Hidden Mysteries

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

 

 

            “Come dance with me.” He spoke properly with a voice the kind of voice a leader should have. It was calm and undaunted; soothing. The man was a good five inches taller than Anya and his brown hair was attractively sticking out all over his head, as if he had only gotten out of bed moments ago. He looked at her with his light green eyes that were speckled with dark blue, waiting for an answer.

            “I... I, um...” Anya bit her lip. It could all be a trap. So far, none of Kavoc's men had been this attractive, but catching her off guard could be his plan. “Who are you?”

            “Andrew Whitman.” He answered with a smile and no hesitation, confidence coloring his tone. The name struck a familiar chord with her, but she could not place it. Before she could ask about it, though, Andrew had pulled her onto the dance floor and began dancing with her.

            Anya cautiously placed her free hand on his shoulder. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Whitman.” 

            “Anya, I know it is you.” The girl froze, looking up at the man with a startled expression. She knew it; it had been a trap. “No, do not be scared or you will create a scene.”

            “Tell me, is Kavoc here?” Anya asked, narrowing her eyes.  

            Andrew looked confused now. “What? Anya, it is me. Andrew Whitman? Remember, we use to spend the summers together in the country.”

            “Wait... Andy? The boy who dumped ink in my tea once?” Andrew was the son of Merle Whitman, the Chief of Agriculture in Hallareese. In the summers, Anya's family would spend their time at the Whitman estates. Andrew and Anya had become fast friends. Maybe it had been because the Whitman's were not at all like other members of the Royal Court.

            Anya stared up at him, visualizing the little boy from her childhood. In her mind's eye, he became shorter, his hair a little darker and longer, but his eyes still the same. The grin on his face as he stood in front of her matched the grin that he wore as a kid. There was no denying it, this was Andrew Whitman.

            “I see Little Anya has finally caught up.” The man in question teased.

            Anya nodded, a smile forming on her face. “Andrew, how did you know?”

            “Well, when they never found your body, I could not help but hope to find you. I could never forget the girl who was so different than all the others.” Andrew let go of Anya's hand and reached up to tuck one of her tendrils behind her ear, his hand shaking the entire time.

            Their moment was interrupted, hindering her from replying. “Anya, is this man bothering you?” Anya did not know when Mason had appeared beside them nor did she want to.

            Slowly, she pulled apart from Andrew – as the song had ended – and turned to look at Mason. “Not at all, Your Majesty.” Anya smiled pleasantly. “In fact-”

            Andrew had grabbed her hand again. “I remember how you would speak of the prince in the country.” He narrowed his eyes at Mason with a stony glare.

            “And you are?” Mason glanced at Andrew, his own eyes narrowing.

            “Boys,” Anya cut in, letting her hand slip from Andrew's. He gaze shifted to hers, the confusion clear on his face. “Perhaps we had better step off the dance floor before we cause a scene.”