A/N: Might I suggest a listen to "Reflecting Light" by Sam Phillips?
Soft
twenty-seven years old
The night was saturated in wild colors of spinning skirts and roaring flame. The bonfire drew the villagers to it for miles around. It was a celebration unlike any Sofia had found herself surrounded with for what felt like countless years. She was old for royal marrying age, nearly 28, and thus a firmly established Duchess. At some point, she had been coined the "cobbler princess" and it hadn't exactly drawn in the eligible bachelors. Sofia had grown sick of the pity-invites that drew her to pastel colored powder puff parties on a near weekly basis that she had to attend to keep her sister's reputation appeased. But tonight, tonight she had abandoned those obligations. She had thrown on a simple dress in the deepest shade of plum, a fur lined red cloak to hold her against the crisp night, and let her hair fall down her back in wild curls.
The sight of the fire drew her first. When she was close enough, the crackling of the flame accompanied music and laughter and singing made it an irresistible destination. It sounded like freedom and joy and release and it was bare moments before Sofia was swept into the dance, spinning around the bonfire while moving from partner to partner in a routine that bared no resemblance to the organized courtly dances she was constrained to by her mother's marriage. But now she was bubbling over with joy, out of breath from laughing as she gained a taste of the kind of steps her life should have taken her through.
Sofia's partner clutched her waist under her cloak after they shared a turn. He kept her with him, refusing her a partner change as the music suddenly changed from wild tumblings of drums and brass and flute to a soulful fiddle that rang alone through the night air. Her eyes ripped from the flame to her partner's face; it took her a moment to adjust to the change in light as she focused in on intense, puckish eyes and a long, elegant nose. Her heart pounded wildly from the beat of the previous song as Cedric drew her closer to him, refusing to drop her gaze. She hadn't seen him in three years. He had been away on some opportunity beyond Tangu to study the origin of familiars while his sister filled in his Royal Sorcerer obligations. Letters had been exchanged here and there, but his replies were just as terse on parchment as they had been in person before he left.
But now, that glance, that grip on her waist... Distance melted away as Cedric pulled her to him and took her other hand in his. He pressed his body against hers as he swayed her around in a halfhearted almogonation of steps to resemble the three-four waltzing time of the music. He stared down at her, seeming to drink in the pink of her cheeks from the rowdy music of moments before, exchanged for this new tender swing of string tenor. His hand was softer than she expected it to be from years of potioneering. That was the first moment that she noticed he wasn't wearing his gloves. Tangu changed him, she realized as she clung to his confident hold and she couldn't be more grateful for the change. He leaned his head to hers, pressing his cheek against hers while they rocked back and forth beside the heat of the fire and the heat of her heart, finally aflame.