She stepped fully into the room then, closing the distance between us. The air felt warr. Or maybe that was just .
"So," she said, crossing her arms lightly, "what is it?"
For a brief, ridiculous second, a thought crossed my mind.
'Does the Winter Castle have so sort of device that grants buffs to the Edelweiss family?'
I almost laughed at myself.
Of course I wasn't going to ask that.
I rubbed the back of my neck instead, suddenly finding the floor incredibly fascinating.
"I… need soone to teach sothing."
"Oh?" Her eyes lit up. "What kind of sothing?"
Her tone had shifted. Curious. Interested.
I hesitated.
But then couldn't stop myself.
"I need soone," I muttered, "to teach how to dance."
Silence.
I waited for laughter.
It didn't co.
Instead, when I dared to look up, Elena was staring at with an expression I couldn't quite read. Surprise flickered across her face—but it was quickly replaced by sothing softer.
"You… want to learn how to dance?" she repeated.
"Even basics," I added quickly. "I don't need to be good. I just need to not embarrass myself."
There. It was out.
Elena's lips twitched.
"I see," she said thoughtfully. "And may I ask why the sudden interest?"
I exhaled slowly.
"There's a banquet in two days," I said. "Hosted by your father."
Her eyes sharpened—just slightly.
"And?"
"And I can't afford to make a fool of myself there."
I forced myself to hold her gaze.
"In front of the vassal families. In front of the nobles watching for any weakness. And especially not in front of you."
The last part slipped out quieter than I intended.
Elena didn't react imdiately. She studied , searching my face as if weighing sothing unspoken.
"You think not knowing how to dance will make you look weak?" she asked.
"Yes."
"That's dramatic."
"It's realistic."
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her again.
"An engaged man who can't even lead his fiancée across the floor? What does that look like? Careless. Unprepared. Unworthy."
Her brows knit slightly.
"And you think I would judge you for that?"
"It's not about you judging ," I replied quickly. "It's about everyone else watching. Nobles don't need real reasons to whisper. They'll invent them."
I paused.
"And if soone else steps forward and dances flawlessly with you while I stand there—"
I cut myself off.
The image irritated more than I liked to admit.
Elena's lips curved faintly.
"So this is jealousy."
"It's strategy," I corrected imdiately.
"Of course."
She took a slow step closer.
"You're afraid soone more refined will make you look inferior."
"I am afraid," I said evenly, "of giving anyone an opportunity."
That was the truth.
Silence settled between us, softer this ti.
Then she surprised .
"You could have simply asked ," she said.
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"You make it sound easy."
"Isn't it?"
"No."
I t her eyes again.
"If I ask you, I'm admitting I overlooked sothing important. I'm admitting I'm unprepared."
"And you hate that."
"Yes."
She watched for a long mont. Then her expression changed—less teasing now, more… understanding.
"Damian," she said gently, "you prepared for survival. Not performance."
That struck deeper than I expected.
I didn't answer.
"You taught yourself politics, swordsmanship, economics… all things that keep you alive," she continued. "But dancing isn't about survival. It's about presence."
I frowned slightly. "Presence?"
"It tells people you're comfortable in your position. That you belong in the center of the room."
She lifted her chin slightly, demonstrating without words.
"It isn't about steps. It's about confidence."
Confidence.
That was harder to morize than any textbook.
I sighed.
"I can morize treaties. I can morize tax codes. I cannot morize grace."
A small laugh escaped her.
"You don't morize grace," she said. "You practice until it stops feeling unnatural."
She stepped closer again—close enough that I could see the faint reflection of light in her eyes.
"And for the record," she added softly, "I would never let anyone else lead at that banquet."
I blinked.
"What?"
She held my gaze steadily.
"If soone asks, I will refuse."
A beat passed.
"And if they persist, I will remind them I am already engaged."
The tightness in my chest loosened—just slightly.
"You shouldn't have to do that because of my incompetence."
Her brows lifted.
"You think I would accept another man's hand simply because you stumble once?"
"That's not what I—"
She shook her head faintly.
"Damian. You're not competing for ."
The way she said it made my pulse shift.
"You're standing beside ."
For a mont, I couldn't speak.
Then I cleared my throat.
"That may be," I said carefully, "but I would still prefer not to step on your feet."
That finally made her laugh.
"There it is. The real concern."
"Yes."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Then allow to correct your catastrophic flaw."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You enjoy this, don't you?"
"A little."
She extended her hand toward .
"First lesson," she said. "Posture."
I stared at her hand for half a second before taking it.
Her fingers were warm. Steady.
"Straighten your back," she instructed.
"I am straight."
"You look like you're about to negotiate trade tariffs."
"That's my natural stance."
"Relax your shoulders."
I tried.
"Not that much. You're not surrendering."
I exhaled slowly.
"This is already humiliating."
"It's only humiliating because you think it is."
She stepped closer, guiding my right hand carefully to her waist.
The proximity made my thoughts montarily scatter.
"Your left hand," she said, lifting it gently. "Hold mine."
I did.
"Not like a sword hilt."
I adjusted.
"There."
We stood in position.
"This is a simple waltz," she explained. "Three beats. Step forward. Side. Close."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
She moved first.
I followed.
And imdiately stepped on her shoe.
"…Sorry."
She didn't even flinch.
"Again."
We tried.
This ti I missed her foot—but nearly lost balance.
Her hand tightened slightly at my back, steadying .
"Focus," she murmured.
"I am focusing."
"You're overthinking."
That was accurate.
"Forward," she whispered.
I stepped.
"Side."
I followed.
"Close."
Our feet aligned.
We paused.
"…I didn't step on you."
"No," she agreed softly. "You didn't."
Sothing about the way she said it made it feel like more than just dancing.
We moved again.
Slowly, awkwardly—but moving.
And with each repetition, the panic that had clawed at earlier dulled.
Not because I had mastered the steps.
But because she was here.
Guiding. Correcting. Not mocking.
At the sa ti, Elena also having her own thoughts.
'Its the sa....I danced with him my past life to but...I was just his practice partner but it's different now. There's is no one coming between us."
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