prompt request: a press of lips to knuckles, a hand clasped in the other, a courtly gesture of respect and admiration, perhaps segueing into a dance, staring into each others eyes, drinking in the emotion
last dance
She has been the Empress of Zakuul- Nyriala, First of Her Name (granted, they'd all been First of Their Names, hadn't they? Valkorion, Arcann, Vaylin- for an empire spanning centuries, it had done so with so very few rulers until these last few years)- for six hours and thirty-seven minutes by the galactic standard clock.
By remarkable coincidence, that is six hours and thirty-seven minutes longer than she would have liked to be an empress of anything at all.
She isn't cut out for this. The endless pleasantries are one thing, half-truths and pretty lies flowing easily off her tongue; she's trained in that since childhood and stars know she's been at longer and duller parties than this one. But they all keep bowing and curtseying and kissing her hand and her head throbs from the noise and the heat, her neck sore from the weight of the heavy golden crown and if this Void-damned ambassador steps on her foot one more time she may very well scream and-
Theron catches her eye as she waltzes past and she can't help but smile.
They've been circling counterpoint to each other around the room for hours, carefully apart, carefully proper. At a distance from him she can keep control of herself- too close, tonight, she might lose herself, pure stupid simple overwhelming joy breaking through the stresses of the evening, let him wrap her up in his arms in sight of everyone and kiss her-
(When the guards had come to escort her back to the celebration she'd come so close to simply throwing the doors of her chambers open and walking into the corridor with him, hand in hand. There was something in her- not someone else's voice, not any more, just a little of her own wickedness- that said forget the rules, they made you Empress and you should do as you please but she'd silenced it more for Theron's sake than hers: she could almost certainly do exactly as she pleased but Theron wasn't supposed to be there, not in the Empress' quarters and certainly not unannounced via secret passage.
They'll have to remedy that tonight, somehow. She doesn't sleep well without him, even on Odessen, and Zakuul will never be her home. Though the war is over its streets and corridors haunt her still, in waking and in sleep, with so many nightmares that she will never, never, never feel safe, not even sitting on its throne. But with Theron beside her it's easier. With Theron beside her everything is easier- then and now, tonight, forever-
Forever. She still can't quite believe it.
His question and her answer were still echoes in the air when her escorts came back to fetch her and after a few last frantic kisses, hair tidied and face powdered and lipstick smudges wiped clean from Theron's mouth, the sparkling pendant- an old tradition, an Imperial tradition and a practical one besides given the size of the gemstone; it would never have fit well beneath her combat gloves- clasped around her throat and tucked carefully into the neckline of her gown, he'd slipped back into the passage.
"I love you, Nine," he'd whispered over the first knock on the outer door. "Save me the last dance?"
She still couldn't even speak properly, every word except yes stripped out of her vocabulary, and she didn't want to let go of his hand. As the panel started to close between then, her fingertips caught his. "Yes," she'd said, again, again, again, until she couldn't hold on any longer, "yes. I love you, too. Yes.")
He returns her smile with a sly little wink as their paths intersect and then he's gone, orbiting back around the room, Only a few more minutes and he'll come around again; she can only hope this interminable song is done by then. She could do with a few minutes' rest.
The pattern of steps begins once more, one last refrain- she knows this one at least, one of the court dances she'd rehearsed with Senya (did he ever dance, she'd asked mid-twirl, with you? Senya only smiled and shook her head). One last circle around the room. One last round of bows and curtsies, nodding to each, trying to keep focus and keep time all at once, nearly missing a step but only nearly. She's practiced far too hard for that.
And then, finally, the music ends.
Her partner practically scrapes the floor before he backs away, effusive in his praise, and she turns to retreat toward her seat. Before she can reach it, only halfway across the ballroom with her guards moving from their posts toward her like flickering shadows in the corners of her eyes, the conductor clears his throat.
"Your Majesty," he calls out, voice amplified enough to be heard over the murmuring crowd, "and honored guests. We beg your indulgence for one final dance."
Theron slips up behind her- she doesn't ever need to see Theron to know it's him; by now she knows his footfalls, knows the way the air stirs and ripples around the shape of his body- and reaches for her hand.
"You did promise," Theron murmurs in her ear, his fingers lacing through hers. Her guards go tense and still until she gestures, a single movement, and they fade back toward their posts. "Dance with me."
"Ask me properly," she says, and turns round toward him. He takes a step backward, shifting but not quite letting go of her, bowing low and graceful as his lips brush her knuckles. "Or I might say no."
He grins and turns her hand in his, another kiss just at the curve of her wrist where her pulse flutters at the edge of the golden cuff (and someone in the crowd saw that, she can hear it in the way the whispers pitch upward). "Empress." Theron glances up, wicked eyes shaded by fluttering lashes- oh, he's awful and it's a mercy she's still standing; she goes quite literally weak when he looks at her like that and it gets her every single time. "May I have the honor of this dance?"
"You may." On sheer impulse she sweeps her other hand across her throat, catching the chain between her fingers and lifting the pendant until the stone reflects the candlelight, brilliant and shimmering-
And everyone in the crowd saw that; Lana's mouth falls open and she clutches frantically at Senya's arm and she's going to owe her an apology later but for now she only sees him.
Slow and sweet and graceful, the first notes of the song fill the air. They take a single step, hand in hand, and then another and another, his arm around her waist and her hand in his, and if the world exists around then for those minutes she couldn't have said as they turn circles together in the center of the room.