The Scorched Throne

VII - Sadira

Despite myself, I easily slip into the heat and familiar rhythm of the dance. It's like waking up, like playing an old, lovely song on the piano. Muscle memory.

I remember our dance lessons as kids. He was always so awkward with the closeness and movement—the opposite of this dance. He's all powerful grace now, perfect steps and confidence. He's grown to match it.

Glad to be back in my normal position after my dance with the princess—Maia, I learned—I start to enjoy myself. As the music speeds, we move swiftly across the floor, neither of us ever missing a step.

"So," I say, "have you finally remembered me?" I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes so close together.

"Of course. I never could have forgotten. You had me fooled in that sewing shop, though. Who knew the Grand Duchess would have so many... underground friends?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"I like to have fun." He lifts our hands, spinning me around. I can feel his eyes on me. He pulls me back in, strong and sure as if we'd done this hundreds of times before—which, I suppose, we have.

"Do you? Tell me, was I an unwitting participant in one of your schemes that day at the shop? I remember from when we were kids," I smile, knowing what he is going to say, "that you would plan grand spy missions to steal sweets from the pantry. Do you still torment old Silviana?"

"I do, in fact. I think she secretly enjoys it." The music lowers for a brief moment. He guides an arm above my head, and I spin, landing perfectly back in his arms.

He grins. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere."

I arch a brow. "You didn't, though, did you?"

"Nope. It's not my fault, though. Perhaps" I roll my eyes. Still, there's a kind of tension, the strange air that comes with unspoken secrets. Will he tell?

"Prick," I say. "I could still beat you in a sparring match."

"Don't tempt me. I might just take you up on that offer. You'd certainly regret what you're saying now."

"You can try," I say, an amused edge returning to my voice. "You might be surprised about how much I have learned over these years. I beat you that last match before you left."

He concedes, tapping fingers lightly along my waist. Just then, though, the music sweeps, and he pulls me in. Close, so close, enough that I can feel his breath as he speaks, his voice low. "For the record, though, I let you have that one."

Heat blooms on my cheeks. We part just as quickly, returning to the regular stance. I nearly miss a step, stumbling just barely as my foot catches on the back of my heel. To anyone else, it would be nothing, not even perceptible—but he knows me, took a hundred of those lessons with me. He grins again, completely aware of it. "That makes it... let's see, two hundred thirty-five to me, and two hundred twenty to you. Looks like I'm winning unless you can find the time to make up for your losses soon." Seriously? He kept track? Despite myself, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

The music builds, intensifying rapidly. We move faster and faster to match, my feet barely touching the ground as he almost lifts me off the ground with the hand at my waist. Our eyes are still locked together. His are molten golden-brown, sparkling with amusement.

"And? Was I participating in some scheme of yours during our conversation?" he asks. From the corner of my eye, I notice couples stealing glances at us as we fly across the floor. We must make quite the pair; the famed angel of the 51st and the Grand Duchess moving in perfect tandem, eyes never breaking contact. Neither of us is willing to forfeit this battle.