Thistle leaned toward me, her voice sly beneath the din. “Do you like to dance, Quinn?”
A broad smile rounded my cheeks. “I love to dance.” Then the smile faltered. “But I haven’t in…”
“Let me guess,” Vesper purred from below, tail waving lazily. “At least a century.”
A laugh slipped free. “He is right. Saints, it sounds silly when you say it aloud.”
“Sounds lonely,” Thistle murmured as her gaze flicked to Mav.
He cast her a suspicious glance beneath lowered brows. “What?”
Her grin sharpened. “Isn’t it interesting that Quinn loves to dance?”
“Fascinating.” Mav’s expression didn’t shift, though he gritted his teeth.
A thud sounded beneath the table. Mav winced, glaring at her, but she only sipped her ale as if nothing had transpired between them.
After a pause, Mav stood and spoke more forcefully than before, as if dragging the words through mud.“Quinn, would you…like to dance?”
I blinked. “With you?”
“No, with Vesper.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Yes, with me.”
My heart stuttered. “Do you…want to?”
He held my gaze steadily, even as something indecipherable flickered behind his eyes. “Even though I was initially under duress, yes, I want to dance.”
I smiled and nodded too eagerly. “Yes. I would be delighted.”
He offered his hand, and I slid mine into his. His palm was warm and calloused, steady as he guided me toward the cleared space by the hearth where others had already begun to sway and spin. A lively folk tune bounded between bodies and stomping boots.
To my bewilderment, Mav moved as if he had done this before. Confident but unshowy, his hand catching mine, his grip steady as he spun me once. Twice. A laugh tore free from my throat.
“You are quite a gifted dancer,” I said breathlessly.
He shot me a sideways grin. “I’m offended that you sound surprised.”
My eyes widened. “I meant no offense.”
“I’m teasing you, princess.”
“I am not a princess.”
We moved through two more songs, conversation folding into the spaces between the steps, shoulders brushing, hands finding each other more often than they needed to. Something warm unwound inside me, loosening in time with the music.
The melody slowed.
A softer tune wove through the air, tender and low, a ballad brimming with longing. Mav did not ask for another dance. He closed the distance between us, raising our joined hands, and settled the other against my back.
I stilled.
The touch was not overly bold, and yet I felt him everywhere. The heat of his palm, the press of his thumb at the curve of my waist, the space—or lack of it—between us. I lifted my other hand to rest upon his shoulder in a proper dance position. My breath faltered as we began to turn in quiet circles, the edges of the room blurring into nothing. I tightened my hold but did not lift my gaze, a wave of sudden shyness crashing over me.
The song faded into its finishing notes, sighing its final breath. Applause rose around us in a bright swell of clapping and exclamations.
Mav and I stood frozen in time, encircled in each other’s arms.
I looked up.
