Takes place before the imprisonment of Denathrius, a few weeks before "An Ember Court to Remember"
Under no circumstances was he to dance with the Maw Walker, Renathal told himself sternly.
It did not matter if the idea had haunted him since she first mentioned booking the Lost Chalice Band for the Ember Court. And it did not matter if every other Venthyr in Sinfall had taken a turn whirling themselves on and above the courtyard's makeshift dance floor. It was far too dangerous a prospect even to contemplate. If anything was likely to reveal to the Maw Walker - and everyone else watching - the extent of Renathal's decidedly non-platonic feelings for her, it would be that. And while their regular evening briefings may have drifted from the sheltered harbor of casual conversation into the ocean of open flirtation, he still preferred not to announce to the entire realm they were testing those unchartered depths.
And, anyway, the point was moot. Apparently, the Maw Walker had no wish to dance.
Renathal played a reckless game of jealousy, guilt, and relief as guest after guest approached her to request the honour and one by one she refused them all. Occasionally, he was close enough to hear her excuse. She did not dance. She would love to dance, just as soon as she finished some other important task. She had done something wretched to her foot. She was swamped with her duties as hostess and simply could not spare the time.
Not until court was nearly concluded did someone manage to sway her reluctance.
Renathal watched in ill-concealed horror as the Maw Walker gave a small, almost genuine smile to a Venthyr male a head shorter than she, and escorted him onto the dance floor. She spent a minute helping him appropriately place his hands, and a dredger near Renathal grumbled as it mopped the puddle under the Prince's upset teacup. At last, the Maw Walker took a painfully slow step forward and began to lead the other Venthyr in what could only generously be termed a dance.
Her partner was - in Renathal's entirely objective opinion - the most uncoordinated being he'd ever had the displeasure of watching. He spent the first few perambulations trampling the Maw Walker's toes. He tripped on his cloak, his own feet, and thin air; twice he nearly knocked his partner flat. Nevertheless, the Maw Walker patiently reined in his haphazard limbs, corralling his awkward steps into some semblance of structured movement. The jealously roiling in Renathal's stomach as he watched made him physically ill.
The Maw Walker was certainly entitled to dance with whomever she liked, and he could hardly expect her to choose himself when he had spent all court studiously not asking her. But him? This clumsy buffoon of a Venthyr was the Maw Walker's pick of the whole Ember Court? Because there was no doubt she was enjoying herself. In spite of the dance's distinct lack of grace, her usually small, inscrutable smile nearly burst the seams of her face.
And it was that face, that expression, which broke the Dark Prince's adamant resolve. His desire to see the Maw Walker look at him like that, to be the reason her smile blossomed and her blue-white eyes softened, subsumed all other instinct. And surely, he consoled his bruised better sense, this was part of his royal duties? Was he not obligated to show his mortal champion - and dear friend - what a proper Venthyr dance should look like?
The song ended, and the dancers stopped to politely applaud. With a little bow, the Maw Walker passed her partner on to a female waiting nearby, then stepped off the platform, panting slightly from the exertion of keeping the other Venthyr in line. She paused to drink deeply from a glass she had left in the care of her dredger butler, and Renathal glided over swiftly, composing his face into something suitably arch along the way.
"I confess," he said without preamble. "I am fascinated by your choice of dance partner. With the entire Ember Court at your service, your selection is somewhat ... unexpected."
The Maw Walker's lips twitched as she lowered her glass.
"Well, I don't usually dance as a rule. Not when hosting. But..." She glanced at her former partner, gliding sedately by. "Iven was too nervous to ask Zena to dance until he had a bit more practice."
A wise decision, Renathal privately mused, but this answer soothed his agitation enough to let his ire at Ivan fade.
"Ahh. So that was an act of charity, rather than pleasure."
"Can it not be both?"
Her smile sparkled, brimming with the same merciless humour she so liberally applied to their evening tête-a-têtes. The band began once more to play, and Renathal's own lips twitched as he offered the Maw Walker his hand.
"Then, do allow me to return the favour in kind."
She blinked. Renathal's smirk widened. The only thing more fun than their banter was catching the Maw Walker off guard.
"Now your secret is out," he continued smoothly, "you will find it much more difficult to deny your host of admirers. I see Stefan heading this way even now. In minutes, you will be set upon from all sides. I fear you shall be forced to choose from amongst their ranks, and the infighting that is bound to cause..." He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval.
"Oh, I see. Yes, we wouldn't want that." She tapped her cheek thoughtfully, hiding the little blooming patch of violet. "So ... this dance would be strictly business rather than personal?"
"Can it not be both?"
The Maw Walker's smile conceded Renathal the win, but her blush was now unmistakable. She lifted her glass at him, and murmured, "Touché," then busied herself downing the rest of its contents.
Her gaze flicked between the dance floor and the courtyard, and Renathal wondered if her reticence stemmed from the same place as his own shattered resolve. The reasons for which held true: this was certainly what the Maw Walker would call an ill-advised idea. But, reflected Renathal smugly as he stole her glass and passed it to her dredger, he had a knack for persuading the Maw Walker to do many such ill-advised things.
"Come."
The Maw Walker's eyes widened hearing him quote her oft-repeated command. She wet her lips - Renathal held a superfluous breath - before, at last, accepting his outstretched hand.
"Very well."
The thrill of enacting the scene he had fantasized for weeks set Renathal's nerves alight as he escorted the Maw Walker onto the platform. They were easily the tallest, most noticeable beings, and the neighboring dancers allowed them a respectful and curious berth.
"Shall I lead?" asked Renathal, expecting a battle of wills, but it was the Maw Walker's turn to surprise him.
"Please do." She nodded encouragingly. "This court has been particularly exhausting."
There were a few stiff, awkward steps as each acclimated to the other. Then, Renathal adjusted his grip on her waist, edging her delicately closer, and almost lost his expert footing when the Maw Walker melted against him.
She fit him. Exactly. As though their separate bodies were part of one set. She was closer than strictly necessary for this particular dance, obliging Renathal to make some minor adjustments to their steps. But he was happy to do so. Delighted, in fact. And more carefree than he had felt in centuries. Whatever he imagined dancing with the Maw Walker would be like, this was infinitely better.
Where he had expected challenge, she willingly permitted his lead. She allowed his arms to dictate her movements, submitting enthusiastically to his body's every unspoken command. It made Renathal's head swim. This was a different sort of power. At once, rousing and relaxing; stirring and soothing. And as he sank into the exquisite sensation, Renathal realised one dance was not nearly enough for him. This was a harmony he not experienced before, and now never wanted to end.
When it did - as all blissful moments do - it was only the Maw Walker's face that saved Renathal from devastation. She glowed at him; her cheeks flushed, eyes dark, mouth hung slightly slack. Transfixed, as if there were nothing else in the world for her to look at.
And it was that face, that expression, that cemented the Dark Prince's new resolve.
"Thank you," she finally managed, the words sluggish, as if reluctant to leave. "For the rescue, I mean. It was ... exceptionally well-timed."
Renathal relinquished his hold on her, except for one hand which he bent over formally and granted a perfectly respectable kiss.
"Even heroes need rescue on occasion," he said with excessive solemnity. "As your humble fallen Prince, I am always happy to oblige."
The Maw Walker's laugh was thready and breathless. It made her chest rise and fall intriguingly. Her expression, so often an enigma, was - in that moment - entirely clear. Her eyes flicked to his lips, and Renathal was certain what she was thinking. He was thinking the same.
Only his newfound and intransigent resolution allowed Renathal to control himself enough to let the Maw Walker walk away. Desire raged for more, but he mastered it. He had time. He could wait.
But Renathal was determined to have her now. No matter what it would cost or how long it would take.