Norrington and his men do not barge into the party looking for us. I am certain they are looking, but not here, and so Nicolas and I agree, in whispers, to half a dance as we slowly make our way to the other side of the floor, where we may slip away and escape.

The dance is hardly an intimate one. We rarely come closer than arm’s length. Yet it feels as if we are locked in an embrace. Even when I spin away, our gazes unlatch only a moment before finding one another in the crowd. I see nothing but his face, feel nothing but his gloved hands on my arms, smell nothing but the faint odor of orange-flower perfume from his shirt, hear nothing but his whispers when I pass. Whispers telling me I am beautiful, telling me I am an incredible dancer, telling me more things that I cannot understand because he switches to French for those, murmuring them in the brief heartbeats where we draw close.

I feel something, both a tightness and a fluttering in my chest, a dizziness in my mind, my breath catching each time he passes. I may never have experienced this before, but I instantly recognize it for what it is.

I am falling in love.

Falling in love? No, that implies taking the first careful step off the cliff. I have already fallen, and now I am plummeting, and it thrills and terrifies me.

When we draw near again, he murmurs, “You do realize you have stumbled into my trap, crécerelle?”

I tense, breath gone completely for one irrational second. I can only imagine my expression, but he does not see it as he twirls me again and then leans in to whisper.

“You are apparently unfamiliar with the customs of my country,” he says. “When one agrees to a danse à deux with a man, one is, in fact, agreeing to marry him.”

I stifle a laugh. “I see.”

“It is true. I shall need to set the bans for morning. That is what they call it here, do they not? Setting the bans? Reading the bans? Something like that. The point, crécerelle, is that you are now stuck with me.”

“What if I do not wish to marry?”

“Hmm. That is a problem. However, I believe the custom only requires that, having engaged in an intimate dance for two, you are bound to me. Skipping the wedding would be simpler, I agree. I could save the expense and use it to buy you a proper sword instead.”

“I like the one you already gave me.”

His eyes spark, pure devilry behind them. “But I have not given you that, crécerelle. We are taking it slow, non?”

“Taking it slow in that regard? Yet committing ourselves to one another after a mere two days together?”

“Three days.”

“I was unconscious for part of one.”

“We have known one another for two and a half days, which in my country, is the perfect length of courtship.”