Chapter 216: The First Dance Lesson
Chapter 215: The First Dance Lesson
Lyria’s POV
Lucian chuckled.
"You have nothing to say?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"No," I admitted. "I d-do not."
He stepped closer. Not close enough to be improper, but close enough that I could see the quiet amusement lingering in his blue eyes.
"Then stop thinking so much," he said. "I merely wish to help you. Focus on that. Not on whether this is appropriate according to... well, according to you."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
But nothing came out.
He was right. I had been thinking about propriety. About what the Queen would say. About whether this would be misconstrued. About a dozen other concerns that had nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with survival.
I exhaled.
"How are we e-even going to dance?" I asked. "I doubt a-anyone present c-can play the keyboard."
Lucian tilted his head.
"Must one learn to dance with music?"
I frowned.
"Of course," I said. "How e-else would one k-know the rhythm?"
He chuckled again.
"When I first learned the basics," he said, "the only music was my instructor’s voice. He counted the rhythm. That was enough."
He gestured toward the empty floor.
"That is what I shall do for you now."
I looked at him.
"What about the k-keyboard?" I asked. "Could we n-not simply..."
"Touch the grand keyboard?" He shook his head. "That might alert others to what we are doing. Someone would hear. Someone would come to investigate. And then we would have an audience."
I nodded slowly.
"I am not keen on making this a spectacle," he continued. "I would rather you learn from me quietly too... something simple. Enough to carry you through the ball without distress."
I swallowed.
"L-like a w-waltz?" I asked him.
He nodded.
"Given the time we have," he said, "that is the only thing I can teach you."
He paused, his brows furrowed in thought, before he continued.
"I do not know whether there will be a quadrille," he continued. "But if you can at least take part in the waltz, that will suffice."
I listened carefully.
"During the ball," he said, "depending on what the royal family chooses, there may be two or three waltzes. Perhaps more. They are quite simple, really. The steps are not complicated. The difficulty lies in the partnership."
He looked at me directly.
"You are a Moon candidate now," he said. "You will be expected to dance with the suitor candidates. At least some, and in turn. The waltz is the least complicated of the dances you will encounter, but it is also the most... revealing."
I tilted my head.
"R-revealing?"
"A poor dancer cannot hide in a waltz," he said. "There are no formations to conceal you. No other couples to follow. It is only you and your partner. If you are uncertain, everyone will see it."
I swallowed again.
"That is n-not reassuring," I said.
"It was not meant to be," he said. "But as revealing as it is, it is also the same dance where lapses can be covered quickly if one has a good partner who supports them."
I nodded, and he smiled faintly.
"There is another thing," he said. "I am not teaching you the other dances yet. The quadrille, or any cotillion dances, as well as country dances. You will need to learn them eventually, though, but not at the moment."
I nodded.
"I understand," I said.
Then I drew a breath.
"I am r-ready," I said.
Lucian studied my face.
"You look as though you are preparing to battle a beast," he observed.
"I am n-not."
"You are."
He gestured toward his own expression.
"Calm your features. You cannot dance while looking so severe. The waltz requires a certain... ease. A softness. If you are rigid, your partner will feel it. The dance will feel it."
I pressed my lips together.
Then I tried to relax.
It took several attempts, though.
My shoulders were tight. My jaw was tight. Even my hands, hanging at my sides, were curled into tense fists.
Lucian waited.
"Breathe," he said.
I breathed.
"Again."
I breathed again.
"Your shoulders."
I lowered them.
"Your hands."
I unclenched them.
"Better," he said at last. "Now hold that."
He stepped back slightly.
"Take a deep breath," he said.
I did.
"You cannot be stiff during a waltz," he continued. "It is not a march. It is not a formal procession. It is meant to be... freeing."
I tilted my head.
"Freeing?"
"Yes." He considered his words carefully. "The waltz is different from other dances. In a quadrille, there are patterns. Formations. You move from partner to partner, following prescribed steps. It is elegant, but it is structured. There is no room for deviation."
He paused.
"The waltz is not like that."
I waited.
"It is a dance of two," he said. "Only two. You do not change partners mid-way. You do not perform for the room. You simply... move together."
His voice softened slightly.
"It is about trust," he said. "About following without knowing where you are being led. About responding to the smallest cues—a shift in weight, a pressure of the hand, a change in direction."
I watched his face.
"The music guides you," he continued. "But your partner guides you more. You must learn to feel where he wishes you to go. And you must allow yourself to be guided."
I swallowed.
"That s-sounds d-difficult," I said.
"It is not," he said. "Not once you stop thinking."
I frowned.
"You keep saying t-that."
"Because it is true."
He extended his hand toward me.
"Shall we begin?"
I looked at his hand.
Then I looked at his face.
His expression was patient. There was no mockery in it, no judgment. Just a quiet willingness to help.
I placed my hand in his, and his smile widened like he had been waiting for this moment.
And I had to admit I was anticipating the lesson.
