Page 124 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

She turned to find Cas there, waiting, a half smirk curving on his lips. His eyes were bright with mirth—he’d always liked these things more than she had; she saw them as more of an occupational hazard. But she remembered the parties they used to attend after his performances in smoky rooms full of artists, how his hand had never left hers as he introduced her to everyone in the room. As he always knew everyone in the room.

“Perhaps you can,” Nore said, her heart beating faster.

He led her to the edge of the dance floor, his eyes never leaving hers. Nore hesitated for a half second as he brought her hands up—“I don’t know this dance,” she confessed.

“I do,” Caspian said. “It’s Scaelan. Just let me lead.”

It was a practice they used to do in their living room late at night: Cas tried to teach her the dances he loved from Idistra, Nadira, and beyond. He’d always loved to dance, and though proficiency came with the job (and she suffered Edith’s forced lessons to ensure she could hold her own in Lindle high society), she never really enjoyed it. She’d never really understood the appeal of it, either—unless she was in Caspian’s arms.

Nore nodded. She linked her hand in his, allowing him to position her body. Caspian’s gaze held hers as he moved, lithe and practiced as ever. She used to love watching him move, the way his body could bend and flex with a fluidity she was never able to replicate.

“What are you thinking?” Caspian asked.

Nore swallowed hard. She could’ve said anything at all about the mission—but. “I’m thinking about the past,” she admitted.

“Anything good?”

He spun her and drew her back against his chest. She let her feet follow his, finding the movement came more naturally than she remembered—his body didn’t leave her an option to break his pattern. “Sometimes.”

Something flickered across his face. “It was all good,” he said, his voice slipping with a fervor Nore barely understood. “Until the end. Wasn’t it?”

She hesitated, nearly missing a step. Caspian waited, drawing her through the movements of the dance, as she considered the question.

She knew what had happened on that night years ago. She remembered the pain of it, both physical and emotional. She remembered the weeks of healing her body and the years of healing her heart.

She didn’t know if she could let him in, remembering what it was like to lose him.

“It was,” she acknowledged.

He took a deep breath. “I just—”

“May I cut in?”

Caspian froze. Nore glanced over his shoulder and was grimly unsurprised to find Locke there, hovering.

“Of course,” Caspian said. He stepped back, his expression shutting down, and moved to offer Nore’s hand to Locke. It took a moment of confusion for Nore to realize that the song was changing, and the dance with it.

“It’s an honor, Your Majesty,” Nore said quickly, recovering herself. She bowed once, low, then took Locke’s hand. She had a soldier’s hands, scarred and chapped, her skin rough, her knuckles cracked from the cold and smoothed over with some sort of salve. “But I must admit, I’m not the greatest dancer.”

“Then we shall bumble through it together, Lindan,” Locke said.

Nore smiled despite herself. “I am a woman, Your Majesty. Not a country.”

“So you keep saying. Perhaps it puts me at ease, referring to everyone as they refer to me,” Locke said, her tone lofty.

“I fear I don’t know your true name,” Nore confessed. “And, even if I did, I think it would be highly improper.” The steps to this dance were easy, and Nore was glad—she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the High Lady.

Other measures will be required.

“No, you’re right,” Locke said, sighing. “I suppose if I told you, someone would find a reason to chastise me for it.” She lifted her arm, giving Nore space to spin—difficult, as Nore was taller than Locke, and perhaps required a bit more arm for allowance.

“Are you often chastised?” Nore asked when she spun back into the High Lady’s arms.

Locke smiled tightly. “Didn’t you know? It’s part of the appeal of ruling. Public adoration, and everyone’s opinion in private.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Lindan, I don’t know what it is about you—you have a way of drawing the truth from me.”

“It’s my charming personality,” Nore said flatly.

“Doubtlessly.”