He pulled back enough to meet her eyes. "Whatever we want it to mean. That's the power of the dance, it speaks truths we can't voice."
The warmth in her chest pulsed hard, reaching for him, and she saw his eyes darken in response. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, might press her harder against the wall and show her exactly what could happen after symbolic capture.
Instead, he stepped back, releasing her completely. "Again from the beginning. Your footwork during the chase needs work."
She pushed off the wall on unsteady legs, trying to calm her breathing. "How many times will we practice?"
"Until your body knows every step so perfectly you could perform it in your sleep." He moved to the starting position with that fluid grace. "And muscle memory overrides any nervousness. When you can dance with me tomorrow and make everyone in that ballroom wonder why I chose a human, then you’ll be ready."
"Why did you choose a human?" The question came out soft.
He paused in reaching for her hand and Briar watched as he seemed to consider the answer with more care than he did most. "I didn't choose. You were chosen for mebefore either of us drew breath. But tomorrow..." He took her hand, pulled her into position. "Tomorrow I want them to see that fate knew what it was doing."
They danced again, and again, until her feet ached and her legs trembled. But each repetition made the movements more natural, made the push and pull of hunter and prey feel less like performance and more like truth. When he caught her the fifth time, pressing her to the wall with controlled force, she didn't even pretend to struggle.
"Better," he murmured, and she felt the approval like physical warmth. "Much better. But you're favoring your right foot during the turns."
"My feet hurt." She admitted it without thinking, then tensed for mockery.
Instead, he glanced down with a frown. "Of course they do. You've been dancing for hours in day shoes." He stepped back, then did something that made her breath catch—he dropped to one knee, hands reaching for her foot. "May I?"
She nodded, speechless, as the Forest King carefully removed her shoe. His fingers found the sore spots unerringly, rubbing with just enough pressure to ease the ache.
"Can't have you limping tomorrow," he said, focused on his task. "What would people think?"
"That you worked me too hard in preparation?"
"That I didn't take proper care of what's mine." He switched to her other foot, and she had to brace against the wall to stay upright. "Which is unacceptable."
His thumbs pressed into her arch, and she bit back a small sound of pleasure. Everything he did, even this practical care, carried an edge of sensuality that made her skin prickle.
"There." He rose gracefully, still holding her shoe. "Better?"
"Yes." Her voice came out rough. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We're not finished." But his smile had lost its sharp edge. "One more run-through, then we'll call it sufficient."
He let her put her shoes back on, then led her to the center once more. This time when they danced, something had shifted. The movements flowed like water, natural as breathing. When he hunted, she fled with genuine adrenaline. When she hunted, he retreated with calculated grace that made her feel powerful. And when he caught her at the end, pressing her to the wall with inevitable finality, the symbolic capture felt like prophecy.
"Perfect," he breathed against her temple. "Tomorrow, dance exactly like that."
"Like I'm enjoying being caught?"
"Like you chose to be caught." His hands framed her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "Like you ran just far enough to make the capture sweet."
They stood frozen in that position for a long moment, her back to the wall, his hands framing her face, both breathing harder than the dance strictly required. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the ballroom floor.
A knock at the ballroom door broke whatever spell had settled over them. They separated as Thaine entered, and Briar caught the way the huntsman's eyes catalogued their positions, her flushed face, Eliam's protective stance.
"My lord, forgive the interruption, but the dress has arrived for the ball tomorrow."
"The dress?" Eliam's entire demeanor shifted, sharp interest replacing languid satisfaction. "Bring it. I want to see what she chose."
Thaine hesitated, glancing at Briar. "I also needed to speak with you about—"
"Later." Eliam's attention had already turned to the door where servants entered carrying a covered form. "Whatever it is can wait."
Briar watched Thaine's jaw tighten, saw him weigh pushing the issue. But then the dress was being unveiled, and even the huntsman's attention got caught by the reveal.
