This was how the countryfolk danced. He’d seen it before, but never participated in it. And they did not give lessons on such in the city, lessons such as his mother had him start taking when he was twelve to learn the courtly dances of the gentry.

He started to take Farah in his arms in order to try to do his best, considering she seemed to wish to dance with him quite badly, but instead she wrapped her arm along his stomach and tucked her hip to his at his side, starting to turn him as she walked one way, and he the other.

“I don’t know this dance, sweets,” he told her.

“There is no dance to know,” she replied, continuing to guide him with pressure at his middle. “Just move to the music however you see fit.”

He gazed through the crowd, watching eyes quickly shift away before he would catch them, and he felt less strange and more awkward.

He also felt, acutely, that he was their prince, their future king, and inept hopping, skipping and twirling was not at all what they should witness their future king doing.

Farah suddenly stood in front of him and took both of his hands. She shook them, vigorously, which in turn stirred his arms.

“Don’t think about steps or what you’re supposed to do,” she instructed. “Don’t think about anyone watching you, for they aren’t dancing and thinking of anyone watching them. They’re simply enjoying themselves through the music. So, True, just listen to the music, do what you wish and do it enjoying yourself.”

She had no idea.

She had no idea they were watching him, they always did, and they always would. Thus, he must be circumspect in everything he did, every word spoken, every action taken.

Everything needed to befit a king.

Before he could find some way to communicate this, Farah held their arms out and stepped to his side, bumping her hip to his. She stepped back and did the same on the other side. She then moved from foot to foot for a few beats of the tempo as if showing him what it was before she stepped back, lengthening their arms between them, and moved quickly forward, nearly brushing his body, pulling their arms out to the side.

She then abruptly let him go and hooked an elbow in his and forced him to spin.

And spin.

But suddenly, she let go and True was reeling, searching for her, only to be caught by another woman, elbow in elbow, and twirled.

And twirled.

He had not managed to get his wits about him before he looked down on the curvy woman who had hold of him. Her bust was nearly bursting from her bodice, and she was beaming up at him with what appeared to be unadulterated glee, her face red and shining from exertion.