spotlight."
"Lucky you." She moves closer, her side touching his. He imagines their bodies pressed together like this block the view of the way her hand falls gingerly over his on the railing, intertwining their fingers. "I was so happy to share the spotlight tonight with you. I'm glad I didn't have to do it alone. I couldn't have asked for a better companion."
"When you say companion, do you mean those rooms—"
She elbows him, and he laughs. He mulls over her words, though. Cinder doesn't like the spotlight either, but after all these years it doesn't really bother her. It grows tedious for him, especially with his father always watching him, but he can't deny he enjoys people talking about him. He wants people to think he's great, just like he wants Cress to think he's great. Only this is different, and there's something unsettling about that.
"I'm glad I could be here to help your nerves," he says, the stroke of his thumb against her finger gentle and calming.
"Thanks for dancing with Sybil too."
"You are both wonderful dancers."
She giggles. "Sybil seems to like you."
"I beg to differ."
She shoves him playfully, and he's glad they're holding the railing. A strange vertigo sets in.
"She never dances with anyone. I'm glad she wants to get to know you."
"Cress, about Sybil—"
"I know you're still worried about what she did to me, but let's not talk about her tonight. I just want to stay out here with you all night and watch the stars."
He nods. "Let's do that then."
He's not entirely sure what to do about Sybil anyway. Maybe it is better to let it be, let him think about how to tackle that.
"I can't. I'm expected inside. And I'm expected to dance with other suitors."
"Oh." He considered this before coming to the ball tonight, wondered if Cress would want to dance with him at all. "Do they vie for your affections?"
She's silent. "I suppose if they do, it's one-sided."
"You mean, you desire—"
Her hand tightens against his. "I desire only you."
His heart beats loudly in his ears. "And I you."
"I wish I could dance only with you."
He thinks of Luisa and her comments. "You don't think your subjects already know of your feelings? We have spent every day together, even if our displays of affection have been limited."
"For now, it needs to remain secret."
Sybil warned him to stay away from Cress anyway.
"Are we alone now?" he asks.
A beat. "No one can hear us, if that's what you mean."
He whispers, "If it's a secret romance you desire, princess, then I am more than happy to oblige."
She giggles again—nervously this time. "Only until we've gotten to know each other the appropriate time."
"So long as you're not having secret romances with those other suitors."
"Oh, Thorne…of course not. I would never do that."
That's all he needs to hear for now, so he pulls away and bows deeply. "I shall take my leave to allow you some time to dance with other suitors, then."
"They're only obligations."
"I understand." And he does, even if he hates it. But jealousy has never been his thing, and now that he knows Cress is actually his, he can settle for princely manners where appropriate. This is one such time. The only good thing is that he can't see the other suitors. He will imagine Cress unhappy in their arms, cringing the way he did when he danced with Sybil.
When Cress leaves him, he realizes that he still hasn't said anything about love to her, only romance, and maybe it's better that way. Still, there's something inside him that wants those words to fall from his lips, but if he has to pretend himself indifferent when they're not alone, maybe it's for the better. He'll keep his words to himself until he knows what to do with them, what exactly they mean.
Besides, when Cress sneaks into his room that night, she's not interested in talking anyway.