Franco laughs, and the wisps break away to swirl overhead. He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer.
“This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done,” I growl at him. “I’d have preferred to humiliate myself over a quadrille.”
“How is this not better? This way, no one knows if we’re doing it wrong. Besides, look around.”
“I can’t.”
“Just do it.”
With a gulp, I glance around at the crowd…but I can’t see them. All I can see is the bright circle illuminated by the shaft of moonlight. It’s like all that exists is us. And the music.
The wisps circle above us, releasing excited whoops and chortles.
“You’re doing great, Em.” Franco lifts his arms. With a crooked grin, he shakes his hips in a way that would be entirely inappropriate for a human dance.
Laughter bursts from my lips, and I find myself moving more in sync with the music. The drums seem to grow louder, heavier, the fiddle faster and lighter. Soon my hips begin to sway, my arms begin to swing. I tap my feet and Franco taps his, and we begin to weave our dance together.
Franco takes one of my hands and guides me into a slow twirl. He swings me away and back in, away and back in. On the third time, his spin is more of a fold, and he tucks me in close until my back is pressed to his chest. He keeps hold of my hand, while the other comes to my waist. I glance over my shoulder at him and find his smile beaming down at me. With the moon glinting off the silver of his hair, he looks more beautiful than ever. More than that, he looks happier. Freer. The smile tugging my lips makes me wonder if I look the same, and for once I don’t care that I’m glamoured. Whatever joy I feel in this moment is surely reflected in ways that have little to do with physical appearance. It’s in my hips, my arms, my toes. It’s in my eyes as they lock on Franco’s.
He swings me out again and when he pulls me back in, he releases my hand to grasp my waist and lifts me off my feet. He spins me in a full circle before setting me back down, then brings me in close to his chest. It feels natural to place my hands behind his neck, so I do, and his come to my lower back. We continue to step and sway, somehow able to communicate our intended moves without words. Our eyes rarely leave each other’s, and every time he turns me for a spin, I come right back to where I like it best, our chests touching, my hands at the nape of his neck.
Blue light surrounds us as hundreds of wisps join in and play off the song, enhancing our moves with their own as they form pulsing patterns around the shaft of moonlight. If I wasn’t so focused on dancing, I’d be amazed by the dazzling beauty the wisps are creating.
Gasps emit from the crowd, but I try not to focus on them. I focus only on Franco, on the music, the beat of my heart, and the sound of his. Or is it the feel? With his chest so close to mine, I can’t tell where my heartbeat ends and his begins.
Too soon, I feel the music begin to slow and we match the pace beat for beat. He turns me again, and I feel as if I’m floating through air. Then he pulls me close, closer than he’s pulled me before. This time, his hand comes to the back of my head. I angle my face toward his, our breath mingling, his lips just inches from mine. Then he shifts me to the side in a strange sideways dip. There he holds me suspended as the music comes to an end. Applause erupts around us, but he doesn’t lift me, not right away. The wisps hold their final pattern as well, hovering in place to form a spiraling column. We remain in limbo, unwilling to face the world outside our moonlight.
But it can’t last forever.
And it doesn’t.
A new song strikes up from the band, one with far less chaos, less spontaneity. The tune is familiar and human and so muted compared to the wild drums we left behind. The wisps chortle and break away, squealing with mirth as they return to fly about the dome.
Franco lifts me back to standing and we exchange the appropriate curtsy and bow. Then, like waking from a dream, we step out of the moonlight and face the crowd.
40
EMBER
Iblink several times to clear my vision and adjust to the dimmer light. Several faces look at us with scandalized expressions, but others have tear-glazed eyes and slack jaws, as if they’re awed or speechless. I catch a flicker of movement—a hand lifted in a wave—and find that Clara is one of these awestruck spectators. My heart lurches at those who flank her. Imogen and Mrs. Coleman.
I sway on my feet, my pulse quickening beneath their hard gazes. Panic has me glancing down to ensure I’m still wearing my glamoured shoes. In the wake of the dance, I feel as if I bared my soul, stood naked for all to see. I’m relieved to find my shoes and glamour intact.
When the applause quiets down, Franco speaks. “Thank you for sharing that with me. This is how we dance at a full moon revel and our dances tend to last until sunrise. However, this is not a revel, but the Full Moon Frolic, and now I turn the night over to you, my respected guests. Please enjoy the ball.”
The music changes again, starting another familiar tune, this one slightly louder than the one played during the brief transition. Franco takes my hand, and we exit the ring of opal trees, while human couples take our place to dance the first cotillion of the night.
I place my hand at his arm, in a daze as we weave around the perimeter of the dance floor amongst the chatting guests. Franco stops to greet them every so often, exchanging pleasantries the way he did after our argument at the lake. Any questions directed at me get only short and automatic answers, as I feel most of my mind still lingers on the dance floor.
It was like a dream.
No, itwasa dream.
My first and only dance with the prince.
“Are you all right?” Franco asks once we’ve made a full round of the room. “I’m not able to pick up on your energy as well when we’re so tightly packed amongst strangers, but you seem…upset, perhaps.”
“It’s nothing,” I say. When he gives me a pointed look, I add, “I promise. It’s just that…I really enjoyed that dance. I’ve never done anything like that before. It has me feeling…ungrounded, I suppose.”
