Page 170 of I Ran Away to Evil
Keith and Henrietta had a while to wait as all twenty or so debuts were announced, and Keith decided his time would be better spent watching Henrietta instead of her awful parents.
“What was your Dexterity again?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth. They were meant to be on display and poised, ready to start with the music.
“Twenty-two,” Ria murmured. “What’s yours?”
“Forty-two.”
“… I guess our first dance won’t be that bad. I was kicking myself that we didn’t practice.” Ria glanced around the hall. “Not that I was worried; I’ve activated my [Etiquette] skill.”
“That’s a useful skill.”
“Forty percent bonus rate to critical success in dancing, dining, and discourse.”
“Do you use it often?” Keith wondered, recalling how many times he’d been affected by their conversations; confused, intrigued, or amused.
“Yes, but it’s just a reminder for socially acceptable boundaries. I ignore it when I’m not surrounded by nobles,” Ria explained.
“And since you came to the Dark Enchanted Forest?”
“Being able to tell when I was making the lizardkin uncomfortable that first week really helped.”
A flute sounded throughout the hall, signaling the dancers. Keith lifted his hand facing her, and Ria gently pressed her palm against his. Her hand was smaller, calloused, with blue nail polish that matched both of their outfits.
That hand could crush his bones in a second, but that never stopped him from wanting to hold it.
Light string music from a lute accompanied the flute, and they dipped into a reverence, each bowing or curtsying respectfully. Rising from the bow, Keith cupped her palm, and swept his free hand to Ria’s lower back. A drum beat joined in, slow and steady.
And then theydanced.
They moved across the floor, indifferent to the blatant stares from the crowd. Keith let the music guide them as he drowned in the attentions of the woman in his arms. Ria was smiling up at him, oblivious to anything but their first dance.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The words drew Keith out of his revery. He spun her, skirts brushing his legs as she went, then pulled her back into his arms. “Is that more punishment time in the dungeon I hear?”
She let out a laugh and leaned in closer, letting him hold her tighter than was proper. Neither cared. “We’re going to have to face them after this, won’t we? My parents.”
“We could just kill them?” The joke was in poor taste. He made it anyway. “They would make lovely corpse roses.”
“Keith?!” Henrietta missed a step, but his hold on her hand—and her own Dexterity—saved her. She completed a graceful dip and they were together again.
“Yes?” He feigned innocence, smoothly guiding her out until they were arm’s length apart, connected only by her hand in his. As the music came to an end, Keith spun Henrietta into his arms. They came together and stopped just as the last notes of the flute trailed off.
“I love you too.”
It was only then that Keith realized. In all the planning and preparation and panic over the evening … he’d slipped and confessed. In the stairwell, of all places.
It hadn’t been the most romantic place to say “I love you” for the first time. He wanted to kick himself, but instead, he just smiled down at his princess. Knowing she felt the same way was exhilarating and humbling.
How did this even happen? One minute he’d been challenged to a fight to the death by some girl with a big sword who smelled like scones, and the next he was dancing the night away and getting ready to propose.
Cheering resounded about the hall in honor of the completion of the first debut dance. Keith offered his hand and escorted her off the dance floor—in the opposite direction of her parents.
He wanted a drink in hand before he faced the king and queen of Drendil. Not to imbibe, but to keep his hands busy so as not to summon flames and light them on fire.
Henrietta loved it when he lit things on fire.
Alright, she loved flying through the air while he lit a dungeon on fire. He would get in trouble from multiple sources if he lit someone on fire in the ballroom. Grand Duchess Calisto would give him that disapproving look. She was a menace, and a neighbor worthy of respect. Better to shatter a glass.
