Hardhaigh Palace hosted a lot of parties over the years, and they all began the same way: the guests entered to mingle for a while with music, wine, and hors d'oeuvres for entertainment. After an hour, the state dignitaries entered with all the fanfare befitting their stations, and then the dancing would begin.
Unfortunately, this schedule of events left the Aegis party unattended with wine, no idea what to do, and no Mòrag or Brighid to keep them out of mischief.
Angering nearby nobles with boisterous laughter was the least offensive thing they accomplished. Dromarch was, of course, on his best behavior, but he could not prevent Nia from giving sarcastic nicknames to each noble she saw. "Pratface," "Lionhair," and "Lady Froglips" were a few of her tamer ones. And rarely did she say them quietly.
Rex tried to keep his nose clean, but no one informed him of Mor Ardain's protocol to greet the woman first when introduced to a couple. Most found it amusing. But the greyer hairs seemed aghast that the Driver of the Aegis remained ignorant of the social norms of the world's oldest and proudest nation.
Even Tora had emerged from hiding for the gala to show off his extensive upgrades to Poppi QTpi. She looked very nearly human now. Tora had swapped out her exterior metal plating for a seamless, supple material that seemed, at first glance, to be skin. The mystery compound was, as Tora put it, "Nopon family secret recipe" using ingredients discovered in Elysium. The result was impressive; the material covered most of her screws, wiring, and seams with ease. Only an occasional creak of her gearing or the odd gleam of her alloyed eyes gave her away as an artificial Blade. And of course, her odd speech patterns.
Tora found it quite amusing to test how long it would take a partygoer to discover that Poppi was, in fact, manufactured. Zeke, Pandoria, and Nia found it equally entertaining and proceeded to tail Tora around from person to person, making bets on how long Poppi's non-humanity would stay a secret. But when someone started "accidentally" knocking Poppi into a Senator to reveal that she was made of metal, things got interesting.
Inevitably, whenever they weren't following Tora, Zeke and Pandoria ran from guest to guest, introducing themselves with too-loud voices, coordinated choreography, and—a new touch—rhythmic pulsing lights courtesy of the Blade's hat, shoulders, and tail. Not that introductions were necessary; most of the guests already knew them from previous state visits. And Zeke made a deep impression. Worse still, Pandoria had smuggled Turters into the party in her vest pocket. He fell out and scurried away while she was doing a cartwheel. As a result, the Driver and Blade felt it necessary to conduct an unsuccessful yet conspicuous search and rescue attempt.
Even Mòrag could hear Pandoria shouting for the tiny turtle as she approached the top of the staircase where she would enter the gala with the Emperor.
She glanced out over the crowd below. Just how many of these people would she have to dance with tonight? Her feet ached at the thought of it.
"Lady Mòrag, you're scowling again," Brighid warned.
"I know, I know. I'll give myself wrinkles," Mòrag recited.
"I was going to say that a princess should smile on her birthday. But that's true, too."
"I'm not ready for this, Brighid."
"You're going to be fine. Just be yourself."
Her Blade gave her a reassuring smile, but it did not reduce her anxiety. Brighid, unlike her Driver, was entirely in her element here. Mòrag almost wished Brighid was the one seeking the male attention tonight. She would doubtless have admirers; she looked lovely. A blue topaz gown replaced her usual purple one, matching her so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where the dress ended and her body began. And instead of her traditional hairstyle, Brighid now wore her flaming hair in a small braided circlet on top of her head. The overall effect of her hair and clothing was rather striking. It was almost as if Brighid had transformed into one of her own blue flames.
Of course, Brighid had worked her transformative magic on Mòrag, too...despite the latter's protests. Mòrag initially refused any makeup or perfume or elaborate hairstyles. Brighid insisted. But as a compromise, she kept her touches light, enhancing Mòrag's eyes and cheekbones with natural contours. And her simple updo was largely reminiscent of her typical hairstyle, with just a few added curls and a mother-of-pearl hairpin to better fit the occasion.
"You look beautiful, dear sister."
Mòrag bowed as the Emperor approached, Aegeon trailing behind him. Niall smiled sweetly at her, a child-like admiration on his face. Maybe dressing up was worth it, if only to see him so happy.
"Lady Brighid," Niall began, "thank you for all the help you have provided to make this evening a success. My sister and I are in your debt."
Brighid bowed low. "You honor me, Your Majesty. It is my pleasure."
Niall turned back to the stairwell and extended his arm to Mòrag. She took it, noting how much closer he came to her shoulders now. Had he gone through a growth spurt in the last two days?
Niall nodded to the announcer, who cleared his throat loudly. The entire hall quieted.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct honor to introduce to you this evening His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Niall—long may he reign! And accompanying him, Her Highness and Special Inquisitor, Lady Mòrag Ladair."
The hall erupted in applause as the two descended the stairwell, which felt twice as long as the day before. This was all wrong. She ought to be flanking Niall, not be escorted by him. And all eyes were supposed to be trained on him and all the splendor of his formal regalia. But she could feel all eyes on her instead. She knew why, of course, which only made her more uncomfortable.
Just a few more minutes, she reminded herself. Just one dance and they'll go back to their drinks.
In Mor Ardain, tradition dictated that the emperor and his escort be the first to dance, and once they reached the main floor of the ballroom, the orchestra swelled in bright chords. Although Mòrag appeared calm, internally, she was screaming. Dancing in a crowd she could handle; but performing like this made her want to disappear. Niall, thankfully, was an excellent dancer, and his graceful technique distracted the guests from her hesitancy. He led expertly. His feet moved in perfect sync, and he managed to pull Mòrag along without it looking like she was a half-beat off.
About halfway through the song, the crowd respectfully applauded, the unspoken signal that others could join in. Dozens of couples flocked to the dance floor. Once everyone was distracted again, Mòrag finally settled into rhythm. The worst of the night was over.
Or so she thought.
A man tapped Niall on the shoulder and bowed respectfully.
"Your Majesty, forgive my impudence, but might I cut in?"
Niall gave a polite smile. "Of course, Senator."
Any onlooker would have said that Niall had been perfectly cordial, giving a polite smile and deferring to the request as propriety demanded. Mòrag could tell otherwise. She saw the animosity brewing in his eyes, like a chink in his face-saving armor. And she knew why: this was Senator Carrow, the chair of the Brionac party. His signature was first on the bill that necessitated an Ardanach heir to begin with. He was, in short, the greatest threat to the throne.
"Senator, to what do I owe this pleasure?" She spat the word.
Carrow smiled and began to dance. "You're a smart woman, Lady Mòrag, so I won't waste your time with pleasantries. You think you've found a workaround with this little gala of yours, but it will be too little, too late. We will have a new Emperor in a matter of months."
"You intend to continue with your coup, then."
"It is not a coup if it's perfectly legal."
"You may have passed the bill into law," Mòrag began, "but you will not be able to pass a vote of no confidence against His Majesty. You need Gardic's agreement to do so, and the Emperor has regained the support of enough Senators to keep your poorly-veiled bid for the throne at bay. And I have it on good authority that one or more Senators will filibuster if you try to bring it to a vote."
Carrow laughed. "And they're welcome to filibuster until they're blue in the face, my lady. Yours are only temporary measures. You cannot hold this off forever. Support is a fickle thing, after all. An emergency or two, and the entire Senate could be turned against your precious Emperor in the blink of an eye."
"And if I trace those so-called emergencies back to you, you'll be hung for treason," Mòrag warned.
"I don't need to cause any emergencies myself. You're doing a perfectly good job of that yourself."
"I'm afraid I don't know what it is you're implying, Carrow."
"Rumor has it that a certain criminal has eluded your grasp time and time again," Carrow said smugly. "What was his name? Ah yes, Cor Baragh. The men of Mor Ardain fear that their sister, wife, or daughter could be next. And Senators are not exempt from that fear. But they have power to act on it."
"The Emperor is not to blame for the actions of a criminal."
"No, but he is to blame if that criminal is allowed to go unchecked. And as Special Inquisitor, you are an extension of his authority. If you fail to catch Baragh, it is as though the Emperor is too inept to catch one rapist. And your track record with this particular man is, to put it kindly, less than stellar. The Senate does not look kindly on such inadequacy."
"I will apprehend him. Your threat is meaningless." Mòrag tried to project confidence, but the truth of it was that Cor Baragh's trail had gone entirely cold as of late. She feared that the next time she found any trace of him would be when she spoke to his newest victim.
"And I hope you do. But bad things happen, even in Elysium. With the right spin, anything can necessitate a vote of no confidence."
Mòrag resisted the urge to purposefully step on his toes. "By then the Ardanach household will have an heir."
Carrow gave another of his nasty smiles. "So you do intend to finally serve your purpose as a woman. Which one of these fools will you be breeding with tonight, then?"
Carrow flinched as she stomped down on his foot. If she had been in uniform, the plating on her boots probably would have broken his toe.
"I will not be spoken to in such a way, Senator."
She let go of his hand and stopped dancing even though the music continued. Ardainian etiquette strongly discouraged abandoning a partner in the middle of a dance, but Mòrag could not stand his insolence any longer. Legally, she was well within her rights to have the man detained for disrespecting a superior officer. Senators, as members of the military's legislative branch, technically fell beneath her rank. But acting against Carrow so harshly would cause a far greater disruption than a simple breach of etiquette.
Much to her relief, she caught sight of Brighid walking towards them. A welcome interruption.
"Excuse me, Senator Carrow, but Lady Mòrag's presence is requested elsewhere. The Aegis and her Driver wish to see her," Brighid explained.
Carrow bowed his head. "Of course. I would not dare deny a request from the Aegis herself. Best of luck capturing your prey, Inquisitor."
Mòrag decided not to wonder what exactly he meant by "prey"—whether that was Cor or a husband, it was an unpleasant thought. And she was eager to get away from the man.
"Architect bless you for that, Brighid," Mòrag whispered when they were far enough away from the dance floor.
Brighid's face remained as tranquil as ever. "I could feel your anger from across the room, so I figured it would be best to come assist."
Mòrag nodded. Normally, she hated it when Brighid used their ether bond to read her emotions. It felt like she was being spied on, and Brighid did it often. But today, it was a welcome invasion.
"I would like to see Rex and the others, though. Before another dancer kidnaps me."
The Aegis party had retreated to a corner of the hall where fewer Ardainians congregated, but their boisterous laughter still drew scowls. Mòrag smiled at the sound. When she first met Rex and the others, she found them childish, naive, and undisciplined. But a few weeks in their company had reminded her how good it felt to laugh. And a dose of Rex's relentless positivity was just what she needed right now.
The group sat in a circle on the floor. Somehow, they'd gotten their hands on an empty wine bottle and set it in the center of their group. Nia was about to give the bottle a little spin when they finally noticed Mòrag and Brighid's approach.
"Mòrag!" Rex jumped up and smothered her in a fierce hug. Any nearby Ardainian gawked that he had both embraced her and addressed her so informally, but Mòrag didn't care. He was the same old Rex, charmingly innocent. At least one thing hadn't changed.
"Happy birthday, friend Mòrag!" Poppi chirped. Tora twirled in an excited circle beside her.
Nia looked at Mòrag and whistled loudly. "Wow, Brighid. You are a miracle worker."
Brighid simply gave a proud smile in response.
"It's good to see you. All of you," Mòrag said. "But...what exactly are you up to?" She gestured to the bottle between them.
Rex scratched his head and blushed. "Eh, just playing a little game. Spin the bottle."
Brighid frowned. "That crude kissing game? That explains why I keep hearing complaints about you all."
Pyra giggled. "That's how we started. You missed Tora smooching Dromarch."
"I am not participating in the game," Dromarch insisted. Mòrag was unsure if tigers could blush, but the memory clearly made Dromarch uncomfortable.
"But then we gave the game a little twist," Nia chimed in. "We come up with a little dare, and the person the bottle lands on has to do it."
"Oh dear. This cannot end well," Brighid said.
"Guys, new dare!" Pandoria shouted. "It's a good one. Whoever gets it has to dance with Mòrag!"
"Pandoria, no!" Zeke exclaimed. His cheeks reddened a bit when he realized that the entire group looked at him quizzically. "Mòrag, er, has a lot of politicians who wanna dance with her. We can't get in the way. Besides, a dance with one of us will cause her a heap of embarrassment. You've seen Tora's moves."
"For once, I agree with Zeke," Brighid volunteered.
"Methinks he doth protest too much," Pandoria snickered. She dodged an elbow jab from her Driver.
"It's a dare. I have to see this." Nia gave the bottle a little spin.
The group erupted in shouts and laughter when the bottle's mouth pointed to Zeke. He rolled his eyes.
"Go on, Shellhead! Ask her to dance!"
Much to Zeke's relief, an Ardainian Senator chose that moment to interrupt and request a dance of his own. And, as expected, that became the story of the evening: Mòrag would finish a dance with one noble, and another would take his place. It went on for hours. Watching them cut in one after another was quite entertaining (for everyone but Mòrag). The "eligible bachelors" all attempted to make a good first impression, but most floundered in desperate attempts at small talk. Only Senator Birall managed to avoid making a fool of himself, but by then, Mòrag seemed too tired to enjoy the company.
Zeke had made himself scarce after the last bottle-spin; Nia and Pandoria nagged him to make good on his dare. And it wasn't that he minded dancing with Mòrag. He knew he could dance well enough with anyone. But more than anything, he wanted a chance to talk with her. So he'd spent most of the evening watching and waiting for his opening.
After what seemed like the hundredth dance, a noblewoman stormed up to Mòrag and thrust something in her hand. Zeke couldn't tell what it was—a glass, perhaps? He gathered that the woman was quite angry about something. But once she finished her rant, she stormed away from the ballroom, dragging Mòrag's dance partner with her.
Mòrag shook her head and began to steal away from the hall—probably to get some fresh air and escape the remaining Senators. Zeke followed. She didn't go far, stopping at an outdoor balcony on the second floor. She sighed and leaned against the marble railing.
Zeke hesitated. He'd been thinking about what to say all night, but now that he stood a few feet away from her with no one else around, he blanked.
He never intended to stare. Fancy dress aside, he knew what Mòrag looked like. It wasn't that the sight of her bare back was new, either. When their group got separated in the Land of Morytha, he found Mòrag injured, slashed from behind by a Guldo. The wounds on her back were not life-threatening, but she had needed his help cleaning and bandaging the cuts. But today, far from the necessity of the battlefield, the sight of her skin—surprisingly smooth given her profession—hit him differently.
"Do you have something to say?" Mòrag's voice caught him off guard. She must have heard him following her.
"Err, well...um. The mighty Flamebringer in a skirt and heels! I never thought I'd see the day."
Zeke cursed under his breath. He spent an hour deciding what to say only to panic and blurt out a line he'd already used before. And one that irritated her, no less.
"Your death by fire can still be arranged, Zeke."
To his surprise, there was no irritation in her voice. It almost sounded like she was amused. Maybe someone else had made a similar remark already? Surely someone had; summer snow storms were easier to spot than Mòrag out of uniform.
He laughed, hoping she couldn't tell it was forced. "Well, at least I know you're still the same old Mòrag. We almost didn't recognize you!"
"I don't exactly recognize myself," Mòrag admitted.
"...You look nice, though," Zeke said at last, taking a leaning position against the balcony beside her. "And they've thrown you quite the party."
"From what I've heard, you and the others have already caused plenty of chaos. Speaking of which, I believe this is yours."
She handed him a mostly empty champagne glass. The liquid was long gone, but Turters lay at the very bottom, legs sprawled into the air. Zeke did not know if reptiles could get drunk, but Turters certainly looked it.
"Turters! Architect, where did you find him?" he asked, discarding the glass and putting Turters in the safety of his coat pocket.
"I didn't find him. Just now, I danced with Maximus Reagan. Insufferable man. Right after we finished, his mother, Madame Maxine, stormed up to me with a 'turtle-infested' wine glass. She insisted that Turters was the greatest insult their house has received in centuries. They stormed out of the gala over it."
"Gosh, Mòrag. I'm sorry. I have no idea how he got away. Or into the wine. Cheeky little scoundrel."
"Don't be. It was good riddance. And that house could benefit from a few more insults, if you ask me. They act as though they're entitled to everything." Mòrag sighed. "Maximus clearly believes he deserves to join the royal family."
There it was. A tiny opening. But it was probably all he would get.
"Your brother told me about the whole Ardanach heir thing. Jolly cold of the Senate to force your hand, really...How are you holding up with all of that?"
She gave a long sigh. "Honestly, I'm dreading every minute of it. I...I think I always knew that I'd end up in an arranged marriage. But knowing it and seeing it happen are two very different things. I just...I want my country to see me as more than just a womb. I don't want to be remembered for producing heirs."
"You're Mor Ardain's Special Inquisitor. You helped the Aegis find Elysium. And we couldn't have done it without you. You'll be remembered for that, won't you?"
"Do you know what every so-called suitor of mine has done tonight? They've all asked who will take my place as Special Inquisitor once I'm married," Mòrag said bitterly. "None of them intend for me to keep my position. But Special Inquisitor...I'm not sure who I am without it. They want me to stop being me."
"Niall would never force you to quit."
"No, but the rest of Mor Ardain will."
"Then why do this?"
Mòrag hesitated. She never intended to speak so openly about her fears with anyone. But during their journey to Elysium, she and Zeke spoke frequently about governance. They often disagreed about the nuances of policy. But unlike many people, he actually challenged her thinking, dared to tell her when she was wrong. He never sucked up to her or talked down to her. Not even Brighid could say as much. Sure, the Blade would give her opinion—even if it ran contrary to Mòrag's own—but even Brighid deferred to her judgment when the time for action came.
Zeke, she realized, treated her as an equal.
"...I suppose I hoped that at least one man in Mor Ardain would understand. Just one who wouldn't force me to choose between my duty and my passion," she admitted. "But it was a fool's hope."
"You never know. One might turn up," Zeke offered.
"Time is a luxury I do not have. Senator Carrow made that very clear this evening."
"Your timeline is worse than mine, then. At least my old man gave me six months. If I don't, he swears he'll pick my wife for me."
"Tantal needs an heir too, then?"
"Yup. And as the only child, that honor goes to yours truly."
"Let me guess: you're going to refuse, and your father will disown you again," Mòrag predicted.
Zeke shook his head. "Nah, it's time I ended my days as a free agent. It was fun and all, but my old man nearly destroyed Tantal with his damn secrets. If I flaunt my inheritance again, he'll appoint the next king himself. And then he'll pick someone who thinks just like him, which means Tantal will have another Eulogimenos. But what Tantal needs is a change. I intend to be that change. But I can't be banished to do it. So I have to go along with his ultimatum...I guess that means we're both prisoners to our own duty, eh?"
She nodded. "Such is the life of a royal...Do you have someone in mind?"
"My dad sprung it on me. Of course, he made plenty of suggestions. But I don't fancy them."
At the start of their conversation, Zeke's goal was merely to get a better grasp of the situation, to learn how Mòrag was feeling. He hadn't even intended to share that his own father demanded an heir, but then she shared how much stress the whole scenario caused for her. It would have been unfair not to share his own situation. At least she knew that someone else in the world understood the tension duty caused.
He did not plan, however, on saying more than that. He needed to take some time to think.
Unfortunately, Zeke had the tendency to ramble when he was nervous. Even more so when he had a drink or two. Ardainian wine packed a stronger punch than Tantal's, and he felt it now. Between the wine and the nerves, his next sentence burst out before he could stop himself.
"You know, if we both have to get into an arranged marriage, it would almost be easier if we just married each other. Two birds, one stone."
Mòrag stared at him, her expression unreadable. Damn it, she's furious with me now, he thought.
Zeke forced another laugh. "I-I said that out loud, didn't I? It was a joke. Just, er, trying to lighten the mood."
Only her eyebrows betrayed her disbelief. "When you joke, you make wild, dramatic gestures. You stood still when you said that. You weren't joking...at least not completely."
"Yeah. But now that I've said it, I realize it's a terrible idea. Just forget it."
She turned back to look at the stars and fell silent for an uncomfortably long time. "It's not the worst idea you've ever had...We are friends. And a friend would be a marked improvement over the circus downstairs."
Zeke felt a weight lift off his chest. At least she wasn't mad. He'd half expected her to slap him for his comment. But she actually thought about it. Even now, he could see the concept swirling in her eyes. That was far more than he hoped for.
"Well, good to know I'm at the top of your list of last resorts," he laughed. "Although I'm afraid I got ahead of myself. What man proposes marriage without at least asking for a dance first?"
"It was a sad excuse for a proposal, Zeke. And I never said yes," she said firmly.
"Then let's start over with a clean slate." He cleared his throat and bowed, hand extended. "May I have this dance, Mòrag? If memory serves, this is your favorite song. And I still have a dare to make good on."
She took his hand. "Good memory."
Meanwhile, the Aegis party had grown bored of their game of dares. As a result, they did not fail to notice when Zeke and Morag reappeared together on the dance floor. Those who still had gold remaining from their Poppi-based bets earlier in the evening cast another little wager: how long would Zeke dance with her?
Most of the party bet that Morag would stop after one musical number. But after the sixth song came and went—and multiple dejected Senators slunk away after the Inquisitor shot them down—it was clear that they'd have to pay up.
"Called it," Pandoria laughed, pocketing her sizable prize.
"I don't believe it," the Aegis said. That bet had completely drained her pockets.
"Is it just me, or is Shellhead acting awfully...I dunno, nervous? He's more of a spanner than usual."
"His heart rate reading is full standard deviation above normal levels," Poppi observed. Her gaze was fixed on the pair of dancing royals. Compared to other couples on the floor, they were unusually close. And Zeke's hand lingered on the bare skin exposed by Mòrag's dress—slightly lower than her waist. "Is...is this what humans call getting handsy?"
Nia snorted so hard that a mist of champagne shot from her nose. She doubled over, half from discomfort and half from laughter.
"Tora, you might want to update Poppi's social awareness protocols," Pyra observed. "But...she's not wrong."
"D'you think Zeke...likes her?" Rex asked.
"Now Mòrag look like woman. It hard not to," Tora said.
"Look, I know Shellhead's dense, but even he can see that Mòrag is way out of his league," Nia replied. "Although he is suspiciously nervous."
"I think they could be good together," Rex said.
"They're total opposites."
"But opposites attract sometimes, right?" Rex continued. "And think about it. Mòrag's focused and serious and dedicated. Zeke thinks outside the box and knows how to bring some fun and laughter to even the most dangerous mission. They balance each other out. And they both are super devoted to helping their countries."
"Rex, are you seriously trying to play matchmaker between Zeke and Mòrag right now?" Pyra teased.
"Well, no. There's no way in Alrest I'd try to set it up." Rex blushed. "But I mean, we all know Mor Ardain is trying to trap Mòrag in an arranged marriage. Wouldn't it be better if she could marry someone she already knows pretty well? Like, if she has to."
A bolt of ether flashed as Mythra replaced Pyra. "We're all forgetting one very important detail. Zeke is clearly nervous. But what about Mòrag? That's the real question here. Poppi, can you tell?"
The artificial Blade returned her attention to the dancers. "Inconclusive," she announced. "Mòrag heart rate fluctuating beyond normal range, but Poppi see no statistically significant data to confirm or deny hypothesis."
"So you can't tell, then."
"Data inconclusive."
"We should go find Kora," Mythra suggested. "She could like, go bump into Mòrag or Zeke. Make them accidentally kiss or something. Then we'd know for sure."
"Mythra meddlesome," Poppi observed.
"No, Mythra." Rex's tone was unusually firm. "I'm still in debt from the last time you and Kora stayed up late for girl talk in Tantal. The last thing I need is you two acting on your gossip."
"I don't really think Mòrag wants to get married, anyway. I think she'd be content serving the Emperor until she died," Nia added.
"Lady Mòrag is convinced that her marriage will do a service for His Majesty. That's how she views it, anyway," a voice behind them announced.
"Brighid! How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to know that you all require adult supervision," the fire Blade replied. "And before you even ask, no, I don't know how Mòrag feels about Zeke. If she harbors any romantic feelings for anyone, she has not told me. And you should be warned that I will personally whip anyone who meddles in her affairs."
"Touchy much? Sheesh."
"You all have caused enough trouble for one evening. But I did not come here to babysit. Could I borrow Pyra?"
There was a pause as the Aegis struggled to change back into the redheaded Blade. Like Rex had mentioned in his letters, the explosion at the World Tree had upset the ether flow that allowed her to transform. Her ability to switch at will was returning, but the response time was slow. "What do you need, Brighid?"
"His Majesty has arranged for a special fireworks display to close the celebration. One of the palace Blades was supposed to assist me in lighting them, but he is thoroughly intoxicated. I hoped the Aegis might take his place."
Pyra's eyes brightened. "Of course. It sounds like fun."
"Oi, where did Zeke and Mòrag go?"
Meanwhile, after several more dances, Mòrag and Zeke had returned to the balcony without anyone noticing. Jedrek Carthaigh had tried to cut in multiple times, and avoiding him was one thing they both silently agreed on. Mòrag also wanted to get Zeke off the dance floor before too many of Mor Ardain's nobles saw how closely he held her. The entire court would surely be talking about it tomorrow.
"I had no idea you danced so well," she said, trying to fill the silence between them. When neither of them spoke, she found her mind jumping back to the feeling of his hand against her back, how he held her as they danced. She wanted to be angry about his behavior. She would have walked away in the middle of the dance if Senator Birall or anyone else acted that way. And it honestly would have been easier if she did feel angry. Anger she could deal with.
This feeling, though...was she subconsciously trying to convince herself that knowing Zeke made this easier? Men had flirted with her before, even proposed to her; she always held them at arm's length. And she had never even thought about Zeke in such a way, either. But now that she could not hold the issue of marriage—and its accompanying emotions—at bay, she did not know how to feel about it.
No. This feeling was the stress of the evening, nothing more. Nor did it matter how she felt. Her duty mattered most. And Zeke's actions did not conflict with that duty.
"Yeah, I'm a good dancer," Zeke grinned. "I'm a jolly good kisser, too."
Mòrag rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, Ozychlyrus."
"Please, don't call me that."
"Think of it as payback for your dress and heels remark earlier. And for Turters." Mòrag smiled.
"Hey, that one's not my fault. Pandoria was supposed to be watching him."
The sky erupted in showers of blue fiery stars, cutting off whatever Zeke intended to say next. All the confidence he had while dancing seemed to vanish. He just stood beside her, visibly uncomfortable.
That makes two of us, Mòrag thought.
As the world's major military power, Mor Ardain boasted centuries' worth of experience mastering explosives. The world's best fireworks came as a fringe benefit. Brilliant greens, vibrant reds, warm yellows, shocking whites, and royal purples all danced in the heavens in the most elaborate shapes. And thanks to Brighid's keen timing on the ground, each firework exploded at the precise moment in its precise position. The result was a moving tapestry of light depicting a fierce warrior surrounded by flame in the heat of battle. The Flamebringer in the sky cut down all who opposed her in a dizzying display of light and sound.
At last, the sky and the air went still.
Zeke whistled. "Impressive. You, ah...you look good in fireworks. Very fierce."
"I was just thinking it was a bit much."
"Ever the modest one, eh?" Zeke hesitated. "So, er. Mòrag. About what I said earlier…"
"I will discuss the matter with His Majesty tomorrow," Mòrag said, understanding the question he failed to verbalize. "I suggest you do the same with your father."
"Then you're actually going to consider it?" Zeke's voice was higher than usual.
"I will explore if it is even a viable option for my country," Mòrag said, trying to keep her voice as passive as possible. "A political marriage is no small endeavor, and Tantal has little to offer Mor Ardain...besides an heir, of course. And after years of isolation, Tantal might not be fond of such a binding alliance with Mor Ardain. But there may be advantages as well. We must explore those possibilities. If our sovereigns approve, then...then, yes. I would consider it."
Zeke nodded and his shoulders relaxed. "I guess I better head home and have a chat with my old man, then. That's going to be quite the conversation...Well, goodnight, Mòrag. And happy birthday."
Zeke took her hand, kissed it, and left.
It was a cordial gesture, but for a moment, Mòrag almost wished she hadn't worn gloves.
