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Stepping into The Prince Academy’s ball feels a little like coming home. The venue is different of course, thousands of feet below Mount Eskel, the ceiling sloped far higher than they could have ever dreamed of on the rocky cliffsides but the pinched faces of the boys are familiar, the anxiety written in the stiff line of their shoulders. Miri snorts when one of them trips over their own two feet and then smoothly covers it up with a cough, remembering at the last moment that she’s supposed to be playing the kingdom’s hero: the miracle tutor that rescued Danland from the precipice of war.
Speaking of, Astrid looks rather bored with the boy she’s dancing with, her body moving mechanically through the motions while her eyes betray absolutely no interest at all. Stefan looks much happier on the opposite side of the ballroom as he spins Brita in a quick circle. The two of them look lighter these days without the burden of succession on their shoulders. Frid and Esa are gossipping at one of the tables on the edge of the floor–or at least, Esa’s filling her in on the latest drama while Frid looks on, completely stone-faced. Gerti and Felissa are spinning happily between noblemen, making quick conversation with each other as they pass. Which only leaves–
“I was beginning to think that you wandered off,” someone says over her shoulder and Miri turns to find Katar looming over her, caught red-handed in her snooping. Katar’s wearing a floor-length gown, blue lace around the neckline with white ribbons criss-crossing her midsection. She holds herself tall and proud, above the rest of the people in the ballroom. In short, she looks–
“You look beautiful,” Miri breathes out because it’s true. Nobility fits cleanly across Katar’s shoulders now–not like it had all those months ago at the academy ball, each of them fidgeting awkwardly with their gowns, struggling to walk on four-inch heels instead of their worn-out leather boots. What previously had been sheer haughtiness has transformed into regalness, something like a reverent awe that follows Katar where she walks. The time at court has smoothed out Katar’s sharper edges, refined her like polished stone.
“And you look short,” Katar says, looking down at her.
Orrrr maybe not. Maybe Katar is still Katar even after months apart. She knows the smirk on her face as well as her own and Miri is no stranger to the heat coiling in the pit of her stomach, the desire to wipe it clean off her face.
There’s a flash of color in the edge of her vision as Stefan dips Brita and it sparks an idea in her mind. Every instinct inside of her is screaming at her that this is an absolutely awful idea which is exactly how she knows it’s an excellent idea. There’s gotta be a little insanity mixed in to achieve genius after all.
Miri picks up the ends of her skirt and bows low and deep to her. Katar’s clearly surprised by the gesture, shifting her weight on her feet like she’s expecting Miri to strike.
“Would you do me the honor of this dance?”
Katar quirks an eyebrow at her, her lips pursed.
“That’s not very traditional.”
“When have you ever known me to be traditional?” Miri asks, grinning, and a smile finally cracks through Katar’s steely facade. Like a thornbush protecting a hare too skinny to eat, Esa had said all those months ago and she had been right in a way. But maybe there’s more use for a rabbit than just hunting.
Katar places her palm in Miri’s, her skin calloused and dry. They must be running her ragged in court, so many hours spent pouring over legislation and bills that she’s neglected her own hands. Katar had never been one to be gentle with herself after all.
The music starts and Miri has never been more grateful in her life to Tutor Olana. Her body remembers what her mind does not, her limbs slotting smoothly into the motions from sheer muscle memory.
“You’re leading?” Katar asks, raising an eyebrow but there’s a smile toying at the end of her lips.
“I always am,” Miri says, grinning back and actually earns herself a full-on eyeroll with that one.
The dance calls for them to separate and switch partners with the couple next to them. She ends up with an armful of Felissa, who gives her a bemused look–her charade clearly not going unnoticed.
“You seem like you’re having fun,” she remarks, smiling wider than Miri can ever recall her doing.
“I am,” she says and finds that it’s true. If someone had told her a couple years ago that she’d end up in a ballroom not only tolerating but enjoying Katar’s company, she’d have laughed them out of the room.
She gives Felissa a parting spin and they return to their original partners. Katar glances over to a corner of the dance floor where Kaspar is spinning Sus around in circles. They’re the youngest attendees by far but they seem to be making do with each other’s company.
“I’m glad that it sorted itself out,” she says.
“Yes.” Miri tosses her head back and thinks of a prison cell and a fistfight and a broken bone. “It was rather difficult but it all worked out in the end.”
Something flashes quick like lightning through Katar’s eyes as she stares at her. She narrows her eyes and Miri suddenly feels small again, like she’s on the doorsteps of the Academy, being sized up and found lacking.
“It wasn’t just difficult, Miri. It was an impossible mission. I knew even as I was doing it that it was unfair to you, that it’d be asking far too much of you to produce a princess out of a swamp.” Katar sighs, glancing somewhere over her shoulder, her next words too heavy to say to her face. “But I thought if anyone could be a miracle worker, it would be you.”
The music hits its apex and Miri suddenly feels like there’s weights tied around her ankles, the gravity of the situation too serious for her to move. She feels like Katar’s given her a gift too heavy for her hands and she fumbles for some sort of normalcy.
“Awww careful, Katar, someone might overhear and think that you actually like me.” Miri tacks a laugh on at the end of it, just to emphasize how ridiculous the prospect is if it wasn’t clear enough.
“I do,” Katar says, the syllables slow and solemn. There’s a witty retort on the tip of Miri’s tongue but it dies at the sight of the heat in Katar’s eyes, her cheeks slowly turning red. Miri has seen that laser-focus before, witnessed firsthand Katar’s single-minded determination but she has never been on the other end of it.
The music stops abruptly and Katar drops her hands. There’s a platitude, some sort of formality they’re supposed to exchange at the end of the dance but Miri’s mind has gone completely blank.
“I’ve got to speak with some of the delegates about the upcoming bill,” Katar says, ducking her head in a goodbye. “It was nice to see you again, Miri.”
And with that, Katar turns on her heel and threads through the mob of people to reach the exit. Miri’s left staring after her, her belly warm like she’s had two whole fillings of soup.