Dance Lessons
And while she cooperated, she didn’t understand the necessity—unless one of the trials was a dance-off.
Though, that was unlikely. Sure, there was to be a celebratory ball at the end of all this, but she had to make it through the trials to see it.
If she was dead, no one would ever know she had two left feet and tripped more often when she was nervous.
Pimley, though kind, was vigorous and exacting in his expectations. His demeanor was gentle, though not to be confused with softness. He was not one for breaks and took no pity on her when she was exhausted, claiming she’d get no such reprieve on the battlefield.
Battlefield? Maybe the old man was going mad. Or perhaps it had been a simple slip of the tongue, and he’d meant “ballroom” or “dance floor.”
“No,” he spoke as he wrapped her ankles in a tight, stretchy cloth. “I meant battlefield.”
Her shock must have been obvious on her face, for Pimley simply smiled and said, “No, I don’t read minds. But I think you’ll find the ballroom and the battlefield have a few things in common. Minus the bloodshed… ideally.”
As usual, she was left with more questions than answers.
“Ask, child. If it is just you and I, nothing is off limits.” He pulled the wrapping tighter, rounding her calf. She winced, the muscle still sore, and she wondered when her body would get used to this daily abuse.
“How long were you in the militia?” she questioned at last.
He stopped for a moment and glanced up at her. “Who said I was?”
“Well, no one, sir. I just—ah—you compared ballroom dancing to being on a battlefield.”
He pointed at her shoulders, ignoring the question.
“There. Right there. You see, you’re too tense, Hazel.
Especially in your upper body. You simply must release that pent up energy!
Once you do, your body will flow and glide across the room like a fairy princess.
Deep inhale… hold it… and exhale. Good.”
She did as instructed, despite the nagging feeling she should be doing anything else. Although, she had to admit, she had been holding something in. Her feet carried her across the tile floor with greater ease, the movements smoother than she would have imagined herself capable of.
“That’s better. Now to your question. No, I did not serve in the militia so much as alongside them.
Since I was but a boy, my body has been cursed with a fragility that made me ineligible for the royal army.
But since all men are conscripted at eighteen, they had to find it out the hard way.
I broke so many bones trying to keep up with the other men in combat training.
Eventually a kind healer noticed my ailment, having seen it only one other time in his entire career.
So, I was given mess hall duty, serving food to the soldiers.
As I learned names and regiments, I also noticed when men didn’t return.
The opponent was too quick, not only skilled in battle but generally stronger and faster.
“When I first offered my services as a potential solution, they laughed and sent me on my way. After enough men were slaughtered, they called on me. They were desperate. So, I got to work. I taught soldiers to use their agility and dexterity in ways they might not have otherwise. A twirl here, a spin there… it’s not the kind of dancing you might imagine, no, but well-timed moves and strong, swift bodies can be the difference between life and death.
The king and his generals appreciated the impact my training was having—namely increased survival rates of their men—and, well, the rest is history, I suppose.
Though I must admit I prefer dancing to fighting. Fighting is simply too messy.”
He patted her leg when he finished. “There you go. Now, let’s get to work. Start where we left off this morning.”
They’d begun early each day, shortly after breakfast. After several hours of training, they’d stop for a brief lunch before continuing. This was followed by a break for tea and an afternoon snack after a few more hours. It appeared today would be more of the same.
Hazel was exhausted, but she stood anyway, accepting Pimley’s hand when he offered it. After a few stretches, she fell into stride, gliding around the room almost as though she’d been doing it her entire life.
Hazel nearly tripped over her feet as she spied Slaide watching from the doorway. She’d been working hard and was feeling strong, but all her confidence flew out the window when she caught his stare. She almost didn’t notice the warmth of the silver against her skin. Almost.
He strode across the room, unfastening his cloak as he moved.
Pimley noticed him shortly after and straightened his posture. “Master Elias!” he called across the room. “We weren’t expecting your company today.”
Slaide waved him off. “Had some time to kill and thought I would check up on my dancing prodigy.” He smirked and tossed Hazel a wink, throwing his cloak to the floor. “I have to say, I’m rather impressed. Good work.”
Hazel’s cheeks bloomed a rosy pink. “Thanks, I guess,” she mumbled.
She was countered by a scoff. “Oh, sweets, I wasn’t talking to you.
I was talking to Pimley. He’s damn near worked a miracle getting you this far in so little time.
” She shrunk under his gaze, his words cutting more than normal.
“But what I saw from all the way across the room was how stiff you are, like someone strapped a board to your back.” He approached her, his formidable body towering over hers and making her feel like a mouse.
He looked down at her, assessing. He leaned in and whispered, “Now, dance.”
And then he straightened and backed away from her, returning to Pimley’s side.
Hazel stood there, baffled, staring between the two of them. She didn’t take orders from Slaide, did she? As if in answer, he gestured with a flick of his hand for her to get moving.
She sighed and fell into the routine she’d been practicing when Slaide had interrupted. She focused on the movements, trying to pretend she didn’t have an audience. Occasionally, she glanced toward Pimley for his approval and was met with a nod, which bolstered her confidence if only temporarily.
She reached the climax of the routine, muscles aching and sweat beading on her brow.
Each time she’d attempted this part of the dance, she’d failed spectacularly and found herself on the cold tile floor, staring at the ceiling mosaic.
It happened so many times she’d committed the scene to heart: a broken, time-worn depiction of angelic beings fighting humans, the starbursts of color between them possibly depicting magic.
It struck her as strange, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.
Hazle regrettably spent more time than not adding to her collection of bruises.
Not this time, she thought, heading into a twirl.
Confidence. Release your shoulders. Breathe.
Her steps fell into place one after the other, her body following, flowing more gracefully than ever.
This was it. She was going to complete the routine and have Slaide choking on his words—
But Hazel’s feet crossed up and the floor rose to meet her. She slammed her eyes shut, bracing for pain.
Strong arms caught her before she collided with the glossy tile. They hauled her up, where she was brought to face her savior wearing his favorite, smug smile.
“Careful,” he said, “we wouldn’t want to mess up that face of yours.” He pulled her in close, and before she could protest, spun her into his body, her back to his chest. He whispered to her, his breath warm and sensual on her neck, “Dance with me, Hazel.” Not a question. Not even a request.
He twirled her away from him, and when she was at arm’s length, he bowed to her, still holding her hand. Then he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Her body caught fire, the heat of that small gesture coursing through her veins and warming her insides.
Her cheeks pinked yet again, intensifying the blush Phaedra had tinted her skin with.
Slaide stood, his expression darkening when he noticed how much his touch had affected her.
She stared at a beast in a man’s body. A predator sizing up its prey.
Lost in the moment, she remembered herself and dropped into a curtsy. When she stood, he pulled her in close, bringing them into a proper starting position as he placed his other hand at her waist.
She was going to combust. Why was he affecting her this way?
She couldn’t think straight. Put your other hand on his shoulder, idiot.
Right. She placed her hand on Slaide’s shoulder, trying her hardest to rest it there without feeling the warmth of his body beneath his shirt. Why was her mouth so dry?
“Ready?”
No. “Yes.”
And then they were moving. Every step came so much easier under his lead.
They spun and twirled and hopped about, waltzing across the room in perfect time.
Pimley crossed his arms, looking pleased with the performance.
Neither of them spoke, their bodies expressing more than words could.
And Hazel was… loose… relaxed …the movements flowing smoothly even as they approached the most difficult part of the dance.
She became hyper aware of his hand as it moved to the small of her back, nearly melting into him.
Everything about his touch, his movement, was disarming and comforting at the same time.
She leaned into it, finding it hard not to savor the warmth at her back and the strength of the arms holding her.
She waited for her feet to get crossed again, but that moment never came.
Instead, Slaide led her with confidence and grace, making her feel more secure than she ever had.
She hit the steps perfectly and rolled into Slaide’s body, falling into his arms as he dipped her low.
He leaned over her, pulling her face closer to his.
They were both panting, staring deep into one another’s eyes.
The look stretched on, perhaps a tad too long.
The locket was a steady reminder of the danger she was in, but Hazel ignored it.
Behind them, Pimley cleared his throat rather aggressively. “Ahem. Master Elias…”
Slaide nearly dropped Hazel on the floor as his senses returned. He bowed to her, stood straight, and retrieved his cloak from the floor as if that hadn’t just happened.
Slaide clapped Pimley on the shoulder. “You’re doing great, my friend. Keep up the good work. At this rate, I will have a competent dance partner by the ball, I’m sure.”
“Of course, Master Elias. Good day.” He turned to Hazel and smiled. “I think you’ve earned a break, Mistress Callahan. Please see you get something to eat and be off to bed at a decent time. I’ll see you bright and early. You’re dismissed.”
Thank the gods. Because after that, she needed someone to dump a bucket of cold water on her head. Or perhaps she should just go jump in the lake.
Yeah, definitely the lake.