It was, to all appearances, a lovely evening.
If Regis hadn't been sitting down to share dinner with dozens who wanted nothing short of his death, it might actually have been a lovely evening. But, even in the company of Lunafreya, Noctis was tense, and Reina…
He couldn't read Reina at all, anymore.
She remained at his elbow throughout and took his arm when necessary or appropriate, which is precisely what he would have expected of her before this whole mess. But that was where the similarities ended. She smiled, she made polite conversation and, so far as Regis could tell, she was completely at ease. Not even Reina was that good at acting.
Or she hadn't been, two days ago.
They sat and they ate and, for the most part, she was silent. Her eyes were on the party.
And then the imperial chancellor came.
Regis' first impulse was to step in front of her—so to speak—but she addressed Izunia adroitly and Regis was little more that an accessory. They were speaking—as was so often the case in political situations—of considerably more than their words suggested. But Regis could follow nothing more than the superficial layer. The subject, whatever it was, was not for his ears.
He was just as surprised as the others when the chancellor asked her to dance.
And as soon as the surprise faded, anger bubbled up in its place. She couldn't possibly refuse him—this was an armistice and they were meant to be making overtures of peace—but everyone had their eyes on her, waiting for her to do just that.
Regis wished she had.
It would have been better than watching her take his hand and be led away to the dance floor by a snake like that because, just for a moment, before she turned away from him, Regis thought she did mean the words she said. Was it all an act? Or was she really delighted to dance with him?
After a half-hearted attempt to make conversation with Noctis and pretend that nothing had happened, Regis rose from his seat to watch them descend the stairs to the middle level. Everyone else was doing much the same—if they hadn't been, he would have avoided drawing such attention.
The dance floor was empty. They walked side by side, hands clasped and held up between them. The chancellor had a certain inescapable, carefree flamboyance—it showed in the sway of his step and the lift of his free hand. Reina, all austere grace and poise, should have looked completely out of place beside him—or vice versa—but the fact was that neither did. Indeed, if he hadn't known better, Regis would have said they had not only danced together before, but frequently.
They took the center of the dance floor. The chancellor removed his hat and flicked it over the rooftop—miraculously it landed in the middle of someone's table and not off the edge. The orchestra quieted and they took their places.
From where he stood, Regis couldn't hear any words spoken between them—not even in that lull before the music began again. The chancellor leaned closer and whispered in Reina's ear, drawing a laugh from her. Regis clenched his hand on his cane.
Cor came to stand beside him.
"Not quite the olive branch either side was expecting." He nodded to the side, where Aldercapt stood flanked by two of his men, watching with a furrow on his brow—whether of confusion or disapproval, Regis couldn't have said.
The music began. As did the waltz.
Noctis appeared at Regis' other side. They watched in silence as the Reina and Ardyn turned the full length of the dance floor below, evidently conversing, though it was anyone's guess what about.
"If I didn't know better… I'd say she was having fun," Noctis said.
Indeed, she looked it. Perhaps not the single most perplexing thing that had happened in the past twelve hours, but it was near the top of an ever-growing list. For the life of him, Regis could not guess what was happening in Reina's head or what her plans were—for the imperial chancellor or otherwise. She said he was a threat. And yet…
"We can but trust that she knows the steps to her own dance," Regis said.