The Keepers of Eternity

VIII

Holy hells.

Abreigelle blinked, and she was swept away from everything. Rashtar took her to the center of the dancers, right in front of the orchestra where the music was loudest. Right where everyone could see.

Whatever game Rashtar thought this was, he wanted it visible to all, even his father. The High Councillator stood nearby assessing them with a treacherous gaze. He was clearly displeased.

Before she even realized it, Rashtar had his right hand on Abreigelle's waist and his left intertwined with her right. He didn't frown or flinch when she scuffled her silken slippers around to get into the proper dancing position. She must have looked so inelegant next to him, her movements so stiff and jerky. Still, he was patient and held her hand like a potter might hold his most treasured vase.

In her eighteen years of life, she had never experienced something quite like this. The twenty heartbeats that they stood there together, still as two statues, felt like a moment frozen in time. Motion continued around them, but in center of the room they just waited...waited for the right moment. If he was faking this whole thing, it surely wasn't written on his face.

When the crescendo rose, Rashtar took off, and Abreigelle stumbled into rhythm with him. For a few seconds, she shook with nervousness, but that quickly faded as they finally became a pair, and their moves flowed naturally out of the music. They weren't two individuals, but a single being.

It was her father who had first taught her to dance. Years and years ago, at the very distant verge of her memory, she recalled standing on her father's toes, and him leading her through the motions. It hadn't been very elaborate--just a simple step-and-slide which was enough for a little girl to handle without getting overwhelmed. They bobbed back and forth for hours it seemed like, before he reached down and took her into his strong arms and slung her onto his shoulders. As he strode inside the servants' quarters, she remembered tugging on his crimped flaxen hair and calling for her mother and for Lenore, so that she could show them all that she'd learned.

That was just a memory though. If any of them could see her now...

Abreigelle glanced around the room using the corners of her eyes, careful not to let Rashtar notice. Many of the people who had been idly standing nearby had condensed into a circle around the couples. Everyone was staring at them, whispering, their eyes darting between the human servant girl and the dominant Neurean aristocrat. Abreigelle didn't want to know what they thought of her, she just kept her chin held high.

Between twirls, she caught glimpses of Monfreid up on the balcony, shaking his head despairingly. She didn't care what he thought either—that Mr. Politician. It was so strange to think that he had been watching this entire time.

Rashtar, however, looked calm and collected. There was nothing wrong in his eyes, and if there was, he was awfully good at playing the illusion. His face just appeared so serene, like he had done this countless of times before—like this was nothing to him.

Yet, it was everything to her.

As the music's temp began to slow, Rashtar pulled her closer, close enough that he could plant a kiss on her face whenever he liked.

Her face felt like a furnace. Even though the music had changed he didn't decide to switch dancing partners.

Rashtar finally whispered, "Your name, Miss?"

She had to think about it for a moment, trying to collect herself. "Abreigelle."

"Abreigelle," he echoed, "You are a lovely dancer."