HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 53

Someone touched her arm, and Lilith gave a little start. The towering figure eclipsing the ballroom from view beamed at her.

"Hey, Lil."

"Iggy," she exhaled, relieved. The distraction almost made her forget the tingling at the side of neck, and the warm breath that had caused it. "Hey."

After pecking her on both cheeks in greeting, Iggy had opened his mouth to say something when the deep, rich sound of tuning instruments, universally recognized as the cue to get ready, filled the air. Glancing cursorily at the people pairing off around them, he looked down and offered his hand.

"Do you have another dance in you?"

"I do, but I'm afraid my arm doesn't." Despite the compensation from her previous partners, Lilith could feel an ache coming on. "Would you mind if we went for a drink first?"

"Of course not. Come—"

But the music had begun.

Instinctively, Lilith cradled her arm, both for support and protection. The latter transpired to be quite unnecessary. Shielding her with his muscular frame, Iggy weaved them quickly and safely through the moving couples.

As they escaped the dance floor roughly demarcated by the oversized compass, Lilith caught the eye of a nearby Avox. In reality, Gus was the understudy to her father's valet, but everyone was happy to pitch in on party nights. He promptly approached and presented them with a salver of champagne. Lilith would have plucked two off the gleaming tray simultaneously if she was confident she could manage it. As it was, she wasn't confident, and it wouldn't do to cause a scene should one of them did end up slipping through her fingers.

This was the time to accept her limits, not test them.

Lilith's flute had been intended for Iggy. She might not have orchestrated the night, but, as a member of residence, she was still part-hostess. To her chagrin, she saw that he had already retrieved his own. Of course, he could not have meant to embarrass her. Why shouldn't an able-bodied young man help himself to a beverage? Only one who wasn't—able-bodied, or young, for that matter—had something to prove. Besides, he was smiling so brightly it was impossible for Lilith to begrudge him or even feel bad for herself.

"To your twenties," said Iggy, clinking his glass against hers.

"To my twenties."

It was a good choice to only sip her bubbly.

Out of nowhere, Iggy's hand was by her face, tucking a chestnut lock behind her ear. Lilith had forgotten what it was like to be close to him, but that was nothing. The contact did not have so much of an effect of its own than to remind her of the gooseflesh recently raised in the area. If she had had more liquid in her mouth, she might have choked.

"You look beautiful tonight." Iggy's voice was as tender as his eyes.

Murmuring her thanks, Lilith pulled herself together.

"You're not too shabby yourself." She pretended to scrutinize his outfit as if she were a judge in a contest. "Silver is very becoming of you."

"It'd better be," he ground out, but he was smirking. "Still, it's better than having to become a leprechaun every year. Always something to be grateful for, eh?"

They'd had this conversation before, more than two years ago, Lilith realized with a jolt. Frankly, it was amazing that the incomprehensible convention of donning the colour of one's name on one's birthday could be shared by two families. No one had yet managed to trace it to its roots. No one had yet disobeyed, though many had thought about it—Iggy the most vocal amongst his cousins. But when his father suggested there could be worse things to be dressed in than a stylish silver tuxedo, and allowed several seconds for imaginations to wander as he threw out examples of analogous surnames, it shut him up. It shut them all up. Even Lilith, who had hitherto no opinion on the subject, became indebted. It would be dreadful if she had been made to wear gray, the only colour that did not exist in her wardrobe, because it wasn't a color.