There’s nothing for it.
“I...hold you like this.” He takes her right hand and places his other hand on her upper back.
“Oh...this is quite close. How thrilling.”
Thrilling? Anxiety-inducing might better describe it. But she does feel nice in his arms. Even he can’t deny that.
The thought makes his heart thunder.
“Remember your breathing,” she says softly, and he takes a few slow, deep breaths.
“Thank you,” he says, and she nods.
“Which foot will you step with first?”
“My right one. Just...follow my lead, I guess.”
An excited but determined expression latches on to her face, and he tentatively takes a step forward. She easily matches his movement.
So far, so good.
To his utter shock, she catches on quickly with only a handful of missteps, each soliciting a lilting laugh at her mistakes.
Soon, she makes no mistakes at all.
It took him a lot longer than that to learn how to dance from his dancing instructor many years ago.
As the music hits a crescendo, he tugs her closer on a whim and spins as she leans her head back and laughs.
When the song ends, she smiles up at him. “That was utter perfection. Do we get to do it again?”
“If you want to, but I think the next dance is for Arisanna and Cerian.”
Elowyn’s joy shutters as she searches out her brother in the crowded room.
“What’s wrong?” Rominy asks.
“Cerian will struggle with this. He doesn’t like to be observed when he’s learning new things.”
“I don’t even see them.”
Mother looks panicked as she searches the banquet hall for some sign of Arisanna, but they’re just...gone.
“Cerian,”Arisannahissesasshe chases after him. “We can’t just leave!”
She groans and scoops up her skirt so she won’t trip over it as she jogs behind her elf husband. She almost didn’t notice when he ducked out of the banquet hall, but a sudden, inexplicable acceleration of her heart rate made her search him out as Rominy and Elowyn took to the dancefloor. She spotted the back of his frock coat—or whatever elves call it—slipping through the nearest door.
“Cerian, wait!”
He ducks inside one of their lavish guest chambers, and she’s about to follow when the heavy oak door slams in her face.
That was rude.
Should she follow him anyway? She is his wife now. His heartbinding.
Whether he likes it or not.
They seemed to be getting along well enough as the courses were served, though they didn’t talk much. He muttered something about the extravagance of so much food. She almost told him the leftovers from the banquet would be given to a nearby almshouse, but one of their guests chose that moment to offer her congratulations instead.
