Chapter XIX

Roane donned his best clothes, allowing his manservant, Mari, to alter the hems. He stared uncomfortably into the mirror.

He really didn't want to do this.

It was the end of October, and time for the Chosen ball that he had been so intent on skipping for so long. It was the very same ball at which he was sure Aeleisa was turning her nose up. And here they were, about to attend it together – as a couple.

Not that they were a couple. No, that word was very misleading. He meant couple in the most generic sense of the word.

Mari jumped around, muttering small alterations he could make with this hemline, or bring that one up a little to show off his calves... Roane didn't really care. If he had clothes on, he was fine. Hell, he was fine without clothes.

"Are you done?" he demanded. The manservant squeaked and jumped out of the way. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but... honestly, how much can one say about fabric and hemlines before it gets monotonous?

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face. At Aeleisa's urging he'd begun to let his beard grow out. Not too much, but enough to have stubble on his chin.

And why was he suddenly listening to Aeleisa, when he swore that anything to do with her was the devil itself incarnated into everyday beings?

Well, it had to do with the training room.

For three weeks, Roane had been teaching Aeleisa how to wield a sword. It was slow work, not because Aeleisa wasn't talented, but because she was stubborn as an ox and refused to accept that her hand position that her father had taught her was unorthodox and only used in the savage countries of the world.

She'd been clumsy and slow, and often-times dropped her weapons, complaining of burning muscles or cramps. She fought with him more often than agreed with him, and if they happened to get more than a few minutes worth of actual combat into the lesson, he considered it a great success.

Well, that had been the first week. The second week she'd finally agreed to try his hand grip techniques. Her muscles no longer protested her every move, and she started to become more nimble on her feet. In short, Aeleisa was learning.

Not that he doubted she could. He just never expected her to learn from him.

From then on, the sailing was easier. True, she was still his worst student. She often times flat-out refused to take instruction from him, blaming him for every wrong move she made. She usually insisted that he was teaching her the wrong techniques because he wanted her to fail. And she stuck to her father's teachings, no matter how wild and unorthodox they might have been.

But he couldn't deny that she was learning – quickly. He was astounded at how much information she retained. It seemed he hardly had to tell her something once before she picked up on it – if she wasn't being her normal, stubborn self. And she also picked up on things that he didn't even tell her.

She understood his fighting style after the first three days, and was able to formulate a defense that worked more than fifty percent of the time.

Aeleisa was actually good at fighting.

There were a few problems with their situation. The first was most of the men refused to fight when there was a woman present – they were stuck on the nobility ideals that women didn't belong anywhere near swords or anything that could harm their frail bodies. He began to schedule their sessions late at night, much later than the training room was even open. They would fight in semi-darkness, and Roane had to admit that it was harder than he'd first anticipated.

The second problem was that Aeleisa didn't have anything to wear that she could easily move in. The only things she owned were dresses, and most of them were hard to walk in, let alone fight in hand-to-hand combat. After much deliberation and shouting, Aeleisa decided she would wear her undergarments, and no matter how much he protested, she refused to wear anything else.

At first, he couldn't even look at her. Forget the fact that she was undeniably attractive; it was just the obscene idea of looking at a woman in her undergarments when he wasn't about to bed her. But after some time, he'd grown used to it. Sure, it still made the back of his neck red when she first arrived, but afterward, he saw her as more an opponent than anything else. And he never paid attention to what his opponent was wearing.

Mari carefully snuck over toward him and started gently altering his tunic. When Roane did nothing to stop his work, he continued with a little more vigor than before.

Roane laughed when he thought about their lesson three days ago, and the manservant looked at him like he was crazy. He just grunted and waved his arm at him. He didn't care what the servants thought about him.

"You need to shave,” she said for the umpteenth time. It was her greeting.

Roane raised his eyebrows and tossed her a rapier. "We're using these today. Lighter weight, more feminine –" she rolled her eyes "- not that you need it to be more feminine, I'm just pointing out the properties of the sword. The King, after all, carries a rapier. It's just a daintier weapon."

"I don't see how anything is dainty if it can kill you."

"I heard of an assassin who kills men with hairpins. Aren't hairpins dainty?"

"Stop trying to be clever," she said, rolling her eyes and testing the rapier's length and weight in her hands. "It doesn't suit you."

He smirked and shook his head. "I thought we'd be over the petty insults by now."

"Never," she insisted, unbuckling the cape she wore around the castle so that she didn't get stopped by anyone who witnessed the girl in her underwear. He felt his face grow hot and a slight pressure rise up in his breeches, but other than that, there was no initial reaction any more. It was just what she did.

He cleared his throat. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready," she replied, and then lunged into a wild attack meant to catch him off guard. Unfortunately, Aeleisa wasn't quite fast enough, although her speed had improved substantially over the past few weeks. He easily parried the blow and had the rapier pointed at her temple before she could make another move.

"Damn you," she growled. He grinned cockily.

They fought for a good hour and a half, with Roane beating her every single time. Finally, Aeleisa dropped the rapier. Or rather, she threw the rapier onto the ground in a fit of rage.

"I hate this. I hate you," she hissed, pointing at him with her finger. He laughed.

"Oh come on – I haven't done anything!" She rolled her eyes and pouted in the middle of the floor. "What am I supposed to do, let you win?"

"No! But you're not teaching me anything! If I can't ever beat you, obviously you're not teaching me the right steps!"

"It's not my fault you're not good enough to beat me!" he insisted. Aeleisa pushed him in the chest out of frustration.

"Get away from me."

Roane grinned and picked up her cape. He handed it to her, and she snatched it from his hands quickly and angrily. "Wipe that smirk off of your face you cocky bastard," she growled, pushing him away again.

"You always leave angry with me – it's not my fault!" he persisted. She huffed as she buckled her cape back around her neck. "Look, you've been fighting for less than three weeks. I've been training all of my life. I'm bound to be a little more ahead than you are. Give it time."

She growled. He knew why his words weren't as comforting as they would have been to anyone else – she hated to be patronized, and that's exactly what he was doing... it was exactly what he did after every training session where she failed to defeat him.

"I'm leaving." And, just like that, she left.

It was the next night, and Roane showed up a little later than usual. Aeleisa was standing against the wall of the dimly lit training room, waiting for him.

"You're late," she said, foregoing her usual greeting and opting for a new one.

"I know, I was –"

"Shaving," she interrupted, coming up to him and looking at his face. "Why would you do that?"

Roane stared at her in disbelief. "Why would I... because you were always chastising me for not shaving! I assumed I was doing you a favor!"

She scoffed. "Don't do me anymore favors. I liked you better with stubble."

Aeleisa caught Leina's smirk reflected in the mirror as briefly as if it hadn't been there at all. "What are you smirking about?" she demanded.

She'd been telling Leina about the fighting lessons. At first, Leina had been skeptical – why was she taking lessons in combat anyway? But as she continued her story, Leina's mysterious smirks kept coming.

"Nothing milady," she always responded, and this time was no exception. Aeleisa growled and watched as her hair was pinned in seemingly impossible ways. Aeleisa frowned.

"Honestly, Leina, what is so amusing that you keep smirking to yourself? Every time I mention Lord Deilliad..." Leina smirked again. "Leina!" she insisted.

"Nothing milady," she muttered. Aeleisa grunted frustratingly.

She refused to say anything more about the topic, even though Aeleisa prodded and begged her to explain herself. Finally, however, she was forced to give up. She pouted as Leina loaded her face with cosmetics, and only really cooperated when she absolutely had to (like when her eyes were being lined precisely with charcoal.)

"Milady, I took the liberty of ordering you a new dress for the ball," Leina said, smiling widely. "I believe you'll like it... if you'll follow me into your bedroom –"

But Aeleisa was already gone and into the bedroom before Leina could even finish. What she saw lying on her bed astounded her.

"Leina... it's..." there weren't words to describe this dress. Well... for starters, it was a gown, not a dress. It was a collection of grays and blacks with powder blue thrown in where she least expected it, like around the neck line and outlining the bust.

"I hoped you would like it... I knew you weren't very excited about the ball. I wanted to give you something to be excited over." Aeleisa grinned and hugged her handmaiden.

"Leina, you are a fabulous friend."

"Well – come now, let's try it on," she said quickly, pulling out of the embrace. Aeleisa had learned that Leina wasn't a very touchy-feely person, and she understood and respected that. Aeleisa quickly shed her bathrobe and stepped gingerly into the masterpiece.

It had gray sleeves that billowed out and then attached again at her wrists, a long train, and intricate powder-blue beads sewn into the bodice.

"Milady, it looks stunning on you," Leina offered, smiling as the gown settled into place, hugging the right places. Aeleisa stared at herself in the mirror, grinning.

"Thank you," she replied.

An hour later, Aeleisa heard a knock at the door. Leina opened it.

She stood up, strange butterflies in her stomach, and turned.

Captain Roane Deilliad was standing in her doorway, dressed in the same fineries that she was dressed in. It was strange to see him like this after so many nights of nothing but sweaty tunics and light, sparring clothes. He smirked and she was immediately put off.

"What?" she grumbled. He motioned to her dress.

"Well it's a far cry from your underwear."

Leina looked bemusedly at her, and her face turned red. She hadn't mentioned to Leina that she'd been fighting in her underclothes. She didn't expect Leina to be appreciative of that. So, naturally, Leina was assuming something that was most certainly not the case.

She crossed the room quickly, the fabric brushing across the floor, and punched him in the shoulder.

"What?" he said in response to her glare. Aeleisa rolled her eyes and turned back to Leina. Her eyebrows were raised in a questioning glance. She seemed to be saying 'I'd better be hearing about this later.'

Aeleisa began to blindly push Roane out the door. Suddenly, the idea of repeating the fact that she had been in his presence in her underwear more than once had become more embarrassing than actually doing it.

She could feel Leina's eyes on her back as she closed the door to her rooms. Once outside, she punched him again.

"Why would you do that?" she demanded.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Why would you tell Leina about...?" she paused.

Roane threw his head back in laughter. "You're not serious?" he asked. When she didn't say anything, only pouted, he laughed harder. "You are really embarrassed?"

Obviously that was a hard concept to understand.

"You can run around in your undergarments and not care, but you can't tell someone about it?" he asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"It's different than actually doing it," she mumbled, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring in an opposite direction. "And for your information, you're the only one who knows about it – if the whole world knew about that I might be a little more embarrassed, yes," she explained huffily.

Roane shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder," he muttered.

"I just don't feel like the whole world should see me in my underclothes. One or two people, on the other hand –"

"Why am I the exception? Don't you think it's embarrassing for me?"

"Amazingly enough, Captain, I don't care what you think," she said easily.

That wasn't entirely true anymore. It used to be true. It used to be that she couldn't stand the thought of civilized conversation with him either, though, and look at how that was turning out.

He raised his eyebrows. "Fair enough," he commented.

It was funny. The two of them had hated each other. They'd been neck and neck since day one, trying their hardest to outdo the other. And, in one night, it was all stripped. It was hard to understand how it happened, but Aeleisa found it incredibly difficult to hate him.

Not that they liked each other. It was an interesting concoction of mixed-up emotions, their relationship. It didn't involve hatred anymore, but she couldn't honestly say what it included. Nothing like love or friendship, and hardly any respect... but something was there now – something different and new. And that something was enough to change their ideas of each other.

Aeleisa realized that Roane was offering his arm to her. After pondering over ignoring it for a few seconds, she gave in and carefully took it.

"I wondered why my manservant forced me to wear black to this ball. Now I understand why," he commented out of the blue. Aeleisa didn't really comprehend what he'd said – she'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts.

"Why?"

He looked at her like she was stupid – which, in this case, she couldn't blame him. She blushed and stared ahead. "Your dress," he answered, "is the same color."

"Oh... right." Well of course it was. She wasn't color-blind. She didn't need him telling her that her dress was black and gray for her to know that it was. "I know," she responded.

Roane lifted his eyebrows in disbelief. "Are you nervous?" he asked incredulously.

"No," she lied. In fact, she was very nervous. She didn't know how to dance, she was in a brand-new, absolutely stunning dress that could get ruined at any time, and she was being presented to polite society. Dancing was hard enough without the extra, added pressure.

"You're nervous!" Roane exclaimed. They were only a few feet from the door when he said it, and a few of the couples looked their way.

"I am not nervous," she insisted, her teeth grinding. "Now shut up before I make you," she threatened. She dug her nails into his arm as they reached the herald checking them into the ball. Roane's hand inconspicuously dug at hers, trying to wrench her nails out of his skin, but she refused to let go.

After they had passed the herald, he wrenched his arm free. "What is the matter with you?" he demanded, rolling up the thin sleeves of the shirt he wore under his tunic to inspect the punctures she'd made with her sharp nails.

"There's no blood," she said, as if that made the fact that she'd just impaled him with her fingers okay. He rolled his eyes at her.

"You are impossible sometimes."

"Oh," she said sadly, "and I thought we were beyond the petty insults. You have, after all, seen me in my underwear." It was his time to blush.

"Okay, I won't say it if you don't. Do we understand each other?" he acquiesced.

"Of course," she replied happily. She took his arm again, and this time let her hand rest carefully on his forearm.

There were two long tables in the richly decorated room. The far table was for nobles and honored guests of the King and Royal Family as well as the King and Queen, and the table in the middle, where Prince Maryn sat, was for the Chosen and their Lords. Aeleisa sat quickly in a chair and looked around at the gowns of the other women. All of them were beautiful, and, despite what she was wearing, Aeleisa felt heavily out of place. "I shouldn't be here," she mumbled to herself.

"That makes two of us," Roane said. He was standing next to her chair, waiting for something to happen or for someone to tell him what to do. Finally, he saw one of the other Lords and excused himself.

Aeleisa sat by herself at the table, admiring the decorations and the other couples, looking for someone she knew other than Roane, and drinking out of her water goblet.

"I promise the rest of the ball will be more exciting," a voice said in her ear. She smirked.

"Do I have your word on that, Your Highness?" she joked, turning around. Maryn was dressed in all white except for the interior of his cape, which was a deep, rich purple. He seemed to have just gotten a haircut, for his blonde hair was impeccably well-kept.

"On my honor," he said sitting next to her and smiling. "How are you?" he asked quickly, as if he wasn't sure about the answer since he hadn't seen her in so long.

"I'm all right," she insisted, setting her goblet down. "A little lonely at times," she said pointedly. She stared down at the table so that he'd get the point. He did.

Sighing loudly, Maryn took her hand. "It's not that I didn't want to spend the time with you... or anyone else for that matter. My father..." he shook his head. "My father has been setting up absurd activities for me to take part in. He believes they'll help prepare me for the throne. They take up all of my time, Aeleisa."

His brown eyes were imploring, as if he needed forgiveness from her. She rolled her own stormy-gray eyes and tightened her grip on his hand. "It is fine, Maryn. Of course I would have liked to have seen more of you these past couple of weeks, but... you are a Prince. I know that you'll be busy."

Maryn smiled. "Save a dance for me?"

"I'll save two for you so that you'll feel special," she joked.

"Oh, now don't tease me," he said, pretending to look stricken. Aeleisa laughed. "For now, I have to go play the good host and entertain my guests. But I will see you later tonight, I promise," he said. He stood up and left her alone.

Just as Aeleisa reached for her goblet again, just for something to do, a girl in a royal blue gown approached her. She seemed to carry herself in such a way that Aeleisa could just tell she was a noble. She waited patiently for Aeleisa to finish drinking, so she took her time. When the goblet finally left her lips, she smiled pleasantly up at the girl.

"May I help you?"

"Gisela," the girl said, a wide smile plastered on her lips. Her straight, dark brown hair shone in the lights and the powder on her face made her pale complexion seem almost white in contrast with her hair. She was very pretty.

"Lady Gisela," Aeleisa said, bowing her head slightly in greeting. "Aeleisa," she said, completing the game.

"Lady Aeleisa..." Gisela sat in the chair next to her and stared out at the party that was just beginning to take shape. Most of the Chosen were still arriving since there was still about twenty minutes before they were even seated. "There isn't much to do right now, is there? No one wants to dance, and I had my sights on dancing the night away," she said.

Gisela was smiling the entire time, and Aeleisa vaguely wondered how she managed to talk while smiling. She doubted that she could achieve it.

Instead of replying, Aeleisa tried to picture herself with as wide a smile as Gisela was wearing. Her silence didn't deter the girl, however. On the contrary, she seemed fueled by it. "I saw you speaking with the Prince. How do you know him? He is so handsome. Mother always told me that it would be a complete waste of my beauty and charm if I didn't wed Prince Maryn. I absolutely adore him. His hair is perfect, wouldn't you agree? I just love the way the light catches in the different strands. Sometimes I wonder if he colors his hair – if he has the royal hairdressers dye it. It just seems that it is so blonde. But there, your hair is very close to his. Is your hair color natural?"

Aeleisa tried to wrap her head around the entire conversation she'd just heard Gisela say in one breath. How had she done it? That was miraculous. "Yes, it's my natural hair color," she responded finally. She assumed she couldn't remain silent when she was actually asked a question. That would be too rude to overlook.

"Prince Maryn and I share an understanding," Gisela whispered, leaning in as if she was sharing a secret. "We know we are to be betrothed to each other, but we don't wish to announce it yet." The goblet on its way to her lips faltered, and she choked on air. "Oh I know, it's quite a surprise! When Maryn privately asked me, I almost fainted, but... there you are, the true story!" she said excitedly.

Was this girl mentally sane? Had she had too much to drink? Aeleisa knew the powers of alcohol all too well – had Gisela had one too many? She didn't even know how to respond to that.

"That's... wonderful," she said through clenched teeth. How else can one respond to a lie other than lying right back? "Would you excuse me?"

Gisela grinned even wider, showing very straight, very white teeth. "Of course – Lady Aeleisa," she said bowing her head.

"Lady Gisela," she responded, and then she stood and practically ran away from her. She found Roane and grabbed his arm. She didn't care how ridiculous it looked, or how rude it probably was that she pulled him out of a conversation with an upstanding nobleman.

"Aeleisa, what is going on?" he asked as she yanked him halfway across the hall.

"Listen to what I just heard," she said breathlessly, and then she repeated the entire thing, including Gisela's inquiries into her natural hair color. When she finished with Maryn and Gisela being secretly engaged, Roane's eyebrows shot up, and then he laughed.

"Maryn's not engaged. I know Maryn, and I don't think he's ever even been in love," he said easily.

"So she was lying? Blatantly lying to my face?" Aeleisa asked incredulously.

"I'm pretty sure she believes it somewhere in her soul – that she and the Prince are going to get married. Trouble is, there are about one thousand other girls with exactly the same truth embedded into their souls."

Aeleisa furrowed her brow. "I don't want to marry the Prince," she said, as if that made Roane's statement false.

"Well Aeleisa, you run around in your underwear, so we can't exactly take your word as the norm, can we?" he asked, smirking.

She hit his arm quickly. "Stop bringing that up, Roane!" she demanded. He laughed at her embarrassment, something that frustrated her immensely. "I should not be this fun to torment," she insisted, pouting.

"Listen, I'm sure she's just optimistic about her future. But Maryn's not getting married," Roane insisted.

Aeleisa took a deep breath. "All right... but I'm going to go talk to him anyway," she said, grabbing hold of Roane's shoulder to help boost her up to see over the heads of the crowd. She saw a glint of silver and headed toward that glint, certain that it was a crown.

It was indeed a crown, a crown sitting atop a beautifully manicured and perfectly colored head of hair, according to Gisela. Aeleisa stood in line with the other girls waiting to meet their Prince and pronounce their undying love for him.

When her turn came, Maryn smiled. "Aeleisa, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Presenting myself to you, Sire," she explained, curtsying. "Aren't we supposed to do that?" she asked. The girl behind her cleared her throat angrily.

He smirked and shook his head. "I told you I would find you later. But if you keep approaching me, I'm going to be tempted to forgo my princely duties," he said, acting as though this would be a great tragedy.

"Well I just had to tell you the latest gossip. Aside from the fact that you have perfect hair –"

"I do," he agreed, interrupting her. She grinned.

"You are actually getting married," she said. Maryn raised his eyebrows.

"Oh? And who is the lucky girl?" he questioned.

Aeleisa scanned the crowd, and found Gisela standing in the middle of the dance floor, glaring daggers at her. She was taken aback at the ferocity of her glare.

"The one trying to impale me with her glare," she explained, motioning toward the middle of the dance floor. Maryn glanced to where Gisela was pacing back and forth, and, upon Maryn's glance, her face immediately lightened into a smile. Aeleisa snorted.

"How old is she?" Maryn asked, trying hard to keep the disgust out of his voice.

"I don't know... she looks about eighteen," Aeleisa guessed. Maryn scrunched up his nose and looked back at Aeleisa.

"Well... we'll have attractive children at the very least..." Aeleisa scoffed. "Well what else do you want me to say? Do you want me to confirm the rumor?"

"No, I want you to deny it!" she exclaimed.

"Well of course it's a lie!" he said loudly, causing a few of the girls standing in line to glance curiously over at their Prince. Aeleisa glanced back at Gisela, who had returned to her previous post of pacing the middle of the dance floor and glaring at Aeleisa. "Aeleisa, I hate to do this, but I must attend to my other guests. I promise I will find you sometime later tonight. Until then –" he bowed, and Aeleisa curtsied, "I assure you the girl is telling lies."

Aeleisa smiled. "I just wanted you to be aware that you were getting married." Maryn looked a little suspicious as he looked back over at Gisela.

"Hmm..." he mumbled deep in his throat.

"Your Highness," Aeleisa said, interrupting his scan of the crowd. She curtsied again and left the line to scowls from the other girls. Why was she suddenly the most hated girl in the room?

While she pondered this, Roane found her and grabbed her by the elbow. "What?" she hissed.

"We're starting dinner. If you want to stand in the middle of the room, be my guest, but you might draw some unwanted attention," he explained.

"You mean some more unwanted attention," she corrected, glancing around the room. Roane smirked as he saw most of the women glaring at her.

"What did you do?"

"I was born, apparently," she grumbled, allowing Roane to sit her down. He sat next to her and they waited for the meal.

Before it started, there was a fanfare of trumpets and King Haemon and Queen Cleona entered. Roane dragged her up by the forearm even though she had pointedly refused to acknowledge their authority over her. She stood grudgingly and didn't bow her head when they passed. Fortunately for her they didn't notice. When the King and Queen reached the head of the other table, they waved their hands, allowing the rest of their guests to sit and begin the meal.

It was very good, but nothing important happened. Maryn sat at the head of the table and had the unfortunate luck of being seated next to Gisela who didn't cease talking. Aeleisa wasn't sure if she took one bite. If she did, then talking with her mouth full certainly wasn't a concern for her. No one talked to Aeleisa or Roane because they were so reserved. They hadn't made any real friends with the rest of the Chosen thanks to their constant bickering, and so the dinner was stilted and silent when it came to the pair. But the food was delicious, so that was a plus.

It was astounding to Aeleisa how utterly alike she and Roane were. They both kept heaving unmistakable sighs and staring wistfully out the windows or terrace doors. She even caught him staring at the ceiling for about five minutes straight until the Lord next to him bumped his arm and knocked him out of whatever daydream he'd been having.

It was easy to say that the both of them were bored and were doing a poor job at hiding it.

Before their plates were whisked away, the string quartet had begun to play a waltz. She settled farther into her chair, content to let the food settle in her stomach and make her fat. She didn't feel like dancing at all tonight. But obviously her idea was different from everyone else's.

"Lord Deilliad, are you content to let your Chosen sit bored in her chair all night?" someone said from beside them. It was Jehna's Lord, the self-proclaimed leader of the Chosen Lords. Roane glanced at him and blinked a few times.

"Actually, I don't really think she wants to dance. Do you Aeleisa?" he asked.

"Not really," she conceded. And she didn't.

"Nonsense, she's just saying that to be polite. You must dance with her. Come on, get up. I won't have any lady sitting by herself tonight."

"She's not sitting by herself, I'm here," Roane protested as Jehna's Lord began tugging on his arm.

"Captain," he said sternly, glaring at him for ruining the night. Aeleisa opened her mouth to protest but Jehna's Lord was already gone, off to ruin someone else's life probably. Roane stared after him with incredulity.

And, quite to Aeleisa's surprise, he stood up, sighing dejectedly.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I'm asking you to dance," he answered tiredly.

Aeleisa's eyes grew wide. "Why in the world would you want to do that?" she cried.

"Aeleisa please," he said, "Can't we just humor these people with one dance and then say we participated? I don't need to be chewed out by a man three times my age that I could snap in half like a stick," he explained.

"But..." she tried to protest. What didn't he understand? She couldn't dance! What was he trying to do, ruin her completely? Make her so embarrassed that she couldn't even stand in his presence without feeling shame?

But he was already dragging her out, and for some reason her feet were listening. Why were they listening? She glanced down at them, trying to make her brain stop her feet. Her limbs weren't responding.

"I'm really..." she muttered, attempting to pull from his grip. But before she could, she was already spun around and facing him. How had that happened?

"Listen, I know you don't like me, okay? I get it. But we just have to do this one thing and get it over with and then –"

"That's not it at all," she said loudly. And he thought this was all about him! How vain!

"Well then what is it?" he asked as he began the complicated step. She couldn't keep up and she stepped immediately on his foot. Her face flushed red as his foot jerked out from under her slipper.

"I can't dance," she said monotonously, trying with all her might to remain steady and strong.

"I thought all women knew how to dance," he said, his hands falling to their sides.

"Look at me, Roane. I engage in combat with you on a regular basis in my underwear. I willingly touch horse manure and rat bones for heaven's sakes! I'm not your average girl!" she insisted.

Roane watched her quizzically. "Well what do we do?" he asked.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, can it please involve getting out of the middle of the dance floor?" she questioned.

But instead of moving away like he should have done, like any normal person would have done, Roane put one hand on her waist and the other grabbed hers. "I'll teach you," he said quickly.

"What? No! You cannot teach me to dance! No, I refuse!" she hissed, trying to pull away. The only problem was that Roane was the Captain of the Royal Guard, and quite strong when he wanted to be. He held onto her with a vice-grip and refused to let go.

"Aeleisa, it's not hard. It's easier than hand-to-hand combat."

"Our fighting sessions are not out in the open for other people to see and ridicule!" she growled.

"Look –" he said, and he motioned to his feet. "One, two, three – One, two three," he counted, accenting the first step. As he did, he slowly moved his feet in time to the rhythm. Aeleisa did the same, and it actually sort of worked – until she stepped on his foot about five seconds later. But before that, it had been working!

"I almost did it sort of!" she said excitedly. Roane laughed.

They tried again and again, and by the end of the song, Aeleisa was actually able to look up while they danced, an immense improvement from when they started. Aeleisa laughed out loud. She was dancing!

Aeleisa was amazed by his expertise. Not only could he excel on the battlefield, but he could excel on the dance floor as well! The two extremes of the activities made her chuckle.

As the song ended, Roane carefully dipped her over his knee, as if he did this all the time with all the women. Aeleisa blushed heavily, but he was helping her upright before she had time to think of anything else.

"Well, you weren't a complete failure..." Roane teased. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh please – I am a master at the... what was that dance called again?" she questioned.

Roane laughed out loud. "The waltz," he answered.

"Yes, the waltz. Well I'm the master at it." She smiled.

"Right," Roane said sarcastically. Another song started up but Roane was already heading off of the dance floor, so Aeleisa followed him. She sat back at the table while he excused himself, mumbling something about the Royal Guard. She shrugged and sipped from her goblet.

She only got one dance free before a sentry asked her to dance. She carefully obliged. Dancing with him was terrifying – stepping on Roane's foot didn't matter, because she didn't care what he thought. But this soldier was different – what if she embarrassed herself?

Luckily she survived the dance, and the one after it. She turned down a few other offers so that she could sit.

"No Lady should be sitting by herself without a partner tonight," a voice whispered in her ear, picking up a tendril of her hair to do so. She smirked.

"Did Jehna's Lord tell you that?" she asked, grinning at the Prince.

"Who is that? I feel like I might like him," he joked. She playfully hit his arm.

"I don't want to dance. I've been dancing all night and I'm exhausted."

Prince Maryn raised his eyebrows. "You promised me two dances, Lady Aeleisa. If you do not oblige, I –"

"You'll have me beheaded?"

Maryn smirked. "I was going to say 'force you to spend the rest of your evening with Captain Deilliad.'"

"How painful," Aeleisa insisted, although she was sure she wouldn't mind now nearly as much as she would have a few months ago.

She laughed and stood up, accepting the Prince's hand. She felt eyes on her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress ruthlessly as she was escorted to the floor. Maryn gently held her in his arms and twirled her carefully into the dance.

Aeleisa bit her lip. "I have to warn you – I just learned to dance this night... so if I'm terrible, that's why," she explained.

"Well I'll hold that in mind," Maryn said through a grimace as she stomped painfully on his foot. She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"No, it's fine. In all fairness, you did warn me."

They danced in silence, enjoying the music and the general (hostile) atmosphere as well as each other's company.

"Oh! I have news for you that you'll probably like!" Prince Maryn said excitedly.

"Let's leave that decision to me," Aeleisa quipped, grinning.

"I, being the fabulous friend and Prince that I am, have relieved you of your tutoring requirements."

Aeleisa stopped dancing and stared at him with wide eyes. Her mouth was hung wide open very unattractively, and her dress was twisted between her legs. "Are you joking?" she asked seriously.

"Why would I joke about something like that? I thought you'd be –" she cut him off with a hug.

"Grateful... I'm so grateful!" she whispered breathlessly, interrupting him. "Thank you, Maryn, thank you!" gushed Aeleisa. The fact that she was hugging a Prince finally crashed down on her, and she released him quickly, blushing deep red. "So no more lessons twice a week?" she asked, unable to hide her smile.

"None," Maryn replied, grinning. "Now tell me how much you adore me."

Maryn removed his doublet later that night, letting it fall to the ground. It sounded petty, but he knew that his servants would pick it up before any real harm could befall it. He ran a hand through his hair as he changed into his attire for bed.

He'd promised himself that he wouldn't be caught dead at the ball, and yet he had attended. At first, his reasons for joining the rest of the useless throngs of people in the ballroom threatened him. What if he had only gone because he knew that Aeleisa would be there? Despite his constant reminders that he wasn't in love with his friend, he was never completely sure.

What if he was in love and he just didn't recognize it for what it really was?

So he went to the ball, if for nothing else, to find out if he was truly in love.

It turned out he wasn't. At least, he didn't think he was. He'd danced with her twice, and had felt nothing other than platonic friendship. They'd even embraced briefly but longer than protocol demanded. But there had been nothing special, nothing to alert him to ulterior motives in either of them to take their relationship farther than they had.

No, Maryn was convinced that he wasn't in love with Aeleisa, at least not for the time being.

He sat on the side of the bed, relief washing over him. Life was less complicated when he wasn't in love, and much less worrisome when that subject of his affections wasn't one of his better friends.

He thought back to the ball, recalling the dances and the music. Despite hating being forced into boring congregations by his parents, he did like balls. Well... not really – he liked music. He enjoyed tapping his foot to the rhythm, dancing along with every note, knowing the steps to the songs. He envisioned his mother and father watching him from across the room and grinning wide, identically evil grins as Gisela, the wench who had basically stalked him throughout the night, had demanded he dance with her again and again.

She had reserved at least two dances for herself which Maryn swore he hadn't agreed to. Somehow, though, she had convinced him that he had promised her two dances. Not willing to be impolite, he acquiesced.

She did nothing but smile and gush about his crown and his wealth, and how wonderful it must be to be a prince. He wasn't aware that being a prince was so amazing, but obviously someone had been lying to him for his entire life. That was the only explanation. How else could everyone in the rest of the country find the Princedom so fabulous and yet he so terribly tiresome?

Maryn sighed as he adjusted the sheets around his feet and he picked up a book from the nightstand beside him. The nightstand was perfect cherry-wood – not an imperfection to be found. But Maryn could care less about the perfect piece of craftsmanship in his room. In fact, he cared about little other than his books and a few choice people.

Not willing to dwell on the fact that his life was really quite sad, he opened his book and immersed himself in the world of strangers and fantastical beasts, wondering why his life couldn't be as exciting as the heroes' he read about in his favorite novels.