In a moment of derangement I ask her to dance. Why? I don’t like dancing. I don’t even like her... but it would be disreputable if we did not share at least one dance this evening. We are engaged after all.

I lead Saoirse to the center of the ballroom, garnishing the attention of several guests. It is at this point that I realize I don’t even know the steps to the sharp instrumental, and not only because I skipped most of my dancing lessons as a boy. The movement of the couples on the floor is chaotic and varied, without any line or direction. Each moves with purpose spinning abruptly and then stopping just as suddenly, but no two follow the same pattern. In addition their positions are… intimate. I can’t help but gawk at a couple as the man pulls the lady chest to chest and she loops her leg around his, exposing her calf, before dropping it just as quickly.

“It’s called tango,” Saoirse supplies, noticing my hesitation. “I can show you the basic steps if you would like.” I am not sure at all if I want to learn so I don’t answer. “Or we can foxtrot. The rhythms should be similar ,” she offers.

I grimace. “It will make no difference either way. I am a poor dancer.”

“Ah, I see,” she sighs.

A slight twinge in my chest annoys me. “Could you teach me?”

The twinge fades as she smiles brightly at me. “I would love to,” she purrs. She guides my right hand to hold her shoulder blade and takes my left in her opposite. “In tango, the man keeps the couple’s upper bodies in a closed frame while leading primarily with the hips,” she pulls me closer with a tight tug, until her hips are slotted against mine. I curl in on myself, uncomfortable with our proximity, but she simply grips me harder, shoving me back into a straight position. “Keep your arms high and firm, while relaxing your shoulders and neck,” she instructs. I flush, but still obey as I allow our lower halves to reunite.

“Very good,” she hums. “Now, I’m going to teach the basic step.”

I nod, shoving down my discomfort of being watched by the fellow party-goers while simultaneously giving her permission to continue.

“Step forward with your left foot first, pushing through your back foot. Yes, like that. Then your right. Once more with your left, then to the side with your right and close,” she goes on slowly, pulling me along and pointing to where I should step. I try a few more times as she counts “slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,” before I am startled by her pulling us even tighter together. I didn’t notice we had drifted apart as she talked, until we are face to face, unbearably close.

“I think you’ve got the basic step,” she compliments without giving me any space. The scent of spiced wine falls from her lips, tickling my chin. “But you need to guide my body completely with just your hips." Then she throws her head to the side, arching her neck and back slightly. I almost drop her in surprise as she leans into my hand gently resting on her shoulder blade, and I tighten my frame immediately to support her. She grins without looking at me, her head still tilted and back.

She waits like that, our hips close together, but our torso’s stretched apart. Expectant. I flush, realizing she wants me to make the first move. Pushing through my hips and powering with my legs as she taught, I step forwards and she follows.

She stays perfectly poised, perfectly steady, and I mimic as well as I can, straight backed and purposeful. A little thrill surges through me as this firm, strong woman obeys the command of my hips, responding to my every movement instantly, effortless. I guide us from the basic step into a modified foxtrot side step I notice a few of the other couples implementing.

“You’re a natural,” she grins.

I can only grunt in response, too focused on not running into the other dancers. We continue as the music morphs into a new tune, even as other couples exit the floor to switch partners. Saoirse teaches me a few more steps, including a simple spin, and I can’t help but feel a little proud whenever she tells me I did something correctly.

Perhaps I did not give dancing enough credit when I was younger, or maybe I simply did not have the right teacher. There is something about the control--the order to it which pleases me. I don’t notice as the song transitions into another, as the moments slip by, or as the crowd thins. I am hypnotized by the synchrony of our bodies as the princess continuously counts, her memorizing lips mouthing, “slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,” over and over again until I feel as if my heart is beating in time. We take turns, teaching--learning, following--leading, each step sequence becoming more and more complex until at last I find her dipped over my knee, staring straight into my eyes with a blissed out gleam in her own.

A throat clearing followed by a musical, “Your Highness,” breaks whatever spell I was under. We both look up to see the petite advisor grinning down at us. The princess’ eyes clear, but her smile grows warmer when she sees him. “I apologize for interrupting, but your guests are leaving, and your presence is required to bid them farewell,” he explains.

I grunt as I hull Saoirse back into a standing position, releasing her completely and taking several steps back.

“Already?” she asks, a little breathless. “But I was hoping to dance with you next, Gil.”

He laughs at her and, if I’m not mistaken, blushes slightly. The soft pink hue against his mahogany skin makes his features look even softer, more delicate. “I’m afraid that may have to wait until next time, Sersh,” he refuses.

“Nonsense! What is the point of being Crown Princess if I cannot make people wait on my whims every once in a while?” Then she grabs his wrist, pulling him back onto the thinned-out floor. “Just one dance! To show Prince Fionn what he must aspire to,” she says with a wink to me.

My heart stumbles. Bitch.

I trudge back to the edge of the dance floor as the pair takes their stances, barely able to contain their giggling. Complete children. Rude. Disrespectful making the guests wait. Spoiled. Head-strong. Selfish. Beautiful.

Their dancing is… beautiful. Watching the couple, I suddenly realize the pride I felt in leading Saoirse through what I believed were advanced steps was wholly unwarranted. They don’t step, they glide. As one unit, they fit together so perfectly, two golden humans welded together at the hips. Each movement is precise, exact, and I can spot no delay between Gilroy’s pushes and Saoirse responses. They spin and twirl around one another at lightning speed, their dark curls whipping back and forth with each change of direction, their bright smiles never fading.

Unlike the tense, stiff frame we held, they break frame frequently to run their hands over one another, like liquid flowing over a smooth surface. I see now why Saoirse was so insistent I not use my arms to lead as they relax them to their sides and continue dancing with only their feet, Gilroy guiding her with just the connection at their hips. She turns, him giving chase, catching her wrist, and spinning her into him.

My throat clutches as I see him suddenly pull her closer, breaking their perfect synchrony and startling a laugh from the princess that carries over the din of dying conversations and the gentle hum of tired musicians. She leans into him, her lips moving around her smile and then he is throwing his head back, bellowing in response. I don’t know why my mind flashes to the final scene of Aonghas’ Journey, why I think of the two childhood friends kissing in that moment, why my chest squeezes at the thought.

“You know,” a wheezened voice from beside me causes me to jump. I am even more shocked to see the King standing not two feet away with his hands clasped behind his back. “I probably shouldn’t say this,” he continues, “but they really love each other.”

My heart stops at his words, my mind utterly blank.

“They think I don’t know, but I know,” he sighs. “Looking at them now, it’s plain as day. Don’t you think?”

I nod mutely, completely unsure what the King expects me to do with this information. But I don’t need to wonder for very long, because he is not finished.

“Gilroy is like a second son to me, and he saved Saoirse’s life after her brother died.” His expression becomes hard and focused, unlike anything I’ve seen out of the jovial old King so far as he locks eyes with me. “If you hurt either one of them, I will end you, marriage contract be damned. I only tell you this, because I’m sure you will figure it out eventually, and I don’t want you trying any funny business when you do. Do you understand me, son?”

I swallow, utterly alarmed by the King’s threat. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I manage.

“Good man, good man,” he nods, patting my shoulder. “Now, go collect your bride before the entire Royal Court begins gossiping.”

“Right,” I bow, withdrawing to chase down the pair who have returned to circling the wide ballroom.