When music begins, I realize there’s to be dancing. A sweet, verdant scent fills the air as servants begin opening the arched doors looking out onto a lush garden painted silver in the moonlight. The king sighs like someone bereft of all hope.
“Will you dance with me?” he asks.
I wipe my fingers with a napkin. “Can you bear it?”
His head whips my way. “What?”
“Dancing with me.” I meet his shocked gaze. “I don’t mean to sound churlish. It’s just that I’m not sure my company is pleasing to you this evening.”
His jaw works. “You misunderstand me, Princess.” Abruptly, he shoots to his feet and holds his hand out. “Please dance with me.”
I consider the hand a second longer than I likely should with everyone watching. In the end, I take it, of course. What else can I do?
Besides, pathetic as it may be, I really do want to dance with him.
The room comes to a standstill once more as he leads me out onto the floor. All eyes are on us.
“Do you happen to knowthe evocation?” he asks.
My lips smile of their own accord. This is one area of my Tirenthian tutelage that was not neglected. “I do, Your Majesty.”
The evocation is one of the dragon kingdom’s oldest dances, a moderately-paced, graceful dance meant to mimic two bodies in flight. I could trace the steps in my sleep.
Yes, I could definitely do that if the king wasn’t slipping his hand around my waist at this very moment, his touch sending a quiver down my side.
The orchestra strikes up the music—a single, long note held like an ascent—and then we begin to move as the melody dips and climbs.
The king’s movements are flawless. Precise. He leads with confidence, guiding me in a tight circle so that others may join, and now that we’ve begun, they do. The hall is soon filled with whirling couples, though they continue to give us a wide berth.
“Where did you learn this dance?” the king asks. He twirls me away from him and draws me back again, my gown flaring around us. “I’ll assume it wasn’t from our minister.”
“You aren’t still angry with him?”
“I am.”
Best to leave that be, then. “My dance instructor. He insisted I know traditional dances from every kingdom on the continent for my presentation ball.”
The tempo picks up, and we’re silent as we perform the more complex footwork of the dance’s midpoint. A step forward, a step back, two to the side and a brush step back again—we whirl and embrace, every motion as fluid as if we’ve danced together for years. I see my own satisfaction reflected in the king’s eyes.
That’s probably to blame for what I say next.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t attend,” I say, glancing up at him. “My ball, that is.”
He doesn’t respond, yet his gaze remains fixed on mine. The song is nearing its end, and I wonder if he’s going to answer at all when he lifts the hand from my waist in signal to the orchestra. The music slows.
“Did you wear this same dress?” he asks, his hand tracing its way around my hip.
We’re barely swaying, and yet I feel as if I can’t breathe. “I did, Your Majesty.”
“You might think it better that I didn’t come then.”
His lips arc into a hungry smile.
“I might have stolen you away on sight.”
Before I can find my voice, he raises his hand again, and the music slows. An arm encircles me, drawing me closer.
“I thought you didn’t care for it,” I breathe as he intertwines his fingers with mine.
