Arabella's POV
Before I could protest, Aamon grabbed my hand and dragged me onto the dance floor.
"Aamon—"
"No complaints, milady," he smirked, his hand easily finding my waist as he spun me into the rhythm of the waltz. "You should know by now that resistance is futile."
I scowled. "You're not certain about that."
The music swelled, and before I could say anything else, we were dancing.
Aamon moved effortlessly, his steps smooth, his grip firm but playful.
Unlike the others, he didn't dance like he was trying to show off.
No, Aamon danced like he was enjoying himself.
And that made it worse.
He spun me—once, twice—his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.
"You're actually not terrible at this," he mused. "Did Selene drill some etiquette into you after all?"
I narrowed my eyes at
