His smile turned sharp. "The kind that ends with someone bent over a balcony while the ball continues below. But let's master the basics first, shall we?"
Heat flooded her face as he spun her into a turn, her skirts flaring around her legs. His hand on her waist guided her back to him, closer than before, and she could smell pine and winter on his skin.
"Better, but you're still thinking too much." He demonstrated another pattern, more complex this time. "Feel the rhythm in your body, not your mind. Like this."
He pulled her flush against him, abandoning proper distance entirely. Her breath caught as he moved them together, her body forced to follow his or risk stumbling. The dance became something liquid, natural, their bodies finding synchronicity that had nothing to do with learned steps.
"See? Your body knows what to do when your mind stops interfering." His voice rumbled through his chest into hers.
"This doesn't feel like a formal court dance." Her voice came out breathier than intended.
"It's not." He spun her out, then back in, catching her with her back to his chest. "This is what happens after the formal dances, in the darker corners where the shadows are kind."
His arms crossed over her, holding her against him as they swayed. She could feel every line of his body, the controlled strength in his movements, the way his breathing had quickened just slightly.
"Show me a proper court dance," she managed, though staying like this was dangerously tempting.
"If you insist." He released her, stepping back to a formal distance that felt like miles. "The Opening Reverence is traditional for the Wild Hunt ball. Partners honor each other, the court, and the hunt itself."
He demonstrated the male bow—elaborate and graceful, one hand over his heart. She attempted to mirror with a curtsey, but her balance wavered.
"No, like this." He moved behind her, hands settling on her hips. "Weight centered, sink straight down, don't lean forward."
His hands guided her down, holding her steady. The position put his mouth near her ear, and she felt more than heard his approval when she managed it correctly.
"Good girl. Now rise slowly, controlled." His hands helped her up, but didn't immediately release her hips. "In the actual dance, this reverence happens three times. Once to your partner, once to the court, once to the hunt master."
"Who's the hunt master?"
"Me, naturally." His thumbs pressed slightly into her hips before he stepped away. "Again, on your own this time."
She practiced the curtsey several more times, each attempt earning either praise or correction. When she finally performed it to his satisfaction, they moved on to the actual dance steps.
"The Reverence dance tells a story," he explained, taking a position opposite her. "The meeting of hunter and prey, the chase, the capture. Partners alternate roles throughout."
"Let me guess who plays which role tomorrow night."
"You might be surprised. In the dance, power shifts constantly." He extended his hand, and she placed hers in it, letting him draw her into motion. "First, I hunt."
The dance began slowly, him advancing while she retreated in prescribed steps. His movements were controlled but predatory, eyes never leaving hers. She found herself genuinely backing away, heart rate climbing even though she knew it was just a dance.
"Good, let your body show the fear. Now, on the musical cue, power shifts."
He spun her, and suddenly she was the one advancing, him giving ground. The dynamic felt strange but thrilling, chasing the Forest King across the ballroom floor even in pantomime.
"Feel the power in it?" He asked as she pursued him through the steps. "This is why trust matters. I must trust you enough to let you hunt me, even in play."
"And I must trust you not to devour me when you catch me?"
"Oh, little thief." He caught her hands, spinning them both so suddenly she was pressed against the wall, his body caging hers. "In the dance, the capture is symbolic. What happens after depends entirely on the partners."
The position was reminiscent of so many others—him crowding her against walls, doors, surfaces. But here in the sunlit ballroom, with the excuse of instruction, it felt different. Charged with anticipation for tomorrow, with the knowledge that they'd perform this for an audience.
"Is this part of the dance?" Her hands were trapped between them, palms flat against his chest.
"The final position, yes. Hunter and prey united, neither victorious, both transformed." His forehead touched hers, the position achingly intimate. "Tomorrow, when we reach this point, the entire court will be watching. Wondering if we'll break position or hold it and what it means that you let me catch you."
"What does it mean?"
