I was hugging Harthon.
Princeps Harthon.
Who would have ever thought I’d be here?
Definitelynot me.
“People are staring,” I breathed in panic.
“Trust me, they’re too drunk to process what they’re seeing.”
And I was likely too drunk to dance, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He took a step to the left and I went with him, and then we did it again in the other direction.
“Like that,” he encouraged, his hand applying the slightest pressure to my back as we repeated the motion.
It was as if his touch seared through the leather.
“Step back,” he whispered, and he moved into me before guiding us back and then side to side again, rotating our position.
It wasn’t so bad.
My foot landed on his, and I froze. “Sor—”
He cut off my apology with another combination of steps, as if I hadn’t just stomped on his toes. “You’re doing great. Now step out and spin.” He didn’t really allow me a choice, because he tugged my hand over my head, forcing me into a spin that reminded me of this morning’s training.
“It’s not too different from those evasion moves,” I noted before clumsily crushing his foot once more.
He didn’t say anything, just continued to move us to the melody and brought me into another spin. This time, I stumbled as I turned, but he easily caught me back in his arms, saving my fumble.
“Dancing and fighting have a lot in common,” he said.
I thought back to the battle with the looters. “When you fight, it’s like you’re dancing. No wonder you’re good at this.”
“A good fighter balances strength and grace.”
The dancing was becoming easier, my steps more sure as Harthon followed the music like a map and gently guided me with him. I was as light as air as I twirled again, the wine-fueled fuzziness lifting me high.
“You’re beautiful to watch,” I admitted, belatedly realizing that probably wasn’t something I should tell him. But then he smiled down at me a little, and I didn’t regret it anymore. “How did you get so good at fighting?”
“A lot of practice.”
“Starting when you were a child,” I finished for him, voicing mysuspicions without a single hesitation.
Another spin, and then, “Yes, starting when I was a child.”
Woah. He hadn’t told me a detail from his past until now. If not for his sure steps, I’d think the wine was loosening his tongue too.
“Is that good or bad?”
The music slowed slightly, and our pace followed suit.
“I still haven’t decided.”
There was a twinge of regret in his words that threatened my lightness. I didn’t want him to be sad. So I blurted, “Well, I think it’s good, because you wouldn’t be you without it.” Even I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.
“Does that mean you like me?”
“No,” I answered quickly, knowing it was the logical thing to say but not understanding why.
