Page 242 of A King's Oath

“My ball will remain incomplete without you,” he announced earnestly.

Ava’s eyes dropped. Her hand rose. His chest stuttered. Her fingers slid into his like a sigh giving up.

And in the middle of the glowing, secret ballroom — under the music and the light and the unbearable weight of eight lost years — he pulled her up and into his arms, and began to rewrite history.

They glided to the centre of the ballroom, their eyes locked, their feet in sync even if their bodies were apart.

“Do you need a lesson on my toes?” He asked, their bodies already closing in to bow to each other.

“Will you be able to hop around with my weight?”

“What’s wrong with your weight?”

“It’s a lot of muscle plus baby weight.”

“Mmm? But this still did not grow,” he tapped the top of her head and found her still surface broken. Before she could retaliate and attack his thankfully closed throat, the quartet struck and he lifted her in a twirl. She gasped, laughed, then quickly touched her feet to the floor and matched his steps. This one was a fast song. He hadn’t danced the ball in decades, only learned it as part of the international royal etiquette. She was flawless at it though, at times pushing him into his lead even before he realised she was.

“Have you done this too often?” He asked.

“No. Why?”

“You are making me look like a frog.”

“Stop hopping then.”

“Kiss me and make me a prince.”

Ava threw her head back and laughed. “How many times did you practise this joke?”

“Not nearly enough times for this reaction.”

Her laughter melted. As did the song. It trailed into a slow, soft number. Samarth drew her closer to himself by the waist and took a peek at their daughter from the corner of his eyes. She was being served a platter of hors d’oeuvres.

“Thank you, Ava.”

“For coming?”

“For existing. For making her exist. For still existing in my world after all that has happened. For taking a dream we both made and giving it a life.” His hand trailed up her back and cupped the back of her head — “I never stopped dreaming of you, even when I stopped dreaming for myself.”

Her head dropped. Dropped, dropped, dropped until her forehead rested on his chin. He slowly pushed it up and opened the alcove of his throat for her. She went in.

“Raje?”

“Hmm?”

“I am not stopping this time.”

No response.

They kept swaying. The ball dance forgotten. Their daughter forgotten, even if for a few moments. All the years gone by forgotten. Moreover, the question marks of the future forgotten.

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“This is the bestest night of my whole life!” Brahmi sang, siting in the car between the two of them. Her hand held his and her head lay on Ava’s arm. The heels were gone, her feet half on his knee, while her updo was down, the tiara still tucked tight in her temple. Samarth squeezed her tiny hand.

“We’ll do it again whenever you want.”

“Really?”

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