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WE EXCUSE ourselves from the company of the centaur brothers and they bid a quick farewell in return, Suncloud sending me a suggestive smirk that makes me wish I had something to hurl at him.
Edmund squeezes my hand and leans down to murmur in my ear. "You look beautiful."
Cheeks flushed, I lean into his side. "Thank you. You look nice, too. Brown goes well with your eyes."
The outfit he's wearing is much better than the one he interrupted our fitting with. Instead of white and burnt orange, it's warm brown and tan. His jerkin is an intricate brocade with a dark belt wrapped around his waist, and a tan undershirt with a standing collar and full, cuffed sleeves.
The floor has been vacated of the wild dancing that once claimed it, the Old Narnian songs traded for Telmarine. I notice Caspian and Susan among the partners gliding across the space, and only then do I realize one very important detail I've missed.
I glance up at Edmund. "You can dance, right?"
He scoffs, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him as we step onto the dance floor. "Of course I can."
His self-assuredness makes me roll my eyes. "Of course you can," I muse sarcastically. "What ever was I thinking?"
The king laughs, propelling us along with the rest of the dancers. I've never been one for the close-contact dance of atar, having to surrender what little control I have to my partner. The village children I practiced with used to get mad at me for always trying to lead the dance. But I just couldn't help it; I felt like a trained dog letting someone else tell me what to do with myself. But for once, with Edmund, it feels like dancing. Perhaps because I know him like I know myself and trust him to guide me, or because taking his hand feels like my choice instead of a woman's duty. Or maybe it's that I've finally learned to let go — that I don't always need the reins of control grasped tightly in my hands — and let someone else be my compass.
"You're driving me mad what that look," Edmund says, shaking his head the slightest bit as he searches my eyes. "What in the world are you thinking?"
I stick my chin up, taking in the way his dark hair falls across his forehead and his eyes reflect the light of the torches and candles filling the hall, his skin shining a pale gold and turning his freckles dark. "I'm thinking I don't mind dancing with you," I declare, making him grin. "Even though you're horrible at it."
His expression turns into a mischievous smirk. "Horrible?" He repeats, raising an amused eyebrow at me. "Really?"
"I believe that's the word I used, yes."
He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding. "Alright." And before I can draw in the breath to form a response, his grip on my hand tightens and he shifts his arm around my waist, all but flinging me outward in a dazzling spin. I hold my breath in shock, his hand finding mine again and halting my rotations, then pulling me back to him. I think it's over but then he raises our connected hands overhead and twists me around so, with his arm wrapped around me, he pulls me back against his chest, still swaying in time with the music.
