Chapter 11: Reaching the Limit
The eastern pavilion was where his dance lessons where to take place. The sound of classical music as Grim tried to lead Princess Liora through the basic steps of the court waltz. She was three years older than him and slightly taller.
"One-two-three, one-two-three," the dance instructor called out, tapping her cane on the floor. "Lord Ambrose, your must straighten your back! You are leading, not following!"
"Yes, Madam Verity," Grim called out, trying to hold his arms in the proper position while remembering the steps. His muscles were still aching from morning training, which had been brutal as his father was in a mood.
"You're doing well," the princess whispered encouragingly. "Much better than yesterday."
That wasn't saying much. Yesterday he'd stepped on her toes no fewer than twelve times.
"This is such a waste of fucking time," Grim thought irritably. Every hour spent on dancing was an hour he could have been practicing sword techniques or cultivating.
[Court dance is its own form of combat,] the voice in his head commented. [The battlefield simply involves silks instead of swords.]
The princess stumbled and Grim tightened his grip to hold her up. She looked up at him with a smile, her cheeks turning pink.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Something strange happened then... a brief flutter in Grim's chest. For a moment, the princess's smile seemed like the only thing Grim thought about.
"What the hell was that?" he thought, confused by his own reaction.