Chapter Seven - The Art of Falling

The ice sparkled with blues and pinks and yellows, looking deceptively innocent, like something from a fairytale. Cythera was not feeling particularly like the token princess at that moment. Her hair was escaping its plait, her face was flushed both from the cold and from embarrassment, and her skirt was coated with snow and ice. She had been told that skating was like dancing. If that was so, Cythera had two left feet, both of which wanted to choose their own direction. For a moment, she watched Gywnnen jealously. Gwynnen made it look so easy, gliding gracefully over the frozen surface, and occasionally pausing to perform tricks. Cythera's feet were going everywhere at once. She had only to set one foot down before it had slipped from under her.

"Need a hand?" the Prince asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Cythera stared at the hand he was offering, unable to comprehend that the heir to the throne was seeing her in this undignified state. "Your Highness is too kind," she murmured, before remembering the informal setting and wondered if she should have followed his example and spoken freely. She took his hand gratefully, and he helped her to her feet.

"If I may be so bold, my lady, I would like to offer my arm for support," Jonathan said. "It hardly seems that you are getting the opportunity to fully appreciate the skating season with all the time you appear to be spending sitting down."

Cythera couldn't help but smile at that. "Yes, I do feel that I have had enough time to become fully acquainted with the ice. I'm getting tired of falling down."

He stopped abruptly. She looked at him curiously, but he didn't offer an explanation, simply grinned and took her other hand. "I'll skate backwards. I am certain that soon enough my lady will prove to be a natural at this."

She giggled, resisting the temptation to defy etiquette and study the movement of her feet. "I believe you're teasing me, your Highness, and it is not fair of you to do so whilst I am otherwise occupied." They were settling into a rhythm now, left, right, left, right. It was almost easy and almost enjoyable.

"I am merely taking advantage of the opportunity whilst I have a chance to best a member of the Elden family," he replied, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"If you want a match of wits, I am a poor contender." She hesitated, and almost slipped as she let her attention wander. "My sister would be happy to comply."

"I'm sure she would," Jonathan said, sounding guarded. "However, I am also a poor contender, certainly no match for Lady Roxanne, and I would have to make way for my cousin."

Cythera bit her lip, and said nothing for a few seconds, letting the chatter of the others fill the silence. "I do not believe your cousin would willingly partake in an event involving a member of my family."

He gave her an ironic look. "I know what Alan said to you. You know perfectly well now that Gary would fetch you ice from the Roof of the World and try to be home before it had melted."

Obviously Prince and squire were closer than she had thought. Her cheeks burned as she remembered Alan's reaction. "I thought - I thought I was a dare."

"A dare?" The Prince's dark eyebrows lifted. "None that I am aware of. You are, however, the subject of many bets, if my lady will permit me to say so, seeing as how my alloted time expires soon."

"Your squire told me so himself," Cythera replied flatly, confused and unable to bother with the flowery ways of Court.

Jonathan shook his head. "Maybe my lady is confusing it with the bet about Lady Roxanne."

Cythera's face paled, and her voice rose several octaves. "You have a bet about my sister?"

Either Jonathan was no longer paying attention to the skating, or he couldn't stop Cythera in time; they found themselves colliding, closer than Cythera had ever been to a man, and then falling.

Cythera lay very, very still, waiting for Jonathan to untangle himself. He did, and got to his feet with a laugh. There were another pair of legs, presumably the person they'd crashed into, but she didn't bother about them, and struggled into a sitting position.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," she said, checking herself. "I'm just even wetter than before."

A hand appeared in her line of vision, and she took it without thinking, using it as before to hoist herself to her feet. Only, this time, as she stood and continued to hold his hand to balance herself, she found herself looking into Gareth's eyes and not Jonathan's.

Cythera swallowed tightly, and dropped his hand as though it had stung her, wobbling dangerously immediately after. He reached out a hand, steadying her, explaining, "We can't have you falling again."

Cythera still felt like she was falling, like her stomach was plummeting lower and lower. She found she couldn't look directly at him, so instead studied the ice somewhere to her left. "Sorry about - about - about-" She couldn't quite remember what she was apologising for, and finished with, "Sorry."

"That's not your fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

She smiled wanly at his right shoulder. "I don't seem to be much good at skating, even when I am looking where I'm going." She chanced a look into his eyes. "I'm better at dancing. Not that you would know that, though, you only asked me once."

From the looks of things, he remembered that time as well as she. "I didn't want to risk angering my lady again, and besides, you seem to have enough admirers to keep you company."

Cythera debated over pointing out that at least one of those admirers had been prompted or forced by Gareth, but decided she wasn't quite brave enough. "And so few who I admire," she replied, somewhat shyly.

Delight spread over Gareth's face, before quickly dissolving into confusion. He looked away from her and cleared his throat. "Would it please my lady to get off the ice? You do not seem to have taken to it so well."

"It would," she answered, tightening her grip on his hand involuntarily.

He looked awkward, his eyes not resting on anything in particular as he spoke. "Can you skate back?" he asked bluntly.

Cythera tried to gage the distance between their part of the pond, and where she had left her shoes. "With a lot of assistance, I think I could."

"If it pleases my lady, I could make it easier on you," he offered, still looking uncertain.

She didn't know quite how to respond, she only wanted to make him less tense, so she nodded, and was thus entirely shocked when he swept her feet from under her and proceeded to carry her back to the side. She was left with the rather pressing matter of where to put her arms, and settled for wrapping one around his shoulders, allowing the other to dangle loosely. Not perhaps wholly practical, but close enough so he'd know she was grateful, and distant enough so he'd know she wasn't easy. Her mother had trained her in these things.

He set her down on the bank, and for a second, it was back to feeling like she was in a fairytale, even though the snow was soaking into her back. His face was inches from hers, and she wondered whether it would be appropriate to close her eyes.

It was not, apparently. Gareth drew back and sat upright.

"I hope-" he began, at exactly the same time that she had started to say, "I wanted-"

They smiled in slight relief at the tension being broken, and he nodded at her to continue.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I have been particularly rude to you, for no good reason. I had, well, I had misunderstood, and I am profusely sorry for it."

Gareth nodded, looking torn between amusement and distress. "I-" He stopped, tilted his head, and looked at her. "I don't suppose you'd want to come to Naxen with me next week?"

She blinked at him. "Naxen? Naxen, the duchy? Your - Naxen."

"Yes, Naxen." He was turning a deep shade of red. "I mean, I understand, you don't want to, I shouldn't have asked you."

Cythera began to say, "No, I'd-" when there was a yell from across the lake. "What was that?" she asked, alarmed.

Gareth swore violently and leapt to his feet. "Alan's gone under."

"You go to him," she said, fumbling at the laces of her skates. "I'll go and get help."