There are very few things in the world that give pleasure like a new dress. This one was a dark, sapphire-blue silk piece with long, fitted sleeves and a bodice inlaid with accents of lighter crushed velvet. It was high in the front, almost to my neck, but dipped in the back to show a nearly scandalous amount of flesh Feleas had piled my hair high and to the side so that not an inch of pale skin was concealed. As I descended the stairs to where Amrothos waited in the lobby, I enjoyed the feeling of extra sensitivity that always came when I felt I looked my best. The air seemed richer, the wood of the banister smoother and the light softer.

Amrothos was dressed in a silver tunic with the crest of Dol Amroth on it and he too looked uncommonly well.

"Oh, good you're here finally," he said when he saw me.

"You look uncommonly well, Amrothos," I said gently, feeling very at peace with the whole world, including Amrothos.

"Don't talk like that. It's annoying," he snapped. "I need to tell you what I heard about Lady Winweld."

"Oh?" That did perk my attention.

Lady Winweld was such an elegant, gracious, honorable simpering little bore of a rule-follower that I couldn't remember ever hearing any gossip about her at all. She was almost impossible to talk to as well, having very little sense of humor and very little to say about anything that wasn't the weather, her sewing sampler and some very well considered political opinions that were entirely her father's.

"Apparently she's angling to marry the King of Rohan!" Amrothos burst out. "I heard that she went to the stables this afternoon with the Ranger King and she was fawning all over him, the little doe. It was all—'how big the horses are, my lord' and 'how brave in battle you were, my lord' and 'I hear Rohan gets ever so cold in winter but I should love to see it for myself someday if you catch my drift, my lord.'" He threw back his head and laughed. "Can you believe it?"

I cocked my head to the side for a second and considered. "Yes, actually. That makes a lot of sense to me."

"What?" Amrothos almost choked on his laughter.

"I think they'd make each other happy," I said with a shrug. "I mean he can ride around Rohan all day while she darns his socks and cooks him dinner. And then they can sit down and have a solemn conversation about how lovely and respectable their whole lives are until they both die of boredom. I don't know which one of them will be more pleased with the arrangement."

"You can't be serious. It would be like breeding a wolf with a lap dog! She'd die of fright on their wedding night if not from the ensuing physical damage," he spat out with a laugh.

"It's a good political move for Lord Winweld too," I went on. "I keep reminding you that you're nearly alone in your opinion of Rohan these days. I bet a dozen Ladies will be vying to win King Éomer's affections this week. After all Queen of Rohan is still Queen of Something."

Amrothos rolled his eyes. "Women are absolutely idiotic sometimes."

"That's very true." I said. "But men are almost always, so we still come out ahead."

"You shop that swill somewhere else, Lothi. You aren't called the weaker sex for nothing."

"We aren't called the fairer sex for nothing either. Women are at least willing to acknowledge that men have some redeeming qualities. I've never known a man in my life to say anything nice about womankind in general," I countered with a cheeky grin.

"It's fairer as in lovelier, not as in more just, and you know it. Pun is the lowest form of comedy. Especially when there is no punch-line except a high-handed edict about the superiority of your own sex."

By then we were walking up towards the Citadel. On such a lovely evening the dancing would be outside Merethrond, and not inside. Except for one of my father's guards, we were alone, as out of the men of my family only Amrothos had been willing to wait until I finished my coiffure. The part of Minas Tirith where my father kept quarters was almost entirely deserted, all of our noble neighbors must have already left for the celebration, but when we reached the main way the streets were abundantly alive. The smell of produce that had fallen into the gutter over the day, the shouts of the drunken men in the taverns, and the warm lamplight in the houses seemed distant though somehow, almost masked by my finery like a fire seen through a thin cloth.

However, once we ascended to the Citadel, the riot of color and sound in the courtyard that greeted us outside Merethrond was undiminished. Lamps hung everywhere, lighting up the darkness and making the hall seem impossibly festive. Women in beautiful dresses were everywhere with men attending them, asking them to dance or bringing them refreshments. The finery that had set me apart from the commoners made me feel at home with the nobles.

Amrothos went to fetch us some wine, and I went to look for my lord father and brothers. I found them towards the steps of the great hall. I was hoping to greet them quickly and then hurry away. It was required that I spend some time with them but none of them are much fun at parties really, and I was hoping to make only a quick appearance.

To my dismay I found that I recognized the blond hair of the man in the group whose back was to me. What was he doing talking to my father and brothers? He was meant to be off stalking a Gondorian wife with all his finely tuned hunting instincts. There were no marriageable girls in my family—not even a single distant and distinguished cousin he could be hoped to be introduced to—so what was he doing here?

And it was wretchedly inconvenient. I could hardly greet the King of Rohan and then quickly dash away. My father might tolerate a little rudeness to be rid of me quickly, but not in front of a foreign king. But there was no helping it, Elphir had already spotted me and waved.

"Ah, Father, you look charming this evening." I cooed as I approached. "Just utterly charming."

"Thank you, Daughter. You look as lovely as ever," he said, giving me a brief, formal embrace.

I curtseyed to Éomer. "Ah, King Éomer, so good to see you again so soon."

"You as well, my lady," he replied, bowing and kissing my hand.

"You've met my daughter?" my father asked.

"She came this morning with her brother Elphir to watch the horses being exercised," Éomer said.

"Oh...I see." Father was never a very good actor and he didn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "I never knew you were very interested in horses, Lothiriel. The one I bought you as a girl always had to be exercised by the stable boys."

"Ah yes...I remember that horse. Black wasn't she?"

"Gray actually."

I did remember the horse really. She was a pretty little gray mare named Sea Breeze, with a soft, cream-colored mane and a nice, even temper. He'd bought her for me the single summer when Amrothos and I had come back to Dol Amroth. I'd hardly ever ridden her because I'd broken my arm a few weeks before and it was almost impossible to use the reins. But I'd gone to visit her almost every day and to brush her and play with her. It didn't make sense to bring her back to the city. Amrothos didn't ride so I would have no suitable chaperone and therefore no occasion to use her. And we'd been so horrible that summer to my father and to the castle staff that we hadn't been invited back the next summer. Who knows if I would have liked her after a few years—I had always been fickle with my toys—but I had loved her quite desperately that summer.

Why had I done that? I wondered as I looked up at my father's expression of vague, resigned disappointment. Why would explaining that I'd had a broken arm the one time I'd ever owned a horse feel like an excuse? Why was it so much easier to simply be the daughter I had been before the war? I had wanted to meet the Rohirrim that morning in the stables, too. But once I had said something that had gotten misconstrued I had gone on the defensive and made everything so much worse. I was working hard on being a better person—braver, kinder and humbler. But only humble after my own fashion. I was willing to humble myself to Feleas partly because I had wronged her so obviously. But also because she had never expected it of me; because she wasn't stern and proud and perhaps even because I had nothing to gain from it. But I couldn't quite bring myself to apologize to a man whose forgiveness would mean so much to me and who was so reluctant to give it.

The conversation turned for a time back to what they had been discussing before I had arrived: It appeared that Éomer was buying a rather enormous consignment of grain from Gondor and most especially from Dol Amroth. Rohan had been almost burned to the ground in some places during the war and I knew and it would take years before they could produce enough grain to feed all their people. They were talking about transport—wagons, ships, even the Dimholt—about security from various threats (notably the wild men, who had mostly been smashed but were still prominent near what had been Isenguard) and payment and various other things. I let my mind wander and peered at my glass of wine, thinking about the sun flashing in a black mane and a golden mane.

"Lothíriel?" My father's sharp voice brought me back to the conversation. "Erchirion asked you a question."

I laughed lightly. "Oh sorry, Erchirion. What did you want to know?"

"I wanted to know what you thought about the riding this morning," he repeated.

I shrugged. "It was quite good I suppose," I said lightly.

"Well, she certainly seemed interested in horses this morning," Elphir said with a knowing grin. "I don't think she blinked once the whole time."

"A passing fancy I'm sure. It's always interesting to see a true master practice his skill," I said. "It's enough to make anyone fall in love with it for a morning or two."

"A true master? You flatter me, Lady Lothíriel," the King said with a tight, restrained smile, sounding none too happy to be flattered. "But tell me...what in your life isn't a passing fancy?"

It was a clumsy, unpracticed jab. There was not real fight or menace or bitterness in his tone. But with beginners luck he had somehow managed to hit quite close to a bulls-eye with it. There was nothing in my life that I wouldn't sell for the right price, and I knew it. But what I had learned over the years was that with a blow that close to the mark the only thing to do was to lean into it. "Well, I've always flattered myself that I keep an exceedingly nice wardrobe..." I began with a small, self-deprecating smile.

"Books." The voice came from behind me.

I turned around to find Amrothos holding two glasses of wine, one of which he passed to me, before bowing to the king. "Good evening, Father, good evening, King Éomer. I am really so glad to meet you finally after all the wonderful talk I've heard about you," he said sycophantically.

"Éomer this is my youngest son, Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth," my father said.

"I am pleased to meet you as well, Amrothos," the King replied. "But what were you saying about books?"

Amrothos smiled. "Ah yes, Lothíriel has always been an avid reader."

"Oh, that hardly counts." I waved him off. "Everyone likes to read from time to time."

Amrothos laughed. "Not me! Besides, I've seen you read books I'm convinced no one but the librarian has touched in years. Not everyone likes to read Treaties on the Surface and Volume of Shapes or Farming Techniques of the Haradrim Highlands."

Amrothos wasn't lying. I love to read and always have. I'm only mediocre with a needle, and I'm completely indifferent at cooking, musical instruments of all kinds, arranging furniture, flowers pillows or marriages, but reading I really enjoy. Never one for false modesty, modesty of any ilk really, I had always known I was intelligent and had always been innately ashamed of it, as most intelligent women are. Amrothos had been particularly careful never to let me forget that it was not something to be proud of. But he needn't had bothered – no one had ever needed to tell me it was unbecoming, unladylike... masculine, I had simply known.

I didn't blush, but my face seemed to tighten somehow. Still, I forced myself to be relaxed as I sipped my wine and said slowly, "The library is one of the few places in the city that is very rarely crowded. And there is a very decent wine shop down the street."

Amrothos grinned at that, knowing it was a weak excuse but that I had no other. "And what about you, King Éomer? Are you a reader?" The gentlest inflection in the world turned the question into a mocking insult, though I was the only one to notice.

"I'm ashamed to say I'm not. Éowyn used to say that the only time I ever spent in the library was either because our tutors had dragged me there by the ear or because some girl had dragged me there by the ..." he trailed off suddenly.

I didn't have to look at Amrothos' face to know the look of frozen, quiet, hideous victory that was there. To cover the awkward moment Elphir cut in, "I was never a reader myself either. I could never seem to drag myself in there if there was a horse to be ridden or a bout to be fought! It's a vice to be sure, but perhaps not the worst."

"A balance is what should be struck in my opinion," Amrothos said. "A well-shaped person should be able to do a little of everything. Lothíriel here for example is quite fond of dancing and she's often told that she does it charmingly. I'm sure she would love to show you some time, my lord."

That last part was true of course but what maiden isn't told that she dances charmingly? In fact I was rather an indifferent dancer. I liked it well enough and I didn't trip or stumble or make a fool of myself but neither was I especially elegant or talented.

Éomer turned to me. "Would you do the honor, my lady?"

I glanced at his hands and for a second I wanted to say yes. There was something about how big they were—almost twice the size of my own it seemed—that made me want to feel them pressed against my own palm, circled around my waist and guiding me across the floor. I laughed. "Oh, no, my lord, you don't want to share your first dance with me. Think how disappointed all the other maidens would be. I'd have to get someone to taste my porridge for poison tomorrow before I eat it. Perhaps after a few songs..."

"Lothíriel!" my father cut in, voice suddenly sharp. "Are you refusing our guest a dance?"

I almost sighed. The idiots thought I was trying to snub him out of a dance; that I was refusing to dance with him because he was from Rohan.

I couldn't very well explain that it because I had a reputation for being a sneaky, backstabbing gossip monger. I couldn't very well say that he should dance the first dance with some girl who was a marriageable prospect, someone respectable. I couldn't say that opening the dance with me was not the message Éomer wanted to send. "My lord..." I began but stopped short when I heard the almost pleading quality of my own voice. I forced a smile. "I would be happy to open the dance with you, King Éomer."

As if on cue the musicians wound up the last song and began a slow, measured dance number as King Elessar led Queen Arwen out onto the dance floor. For a moment only the two of them glided almost impossibly elegantly over the smooth flagstones while we all watched, captivated. But then Éowyn and Faramir joined them, and I glanced over at my dance partner.

He nodded and took my hand, leading me out into the almost empty floor.

Éomer's hand at my waist was firm and warm. He seemed confident in the steps as he led me forward into the pattern. He was a fine partner. He pushed just when he should and pulled just when he should, and never hesitated. I hadn't expected him—the Barbarian King, as Amrothos would say—to know the Gondorian dances, much less be good at them. But we moved without emotion or embellishment. Neither of us did anything more than move our feet in the steps; neither of us enjoying ourselves.

To my surprise I found that we had moved to the other end of the courtyard at some point during the dance and now we were alone. It was an awkward moment for both of us. Having been forced into a dance neither of us had wanted, we now had to think of something to say about it. "You dance well, my lord," I said simply. "I hadn't thought that you would know Gondorian dances, I've read that the dances in Rohan are quite different."

He shrugged. "Only a few. I think Aragorn had them play that one because I know it."

"Who?"

"Oh...King Elessar. Before he was King he went by the name Aragorn."

"Did..." I began but was cut off by a woman in a rather stunning burgundy dress who floated over to us. She was fashionably short and pale, almost like a human in miniature, with soft delicate features and round, pale pink lips that were almost exactly the shape of a bow. She had large, luminescent blue eyes and a mass of straight black hair. Always one of the most beautiful women in the court, she looked exceptionally well tonight.

"Éomer King, I had not known you danced so well," she said in a voice like a soft little tinkling bell. "Lady Lothíriel, you of course danced as beautifully as you always do."

"Hello, Lady Winweld," I said with a grin. "You are as gracious as you always are."

"It is not gracious to speak the truth, Lady Lothíriel," she said piously.

"Ah well then, you are as true as you always are."

"You are too kind."

"I would have thought it wouldn't be kind to speak the truth either... if it isn't gracious, that is," I said, feigning confusion.

"I only meant..." she began.

"Don't trouble yourself...I think I've seen the beginning of it and it will give me something to think about as I drop off to sleep tonight," I said brusquely. "But I've also just seen Amrothos, and he has my glass of wine. So you'll have to excuse me for being so rude as to run away just the second I've found you. Thank you again for the dance, my lord," I said, curtseying to Éomer.

To my surprise he raised one blond eyebrow at me and he looked as if he was fighting not to smile slightly as he bowed and said, "thank you, lady."

I hadn't seen Amrothos of course but I managed to find him easily enough and reclaim my glass of wine. "You looked well, dancing with the King of Rohan," he said with a laugh. "Perhaps you'll be the lucky lady with a barbarian's foal in you this time next year."

"Perhaps," I agreed. "But what the devil are you playing at, telling him I'm a good dancer. He was practically obliged to ask me for a dance after that."

Amrothos grinned. "Oh, I'm not really sure yet what I'm playing at. I suppose I just wanted to see the look on Winweld's, and all the others', faces when you got the first dance of the night. That should give them all something to stew on while they undo their hair tonight."

I frowned. "Amrothos..." I began, "I thought we agreed we weren't going to do that kind of thing anymore. The war is over, and Denethor is dead. It's a different kind of court and you don't know what it will be like."

He shook his head. "No, you agreed with yourself not to do that kind of thing anymore. And the court will never change, Lothi. As long as people are people they're still going to drink too much, sleep with people they aren't married to and be so ashamed of it that they can be manipulated."

"Fine, you stay here and worry about the look on Lady Winweld's face without me," I said. "I'm going to go look for another dance."

But as I crossed back across the courtyard, weaving in and out through the groups of people, I passed Éomer again. He was still with Lady Winweld, to whom he had given his arm, but they had also been joined by Lady Harra.

Lady Harra was not exactly beautiful but she had a hard, lean body with a face that was difficult to look away from somehow. It was appealing in the way the edge of a tall building is appealing, and gut-wrenching terrifying. Amrothos and I were good at court intrigue but we were babes in the wood compared to Harra. When we'd first heard the Ring Bearer's tale I had whispered to Amrothos that Shelob probably looked like Lady Harra...the hideous great spider at the center of the web of gossip and power that stretched over the court. And the look on her face told me in an instant that she had just caught two juicy new flies and planned on feasting well.

For a moment I almost kept walking. I could find another glass of wine and a dance and leave Éomer and Winweld to fend for themselves. But I knew they wouldn't. Neither of them had what it took to fend for themselves, not if Harra was hunting them.

So I sighed and fixed a smile on my face and cooed. "Lady Harra! How good to see you. You look ravishing tonight as usual. Why does Lord Harra ever let you out of the house?" The last I inflected in a way that made it impossible to tell if it was a genuine compliment for her or a recommendation for her husband.

"Lady Lothíriel," she said, matching my congeniality. "That new dress does such wonders for your eyes, I'm sure all the other ladies here want to just scratch them out."

"I do hope I haven't interrupted something important," I said.

"Not at all, not at all," Harra cooed. "Lady Winweld here was just telling me all about the fascinating tour of the stables she had with King Éomer here this afternoon. Would you believe that she even got to…er…stroke his stallion?"

I bit my lips and tried not to laugh.

"And just tell Lady Lothíriel here how much you enjoyed stroking the King's stallion? Was it very smooth? Were you not at all afraid of it? Being that it is so big?" Harra continued.

"Oh no, I couldn't be afraid!" Winweld said slowly. "Not with King Éomer right there and all to protect me...and yes it was ever so smooth, being that it gets brushed everyday and all."

Winweld seemed to know that somehow the conversation had gotten away from her but she seemed perplexed as to precisely how. Éomer at least had a clear idea of the joke, but he was standing rigidly still with an angry expression on his face. He looked as if his best idea of how to handle this attack involved drawing his sword. I almost rolled my eyes at that.

"Well, I declare I almost feel offended. I went down to the stables myself this morning and not once did King Éomer invite me to stroke his stallion. Lady Harra, I think you and I should insist that the King takes us down to the stables right now and lets us take turns stroking his stallion until we are thoroughly content. After all, if there is anyone who loves to stroke stallions as much as you, I certainly don't know them." I put a little power into my voice on the last sentence so that it carried well enough to be heard by anyone passing by.

Harra grinned expansively at that. "Ah, there's the old Lothi we've all been missing," she said, almost sighing with contentment. "My dear, it has been so long since we've seen your claws I was afraid that you'd filed them off or they'd become snagged on the drapes. Such a sad thing for a little kitten like you."

"I suppose I'd miss your claws too, Harra if you ever put them away," I said evenly. "Tell me, when Lord Harra comes to your bed does he wear his armor to protect himself? I suppose it's just as well though since it would never get any use otherwise. What did he do again during the battle of Pelennor Field? I heard he was fishing at his homestead castle?"

Winweld tried to get a word in here. I think because it was the first thing we'd said in paragraphs that made any sense to her at all. "I'm sure Lord Harra would never have left if he had thought..." she began.

Harra laughed. I gave Winweld a look telling her to shut her mouth that even she couldn't misread. "Come on, Harra where's the sport in this anyway? You might as well go out and shoot arrows into a butt two feet away or joust against a toddler."

"Oh, since when has any of that been in bad taste?" she inquired. "I say as long as the arrow or the lance lands with a thunk you've done a good job."

"Well, no one would ever say you had poor taste but if I ever catch you doing this again I'm going to point out to Lord Harra that your second sonGaluion doesn't look at all like him. After I've said it, it won't matter if it's true or not, he'll always wonder."

For almost a half a second she seemed to show a flash of fear but then the same predatory, toothy smile was back. "Well, I seem to have hit a little bit of a nerve here, haven't I Lothi? Didn't realize I was trying to...what was it you said? Shoot my arrow at your butt?" She asked sweetly, glancing at Éomer.

I laughed. "More like joust with my toddler. But nice try, Harra. Now why don't you slink away and try to find someone deserving to rake those talons over."

"Shouldn't be all that hard," she said slowly, grinning at me pointedly. "Enjoy your night, Lothi."

"You too, Harra."

After she left there was a moment of deafening silence. All the time I had been fencing with Harra, Éomer had stood speechless. Whatever had this Barbarian King thought of that show of hostilities? "Anyway..." I began awkwardly, trying out a casual smile, "I was just on my way for another glass of wine. The two of you enjoy your night."

But when I left I headed in the opposite direction of the refreshments. I felt too heady and drunk and terrified by what I had just said to Harra to go back into the party. Instead, I moved out into the dark towards the edge of the courtyard where it dropped away into a thousand feet of oblivion at the edge of the white spire. Not many revelers were out this way and I wanted to be alone for a while.

It had been so stupid to snap right in Harra's face like that. I was going to suffer the consequences too. Since the war I had been careful not to stir up any trouble for myself and now I'd gone right for the queen bee when I stuck my foot into the hive. Why had I done it? Winweld meant nothing to me. I paid so little attention to her that if I'd walked by her when she'd fallen into a ditch, I probably wouldn't have noticed her cries for help. And I certainly hadn't done it to impress King Éomer. Who could be impressed by a petty tooth-and-nail squabble like that? If anything he'd probably thought less of me after it. To protect him then? But I had no reason to want to do that, particularly if I had to buy it with my own peace.

Why had I done that?

"Why did you do that?" The voice behind me echoed my thoughts so well that I almost didn't hear it at first. But when I did I recognized it immediately: a familiar low, bass voice with a hint of command even in the most casual conversation.

I turned around slowly, grinning. "Do what?" I asked with faux innocence.

He didn't bother to answer my question, just waited, staring at me with eyes so intensely blue I could see their color even by the dim light. I felt them bore into me and I found the desperate urge to shift uncomfortably under them. These were eyes that had seen their King die on the battlefield and witnessed the horror of the Black Gate. They were patient eyes, and I wasn't going to win a staring contest with them.

"Oh, that thing with Lady Harra, you mean?" I said with a little dismissive laugh. "Just a little taste of what life was like back in the days when Denethor reigned. We ladies of the court can be so nostalgic. It's a weakness really."

He came closer to me, and it took all my willpower not to take a step back. It wasn't afraid that he would hurt me, somehow I knew he never would, but that he would touch me gently. Why that thought terrified me so I had no idea. But I wouldn't have wanted to run from him any more than I did if he had been carrying a sword and coming for my head. My heart beat in my throat and I swallowed only with difficulty.

But he didn't reach for my hands, only stepped past me to the edge of the balcony and leaned on the rail next to me, facing out as I faced in. I had mistaken his intentions completely and for some reason felt a pang of regret mixed with my relief. "Tell me, Princess," he said, voice amused, "do you ever answer a question with a simple answer?"

"Not when I can help it," I admitted.

"Why is that?"

"Boredom," I said immediately. "And a lack of character."

"Some people might say it lends you a little character. It certainly makes you interesting company."

I shrugged. "People like that have just fallen for my act. I assure you that I'm quite boring once you get to know me?"

"Has anyone ever got to know you?" he asked. Leaning down to rest his hands on the low wall that kept him from tumbling down into the seemingly bottomless darkness below, he had to turn his face up to look at me.

He was quite handsome with the moonlight streaming down over his blond hair, and his smile almost took my breath away. It was wide and genuine and cheeky, in a way I never would have expected it to be. I suddenly wondered if he had always been a stern, noble king, or had once been mischievously lighthearted. I couldn't imagine anyone ever learned to smile like that without first upsetting a dozen sisters, housekeepers or nannies to the point of hysteria.

"Not if I can help it," I said as casually as I could.

He turned back so we both faced into the party. With him sitting slightly on the railing and me standing straight, arms folded carefully behind my back as a cushion for the small of my back against the cold stone, we were exactly head to head. "But you haven't answered my question," he said. "Not really anyway."

"I thought we agreed that answering questions wasn't in my nature," I reminded him.

"Ah, so we did," he said. "But giving up is not in mine, so we are at an impasse."

"How disagreeable. One of us is being dreadfully uncouth...but which one?" I said. "Perhaps the one who is insisting when a lady has already delicately evaded a personal question. Perhaps the one who is doggedly refusing to take a hint."

"Or perhaps the one who is withholding a trifling satisfaction from a visiting king to her court," he suggested.

I laughed at that. "Ah, King Éomer, why does a Lady of the court do anything? Too much wine, a desire to score points or simply a trifling flight of fancy, I suppose. I wouldn't read too much into it."

He stared at me for a long moment, peering unyieldingly into my eyes until I felt like I would rather stick my hand into a fire than hold his gaze a moment longer. Finally he nodded, looking out over the city, but he was smiling.

"Your brother was lying when he said you love to dance. You're a fine dancer but you have no real passion for it. But I don't think he was lying when he said you loved books as well..."

"I'm sure it's just a..." I began with a flippant grin.

"Don't say passing fancy," he said shortly. "Passion isn't something to be scoffed at or derided, especially if it is your own. You should be proud of it."

I swallowed. My heart had been so steady on the dance floor but now it was back up in my throat, beating as hard as it could. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly sincere? I thought desperately. I wasn't used to it. I opened my mouth to say something that I could smirk at but nothing came to mind. Instead I said, "You should go in, my lord. I'm sure Lady Winweld needs someone to partner her in the next dance."

TBC

AN: Another big thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter. A good review with something interesting or nice (or even both) to say can keep me happy all day. And a huge thanks to my beta Lady Bluejay, who deserves a medal for the work she did on this chapter.