Something about the joke unstitched what was left of Franz’s tension, lightness overtaking him as he waltzed her away from the piano, across the room. Laughter bubbled up then, and Franz could hear himself echoing off the high ceilings, Elisabeth’s laugh joining his in their own symphony.

“It’s good to hear you laugh; I can tell something is weighing on you,” Elisabeth said, her eyes searching his as he twirled them around the room, following the familiar triple-step rhythm of the waltz.

His heart softened again. Even after so many months apart, she could still read him, see him, in a way no one else could. He’d been tense for so much of the day. Not just from seeing Maxi with Elisabeth, but from dealing with Maxi’s indiscretions, the war council, the railroad. It had all sat so heavily on him. But now, the warm, steady weight of her in his arms made the rest of it feel so much less important. So much lighter.

He chose one of the many things tugging at his attention. “Everyone wants me to take a side in the war—and as soon as possible.”

“And you don’t want to.” It was a statement, not a question. She understood simply from his tone that war wasn’t what he wanted. He’d been a fool to think that Maxi had any power over what was between them.

“The truth is … I have other plans.” He didn’t expand—not yet. “I’ll tell you soon.”

She nodded, her eyes bright, expectant as the music swept them away together. Franz twirled them faster, smiling wider, letting the weight of the day slide off him like it was nothing.

Elisabeth’s laugh was a magical thing, coaxed from her delicate throat over and over again. He basked in it as he released her waist and spun her around, then pulled her back to him, pressing her close against his chest.

He was breathless—almost dizzy—from the proximity. The feel of her heart beating against his, the heat of her skin where it pressed to his skin.

He twirled her again, watched the laughter spark off her, her smile bright, eyes brighter.

Then Elisabeth let go of his hand, and he watched her sashay away, turning to look at him in a way that shifted everything. From laughing to longing, a game to—

Something deeper.

She danced back and leaned into him. Automatically, he leaned into her, too, pressing his forehead to hers, drinking in the scent of her, the heat radiating off her skin onto his. From this angle, he could see each individual eyelash—perfectly curled, delicate.