Chapter 82 - The Whisk

ETAN

He had been in a foul mood ever since dinner. It descended on him as soon as the music began and Ayleth had made her way to the dancefloor. But instead of dancing she'd stood there with her Ladies, and Trystan, and some other nobles... having fun.

Now, as he gave in to the torment of being so close, yet so far, and approached her, seeing her humor fade to be replaced by tension was a blade to his heart.

Wonderful.

He was such a joy to be around tonight that even his betrothed dreaded his arrival.

"Evening, Trystan," he said, clicking his heels as he bowed before his friend. Every hair on the right side of his body rose under Ayleth's gaze, though she didn't speak, and he didn't look at her.

"Well met, Etan. How are you tonight?"

"I'm well, I'm well," he said through his teeth, indicating nothing of the sort. "Do share the joke, friend. I have heard your chuckles all evening. I am in need of a decent laugh. Is there a story?"

"I'm afraid not," Trystan said, and seemed genuinely grieved. "Only that we were discussing the rather slim… er… fit of Lord Sherns trousers," he said, his lips tight against another smile.

Ayleth snorted, but when Etan looked at her, her face was blank, and she adopted the high chin and cold gaze she used whenever he was nearby in public.

"And you enjoy these… observations, Your Highness?" he said with the edge in his voice he used to pretend his dislike for her.

"I can always enjoy a good laugh at a Lord's expense, Summit," she replied. "Especially one who… shows off."

Trystan descended into high pitched giggles and while Ayleth didn't, her shoulders did vibrate once with the effort it took her to keep her face straight.

Etan looked between them and suddenly felt… isolated. When he turned back to Ayleth, the fire in his eyes was not entirely faked. "Perhaps you'd enjoy a turn around the floor to share your observations with me?" he said through his teeth, offering his hand.

Ayleth's mouth dropped open. "What are—" she started to say, but Trystan stepped in, all signs of humor gone from his face.

"I think the Princess is weary tonight and does not wish to dance."

"She danced with you," Etan seethed.

"And she is present and capable of speaking for herself," Ayleth cut in, glaring at both of them.

Trystan turned back to her, nodding. But Etan's jaw went tight at the apparent unspoken unity between them.

"I am tired this evening," Ayleth said quietly and Etan's chest went cold. "However, I do appreciate Lord Summit's attempts at presenting peace between our nations. That goal is of greater importance than my personal state. So, yes, Sir, I will accept your offer if it remains. But kindly, do not seethe at me—it is rather tiresome."

Trystan didn't hide his mirth at that, and Etan shot her a look—to which she arched one eyebrow in challenge.

He scanned her from crown to toe—her chin eye and eyes shining, despite the tension in her shoulders, and weariness in her eyes.

She was… magnificent.

Behind them the music faded and the dancers began to return to their places in the crowd. Etan held her eyes for a breath, then bowed over his offered hand. "I will attempt to keep the seething to a minimum," he said dryly.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, laying her hand over his.

He couldn't resist stroking her palm with his middle finger. Her chin raised higher, and her cheeks pinked, but she didn't acknowledge it as he led her to the center of the dancefloor.

When he pulled her into his arms she met his eyes for the few beats that would lead them into the dance and murmured under her breath. "You take a great risk, Etan."

He pulled her into the waltz and she came willingly and finally he could breathe. "Perhaps you would rather dance with Trystan again?"

She blinked. "Dear Lord… are you… jealous?" she breathed.

*****

AYLETH

She was half-delighted, half-angry when Etan looked down at her, his eyes intense and gleaming.

"You are," she whispered as he looked away and the small muscles at the back of his jaw twitched. "Etan, you must know," she murmured through unmoving lips, "that there is no one I would rather be with right now. But precisely because we should not do this, I have been… holding back from others. I am desperately tired. And I miss you, and…"

They turned and he used the shift to meet her eyes again for a moment, his hand squeezing hers. "I miss you, too. Every hour. It has been hell watching you with the others. Tonight is worse than before. I don't know why."

"I do," she said, though she didn't look up at him.

When she didn't continue he frowned at her. "Will you share?"

She shrugged and let her displeasure show on her face for the sake of anyone watching. "The day draws near when we will face… whatever we will face. I am desperate for you, Etan—not just in the ways of… being close. I am desperate that we are not separated by the ill-intent of others. It hit me, today, that we must step with such extreme care in sharing this information with my parents. From the moment they know, we risk…"

"What?" Though he knew.

She looked up at him through her lashes. "I will not let them take you from me."

His strong jaw tightened, and she longed to stroke it, to let her nails catch in the stubble that was beginning to shadow it this late in the day. "I ache for you, Etan," she whispered, "but I also pray. I fear. Do not think me untouched by this. When I think of what could happen—"

"Do not allow yourself to dwell," he said quietly. "Our men will aid us. And I… I believe I will have my father's assistance as well."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "I cannot be sure whether that is a help or not," she said dryly.

His hand on her waist tightened and they swept into another turn. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"Let us think on something else," he said finally, his voice rough. "They told us that fighting together is much like dancing. Perhaps we could fashion our movements after the dance?"

Her mouth twitched like she fought a smile. "Go on."

"Perhaps, though we will not be facing each other, we could use these transitions that we both know so well, and modify them for fighting."

Her eyes widened. "That, sir, is an excellent idea."

"Shall we practice?" he said.

"Yes."

And so, for the rest of song, they took turn calling moves, then stepping into them immediately, discussing quietly how they might be altered for battle.

By the end, Ayleth wished she could smile to him, show him the joy he brought her with his bright eyes and fierce stares, with the strength in which he led them through the dance, with the strength he was strong enough to allow her.

Her heart sang to the pulse of the music, and it was with grief that she curtseyed to him at the end, then took his hand to be returned to Trystan.

Five more days. That was all, she reminded herself. Just five.