"I think you crushed that young man."
She laughed, "he'll get over it."
"He wasn't the last who wanted a place on your dance card, either."
"I don't have a card," she rolled her eyes at him but still smiled.
"You may want to reconsider that." He tugged at the collar of his robe, loosening it now that they were away from the prying eyes of the courtiers.
The music wafting down the corridor faded as they moved away from the festivities. In its absence, rolling thunder could be heard from far away.
"You're too silly for words tonight."
"You should have stayed. The night is young and so are you—you could be dancing until dawn."
"I was tired of dancing."
"I thought you liked to dance."
"I do, sometimes. But it gets old."
"You should let yourself have more fun."
"Are you the pot or the kettle?"
"What?" He shoved his hands into his pockets as they crossed a breezeway. The air stirred with the telltale crispness of an incoming storm.
"You weren't exactly the belle of the ball, Numair."
"I'm old. It's time for me to be tucked into bed with a hot water bottle."
"Too silly for words."
"If I danced any more I could break a hip," he clutched his hand to his chest in mock horror.
"Numair," she laughed, nudging him with her elbow.
"I'm just saying, you should allow yourself some fun."
"Fine," she turned to him and held out her hands. "One more dance."
He hesitated, taken aback, before bowing dramatically. "If my lady wishes."
She curtsied, giggling and he grasped her hand in his own, resting his other on her waist, and stepped backwards. He kept the steps simple and she followed easily. He realized that he hadn't danced with her in a long time and there was a grace to her movements, to the way she moved with him, that he hadn't anticipated.
When the wind moved around them just right music could be heard, but in its absence thunder rolled. They kept tempo to it—steady, slow, building to something that was either miles away or just above them, waiting to strike.
The world lit up, for less than a breath, and he released his grasp on her. There was static in the air, and he could feel it crackle as he pulled away from her.
"You'd better get back or you'll get caught in the rain," he turned, looking out over the grounds. It was too dark to see anything but the flickering of the lanterns across the rampart.
"Too late," her head was cocked, listening to something he could never hear, when he looked back at her. "Rain will be there before I am."
"I could try a shield; it might hold long enough," he murmured, urging her to walk with him. He could feel droplets of water striking him, leaving a chill in their wake.
She grabbed his sleeve and he turned to her. "I want to stay with you." It was a simple statement; confident and centered.
"I don't think it will let up soon—"
"I know."
"Oh," he faltered. "Daine—" Something just above them then.
She closed the distance between them, looking up at him and sliding her hand around his wrist. "I'm tired of dancing, Numair. I'm out of steps." When he didn't answer she brought a hand to his face, stroking his cheek and forcing him to meet her gaze. "Aren't you?"
He swallowed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers. Rain fell from the roof above in sheets.
"Yes."