Kisara has never wanted to dance more than in this moment.
She stands on the sidelines of a celebration in Autelina Palace, which now houses the newly established government of Elde Menancia. There is no particular reason for the festivities, beyond familiarizing Dahnans with music and dance, but Dohalim insisted that it was important. Based on the fact that this is the third such gathering in as many seasons, the citizens of Menancia seem to agree.
Historically, Kisara has preferred observing Dohalim to participating in dances herself, but this time, watching him with other partners sets her blood aflame—even understanding that his heart is hers.
There are times when she still cannot believe that Dohalim entrusted himself to her. She is clumsy in more respects than her steps on the ballroom floor, straightforward and at times unsure how to handle Dohalim's more delicate emotions. Yet, despite their many differences, he elicits in her a warmth, a deep and abiding tenderness, by which she is likewise bewildered.
With regard to their relationship, they have been moving slowly and, in keeping with Dohalim's eccentricities, somewhat out of order. Although they have been living together for a month or so, and their shared life is so domestic that it seems to Kisara that they are long married, they have never indulged the passion that they both feel roiling beneath the surface. After all, to hear Dohalim tell it, they now have all the time in the world.
Still, it has been making Kisara somewhat uneasy that even their friends do not know the exact nature of their relationship. There can be no harm in keeping everyone guessing for a time. Dohalim's bright-eyed roguishness was rare and contagious enough that Kisara readily agreed at the time. And it has been fun in a strange sort of way, exchanging covert glances and stealing moments, wondering who will notice first. But now, seeing the way Dohalim's dance partners look at him, Kisara is ready for that to change.
"How are you doing?" asks a familiar voice, and Kisara turns to see Shionne approaching, flushed and breathless from another dance with Alphen.
"I feel… out of place," says Kisara truthfully, but is equally truthful in her smile. It does not bother her. "Though I am in your debt for doing my makeup. And helping me pick this outfit." It is not something that she ever pictured herself wearing, not least because the only Dahnan thing about it is the length (down to her ankles), but she likes the way it looks: not too revealing in front, but low in the back, similar to the way she modified her bodysuit.
"Oh, it was no trouble," says Shionne. "Except for the hour it took to convince you that it was worth the gald." Kisara grimaces apologetically, remembering that Shionne had ultimately failed to persuade her to buy heels higher than a couple inches, but Shionne only smiles. "You might feel 'out of place', but you certainly don't look it. That's more than enough of a reward for me, but if you still feel like you owe me something, then you can be sure to have a good time tonight."
"Yes, Captain Shionne," says Kisara, saluting. "But I don't think anyone here can have as good a time as you." Ever since Shionne was cured of her thorns, she has made a point of enjoying herself to the fullest, so that her happiness is a joy to watch. Kisara is glad she had the good fortune to witness such a transformation, from prickly in every applicable sense to appreciative of even the simplest pleasures.
Shionne laughs. "You may be right about that."
Returning from the refreshment tables, Alphen tucks his arm around Shionne's waist, grinning. Since he was relieved of the sovereign's burden, he has become almost like his amnesiac self—full of optimism and confidence, though perhaps not quite as carefree. "May I have this dance?"
"I'd love to, but I'm still winded from the last one," says Shionne, glancing sideways at Kisara. "You should ask Kisara. She hasn't danced with anyone yet."
Alphen extends his hand, but Kisara hesitates. "I'm sorry, but I don't know how."
"Neither do I," says Alphen, taking Kisara's hand, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Dancing doesn't come as naturally to me as swordplay, but it's still fun to move to the music. And Shionne says that if something goes wrong, it's always the lead's fault, no matter what," he adds, giving Kisara a bracing smile. "So if anything happens, you can just blame me."
Kisara laughs, unable to argue. "Then let's go."
Shionne waves them off, and they take the floor, even though the song is halfway over already. From the beginning, Alphen's steps are a little uneven, matching Kisara's perfectly, but he is at least somewhat in time with the music. "Did Shionne teach you to dance?" asks Kisara, wondering where Alphen learned. He may not be a great dancer, but he clearly knows the basics. "I would have thought she didn't know how either."
"She didn't," says Alphen. "But last time, she told me she'd always wanted to learn, so we taught ourselves by watching everyone else. As you can probably tell, trying to follow me."
"Don't worry about it," says Kisara, and they share a smile. "I never learned, either."
They lapse into comfortable silence, taking in the music and doing their best not to trample one another, with alarming success. Kisara is on the verge of relaxing fully, secure in the arms of a friend, when Alphen almost leads her straight into Dohalim.
She barely hears Alphen's hasty apology: it is less the near collision and more Dohalim's beauty that makes Kisara misstep. Tonight, his raiment is too humble to be kingly, but his height and bearing are nonetheless regal. And, even without being ostentatious, his attire—a colorful blend of Renan form and Dahnan layering, with just a dash of il Qaras style—is befitting of the lord he once was.
Of course, Dohalim too is dancing with someone else. That librarian… Tigrina, was it? The sight of her makes Kisara especially uncomfortable for reasons she knows, but prefers not to think about. Out of all Dohalim's partners, she is the most forward, but as much as her behavior annoys Kisara, she does not own Dohalim. She has no right to forbid him from dancing with whom he pleases.
Kisara's eyes meet Dohalim's for a moment and stay there. That instant seems to last forever, though not in a way that allows Kisara to recall the specifics; her memory is not photographic. More than seeing, she feels the subtle softening in Dohalim's eyes, the ever-so-slight hesitation in his movements. Her impact on him is nearly as pronounced as his on her, then.
The song ends, and not a moment too soon. Kisara is becoming rapidly more distracted, not that Alphen seems to notice. "Thank you for the dance, Kisara," he says, bowing deeply, but his grin as he straightens up tells her that such a formality was his choice. Maybe he is practicing the etiquette Dohalim tried to teach him. "I should probably find Shionne, but I'll look for you later."
"Of course," says Kisara, smiling, and Alphen is gone.
Kisara looks for Dohalim, only to find him drifting off the dance floor more slowly, still speaking with Tigrina. She has by now learned to differentiate between his polite smiles and his genuine ones, and is somewhat relieved to find that his body language is much more in line with how he acts when trapped. Diplomatic, but the tiniest bit distant.
"Jealous?"
"Wh-what?" Kisara looks down to find that Rinwell has appeared at her side, seemingly out of nowhere. Looking down at her, Kisara has a sudden impulse to wipe the knowing smile off her face. "If I'm jealous, then so are you. Don't think I haven't seen the way you've been looking at Law all night."
Rinwell scowls, but does not rise to Kisara's bait, as she might have mere months ago. "Why don't you ask him to dance? Dohalim, I mean."
"Me?" asks Kisara, startled, and turns to face Rinwell fully. The frown has already disappeared from her face, to be replaced by curiosity. "In case you didn't see me trying to follow Alphen, I don't know how."
"Well, practice makes perfect, right?" asks Rinwell matter-of-factly. "Besides, Dohalim's a way better lead than Alphen."
"I suppose so, but…" Kisara sighs. "That doesn't make me any better at following. At least I can't drag Alphen down."
"Excuse me," says Dohalim's voice, and Kisara jumps, whirling around to find him standing before her in all his considerable glory. He is copper or bronze, but far warmer than a statue, living and breathing and all the more beautiful for it. Crimson hair falls into his face, but he shakes it aside again with a slight movement, and his eyes meet Kisara's. Instantly, the rest of the world vanishes. "Kisara. Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?"
There is a shimmer in Dohalim's face, some glittery cosmetic that adds a subtle sparkle to his skin. His lips are full and dark and glossy, and Kisara finds that she cannot take her eyes off them. "I—I don't know how."
Dohalim chuckles. "You would dance with Alphen, but not with me?"
Kisara is certain that her cheeks are the color of Dohalim's hair, and it is more than she can stand when she has an audience. Glancing over her shoulder, she finds that not only is Rinwell still there, but Law has just arrived too, mouth agape as if witnessing something truly scandalous. "That's not what I meant."
"Good," says Dohalim, extending his hand, and Kisara takes it without thinking. "You have only to follow my lead."
Alphen may have said that all mistakes can be blamed on the lead, but Kisara can't help fretting anyway. As she was trying to tell Rinwell, she was an even match for Alphen, but she is far less graceful than Dohalim, so her inevitable mistakes will stand out all the more. "What if I step on your feet?"
"It will take far more than that to unbalance me."
"And if I trip on my dress?"
"Then I shall catch you before you fall."
With that, Kisara is out of excuses. Allowing Dohalim to lead her elsewhere, she looks around self-consciously. In all the other skills she had learned, she had the counsel of her brother or the guidance of her superiors, and her actions were fueled by an innate determination. This time, she has little confidence in herself.
They start on the outskirts of the dance floor, to Kisara's great relief. At least it is not as crowded here. "Here, let us practice," says Dohalim, his hand resting on Kisara's waist. "First, the basic step. Slow… quick-quick… slow… quick-quick… slow." His voice is low and sweet, music to rival the orchestra. "The dance is circular, but without any turns, the step is square."
Kisara looks down at their feet, doing her best to follow his lead, but suddenly Dohalim's hand leaves her waist, and his fingers tap her chin. She starts, flushing all over again, but he only smiles. "Dancing is more than fancy footwork, you know. Look at me, not at our feet."
"That's even more distracting, and you know it," mutters Kisara, but does her best all the same for the next several steps.
"Good," says Dohalim. "Now, I'm going to turn you, like so." On their next double step, he pulls Kisara toward him and moves sideways. Stumbling, she yelps—but, true to his promise, Dohalim catches her, and they sway in place for a moment before he resumes the rhythm.
Kisara finds herself on edge, expecting him to turn again and angling herself in an attempt to match it, but ends up unbalancing herself as he stays within the confines of the basic step. "Are you trying to anticipate my movements?" A smile plays about Dohalim's lips. "This is not a battlefield, Kisara. Your duty as a soldier may be to predict the enemy's actions and strike accordingly, but your duty as a follow is merely to trust your lead. Can you do that?"
"Of course I—!" But Kisara yelps again as Dohalim turns her, and loses track of whatever she was saying as she tries to keep up with him. This time, he does it several times in a row, giving her time to get used to it, until they are rotating more or less on the spot.
"Excellent work," says Dohalim. "Now, a spin. First, the slow step; then, I raise our hands on the quick steps"—he did so—"and you turn around. Quickly, now!" Hurrying at his words, Kisara almost stumbles again, but again Dohalim catches her and draws her close with a chuckle. "Try again. You have one slow step and two quick ones to turn, before another slow step brings you back to me."
Face burning, Kisara tries again, making a concerted effort to keep her eyes away from the floor and pace her steps with the music. This time, she arrives safely back in Dohalim's arms, and feels a rush of satisfaction. So this is what it feels like to move as one with the music.
"Perfect," says Dohalim, smiling down at Kisara with honest happiness on his face. "When it comes to waltzes, that is all you need to know."
"But your other partners…" Kisara trails off. They are all so much more technically skilled than she is.
"I will teach you more moves later if you so wish," says Dohalim, still leading Kisara in the basic step. "But I need no elaborate displays of skill for dancing with you to be worthwhile."
"Pretty words from someone who waited so long to ask me," says Kisara, joking to buy time for her skipping heart to beat normally again.
Dohalim smiles. He has become much better at recognizing whether people are serious. "The only reason I have not danced with you until now is because I knew that I would not be able to dance with anyone else after you. My diplomatic obligations thus had to be fulfilled first."
The song changes, but Dohalim shows no sign of letting go, and after hearing that, Kisara has no wish for him to do so. The next song is faster-paced, and gradually, they accelerate from the basic step, dancing their way onto the floor proper. Though initially anxious, Kisara soon finds herself delighted with the spins Dohalim leads. With seeming effortlessness, he guides her around the floor, circumnavigating other couples with ease.
Losing track of herself, knowing only that she is in Dohalim's arms and enjoying herself, Kisara cannot tell whether the song ends a moment or an eternity later. Giddy from turns and spins and rotations around the ballroom, Kisara looks up at Dohalim and giggles. He, too, is smiling—really smiling, in a way she has hardly ever seen before. For a split second, the brilliance practically blinds her.
"I don't know about you, but after that, I could use some fresh air and a break," says Dohalim, offering his arm in a clear invitation, and Kisara takes it.
They step outside, into a pool of lamplight. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, and the faint scent of jasmine drifts past. Spreading her arms in something of a stretch, Kisara takes a deep breath, letting out a long and peaceful sigh. All her lingering stress and worries have melted away along with her inhibitions. Perhaps a good lead really can make a better follow.
Glancing over at Dohalim, Kisara finds that his smile this time is quiet, affectionate, and she admires the way his features look bathed in soft golden light. He is beautiful in a way that she feels that she will never be, but his is the only approval she needs.
"Kisara," says Dohalim, his voice softer than usual. Her name has never sounded lovelier than on his lips.
"Yes, Do?"
Tucking his hand around Kisara's waist, Dohalim pulls her near, pressing her against him so that she can hear his heartbeat. It still amazes her that there was ever a time when his fine musculature, his body heat, his scent of sandalwood, did not so much as enter her head. "There is no part of you that I do not desire." Kisara flushes, sure she must have misheard. How can Dohalim speak so openly of things like that? "Yet… if such desires are to be indulged, there are traditions that must first be upheld."
Dohalim brushes his thumb lightly over Kisara's ring finger, and she shivers. She half expects him to propose on the spot, but he simply gazes down at Kisara for a long moment, and she frowns. Dohalim is not the kind of person who would ask such an important question that informally. He must simply be talking of marriage in general. "Must they?" she asks, her voice faint, and clears her throat.
"According to both your culture and mine, at least," says Dohalim, releasing Kisara, but his tone is much more curious than firm. Evidently, this is not an ultimatum. "Please don't misunderstand. It is not my intention to pressure you into a more lasting bond than that which we share already—though I hope, of course, that my feelings are requited. I merely wish to offer you my life as a promise that I have no ulterior motives in asking anything more of you."
"I never thought you did," says Kisara truthfully. "But if you're not asking me now… then why are you giving me any warning? You don't seem the type to ruin a surprise like that."
"Tell me, what surprise have I ruined?" returns Dohalim. "It was a foregone conclusion that, sooner or later, I was going to ask you to marry me. It was only ever a matter of when." He smiles with utmost confidence, ignoring Kisara's astonishment. "And by the time that day comes, I will have ensured that you have no wish to refuse."
Kisara can say nothing, and Dohalim must know that, because he leans down to graze his lips against hers—teasingly, she thinks, though his mood is far too earnest to accommodate any real mischief. Rather, he has a tendency to make the first move but leave her to make the next, perhaps as a way of ensuring that this is something that she wants too. That may be something that they need to work on, but it is certainly an enjoyable process.
Closing her eyes, Kisara parts her lips to deepen their kiss, but pulls away as soon as she feels Dohalim start to reciprocate. Two can play at that game. "You don't have to be so shy, Do," she says, resting her hands on his shoulders. "I may not be as good with words as you, but I feel the same way you do."
"Do you think this is shyness?" asks Dohalim, caressing Kisara's face. "No, Kisara; this is restraint. I am only a man, after all, and I prefer not to tempt fate more than is wise." He smiles, curving his hand around her waist, and brings her gently forward again. "But… if indeed your wishes mirror mine, then I suppose that there is little harm in it now. Come, kiss me again, and I will show you what I cannot tell."
Suddenly, Kisara is not sure she should have told Dohalim to be less shy. But the way her heart skips a beat and her gut flutters is not unpleasant at all, so she musters her courage, leans back up, and kisses him one more time.
Their lips scarcely meet before Dohalim parts them, and Kisara is overwhelmed almost instantly. It is not that they have not kissed deeply before, but such kisses have been slower than this, more exploratory, a series of experiments marked by little laughs and minor readjustments. But now, the passion that has always been an undercurrent is rising rapidly to the surface, and she is both frightened of and exhilarated by its strength.
Dohalim skims the smooth edges of his fingernails up and down Kisara's mostly-bare back, and she shivers, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp. But she refuses to allow him the upper hand, and curves her fingers up to the back of Dohalim's neck, weaving them into the hair closest to his nape in an attempt to get the same reaction. She certainly succeeds: Dohalim lets out a little noise of surprise, breaks away… and brushes his lips along her cheek to her neck.
And then, he hesitates. "We should return," he murmurs, straightening up, "or the others might come looking for us."
"Oh," is all Kisara can say, her voice barely above a breath. Her thoughts are veiled even to herself, but she cannot help trying to make some sense of them. Did she really want Dohalim to continue, here and now? Her disappointment that he stopped implies as much. She has certainly changed since Dohalim moved in with her, but there is no shame in the realization, only surprise. And those changes are still happening: just tonight, she has recognized that she no longer wishes to keep their love a secret.
If Dohalim was talking of marriage, then perhaps he has grown tired of trysts as well.
Smiling as she realizes what she desires most in the moment, Kisara grasps Dohalim's collar with both hands, pulling him down. It is his turn to yelp, and Kisara cannot help but laugh. "You know there's no room for secrets between friends, Do," she says, gazing into his eyes, and glimpses the beginning of a smile. "Kiss me, and let them come."