Sigyn bent over the barre, stretching the muscles in the back of her leg, feeling the tendons warm and loosen, tension sliding from her, when she realized the one thing she hated the most about being engaged.

Her betrothed took her for granted.

Even after she had caught the eye of Prince Loki, a fact she was still deeply uncomfortable with, Theoric never showed any signs of being at all concerned that she might succumb to his charms. And why would he? If she were unfaithful, he would break the engagement and find some other family desperate to marry their daughter off to a rich man's son. Perhaps next time he'd be lucky enough to find one more to his liking. The sort of woman Theoric preferred was tall, busty, curvy, beautiful, quiet, and helpful on the hunt.

Sigyn was not the sort of woman Theoric preferred. She was quiet, so he found her tolerable. But she was not what he wanted and he didn't bother hiding this fact from her.

Which she felt was rather unkind, as he was hardly what she wanted, either, but at least she tried to pretend otherwise.

She lowered her leg and lifted the other to the barre, bending at the waist and breathing out slowly.

Most of the time she did her best not to think about it. They would not make her marry until she finished her education. And it would be decades before she completed her training to become an advocate. Her father had been deeply suspicious of her motives when she announced her intention to follow that course of study, but she argued her reasoning so expertly that by the end he agreed it would be the best place for her.

Although what she really wanted to do was dance. But to be a dancer required no education. She traded her talent for a few more years of freedom. She had no regrets.

Once she had finished her warmup, she started the music. A simple song, a lone flute, playing the Song of the Falling Leaf. It was her favorite song, her favorite dance. The brilliant flash of beauty before the inevitable decay into winter.

So lost was she in the music and the dance that she did not realize she was being watched until she was done.

Somebody started applauding slowly behind her, and she turned to see Loki advancing, grinning as he clapped. Irritated, she stalked to the bar and grabbed her towel and began wiping the sweat from her brow and chest. "I am glad I provided you some entertainment, my lord," she smiled mockingly.

"Oh, you did." And his smile turned into a leer. "I did not know you were so flexible. You become more alluring every time I see you."

"And you become more irritating, my lord." She crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you even doing here, this facility is for students only."

He laughed. "I go where I want." He stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger, and she shivered at the icy touch.

"You need to leave," she said, lifting her chin.

"I do not wish to. I want to watch you dance." He stepped away, spreading his arms out. "Perhaps you know The Springtime Etude? That one is a particular favorite."

"I will not dance." She said firmly. "Not while you're here."

He lounged on a bench, stretching his legs in front of him. "Why not? Afraid your betrothed would get jealous? Let's make him jealous. Do that spinny-flexible thing again, I really liked that." He waved his fingers at her imperiously, still grinning, though there was a cruel glint in his eye.

"No." She answered honestly. "I just do not want to."

"Why," he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Because it makes me happy. Because I only do it when I want to, and not when I am told." She arched an eyebrow at him, daring him.

"I could order you to." He leaned back again, his lips curling cruelly. "I am a prince, after all. You always seem to forget."

She shrugged. The leaf fluttered in the breeze, the sun catching it, blazing gold in the sunlight. "You could order me to."

"I could order you to do a lot of things, you know. Not just dance." He stretched his arm out along the top of the bench.

She stood motionless. The leaf turned, pointed downward, lost the sunlight, dimmed. "There is very little you could not demand of me."

"Very little?" He scoffed. "By my reckoning it's more like 'nothing'."

She shook her head, tightening her lips. The leaf came to rest of the forest floor, with the others, brown and fragile and dead. "You can't make me want to."

He held her gaze for an uncomfortably long time, neither moving, a range of emotions playing over his face as she did her best to keep her expression impassive. And then he stood and advanced toward her. She swallowed and held her ground, which was ridiculous. He towered over her, his fingertips touching her chin to tilt her face up to him.

"Until you want to, m'lady," he said softly, something sorrowful haunting his eyes that she could not place.

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, looking away.

She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps echoing. And then began practicing The Springtime Etude.