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His mouth curved, but he said nothing.

I started toward the dessert table, already eyeing a confection that appeared to be spun entirely from sugar. However, this was when his hand tightened around mine and tugged, sharp and sudden. The action spun me back around and straight into the solid wall of his chest.

I caught myself against him with a startled gasp, both palms flat to the silver constellations of his coat and looked up.

Oh, no.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“What? No. Absolutely not.” The panic came on fast and certain, my fingers curling into his coat. “Atlas, seriously, I can’t dance. I have never danced in my life. I will make an absolute fool of you in front of your entire kingdom, I will trip, I will…”

“Alexandra.” He caught both my hands, gentle and unhurried, and drew me out into the open center of that vast marble floor while every eye in the hall turned to follow. “Trust me.”

“That is the exact phrase people say right before something goes horribly wrong.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He lifted one hand, and somewhere above us the musicians stirred and began to play, something slow and sweeping and unbearably lovely. Then he settled one of my hands on his shoulder, laced the other through his fingers, and pressed his free palm warm against the small of my back.

“I have you,” he murmured. “Just follow me.”

So, I tried.

I genuinely tried. I kept my eyes locked on our feet, counting under my breath, concentrating so hard my whole body went stiff as a board, and I still managed to come down squarely on his foot within the first ten seconds.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

He only turned us in a slow circle.

I stepped on him again.

“Sorry… Oops… God, I’m sorry again.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of him. Then his hand left mine, rose to my chin, and tipped my face gently until I had no choice but to stop staring at our feet and look at him instead.

“Up here, little bird,” he whispered. “Look at me. Not the floor.”

“But the floor is where the disaster is happening,” I argued, making him chuckle.

“The floor can wait.” His thumb brushed my jaw, and his voice dropped even lower, just for me, as he leaned in until his forehead nearly touched mine. “Now relax. Breathe, little bird.”

So, I did.

I dragged in a long, slow breath, let the death grip on his shoulder ease, and let the rest of the noise fall away until there was only his hand at my back, the music, and the steady, certain weight of his gaze.

“Okay,” I breathed, half to myself. “I’ve got this.”

“Yes,” he murmured, that warmth curling all the way through me. “You do. And I have you.”

And then, somehow, I did it. It was as though my body stopped fighting it. He guided me through the steps with the barest pressure of his hand, slow and patient and sure, and one turn became two, and two became a dozen. Until I realized I was no longer counting, no longer bracing, no longer afraid.

I was dancing.

Badly, probably.

But I was dancing and laughing, breathless and amazed. Atlas was grinning down at me as though I’d hung every one of those impossible stars myself. And it was only then, as he spun me out and reeled me back in, that I let myself look beyond him. Or, more specifically, all the faces watching.

I had braced for judgment. For cold eyes and colder whispers. For all the ways a room like this could make a girl like me feel small. Instead, I found smiles. Soft, genuine smiles, here and there a hand pressed to a heart, an old woman dabbing at her eyes, a pair of young lords nudging one another and grinning. They weren’t looking at me like an intruder.

They were looking at us like we were something worth hoping for.