away. The prince and princess’s faces were less than a blush apart as she switched her feet in a series of tiny moves. She felt the heat from the drink spread back up through her body and flush her lips and cheeks…
…and then she was spinning back into her own line again, dizzy and giddy.
The lines moved, and they switched partners and clapped above their heads. Soon Aurora Rose was face-to-face with a short, bearded woodsman who had a cloth cap and surprisingly graceful feet. He was gentlemanly and had a serious expression, devoted to the dance…but gave her a wink when it was time to move on.
The music broke for a moment when a small child ran straight down the middle, crying and looking for his mother. The princess immediately took him by his little hand and walked him around until they found her. The mother—unconcerned; it was a small village, with no real place to get lost—gave her thanks, but the boy kept staring back at the princess, awed at his royal rescue.
Everyone laughed and the dance restarted, and Aurora Rose was back with Phillip.
When it was time for him to swing her around, he put his full hand on her waist, thumb curving around her back so he had her entirely. She could feel the heat from his palm through the rich cloth and found herself swaying so he was supporting more of her weight than he really needed to. As if she would fall if he let go.
When he put his other hand on her waist to lift her up for the ladies’ jump, he whispered in her ear. She didn’t understand what he said at first, too focused on his lips just touching her ear, his warm breath on her cheek.
“Your dress.”
She looked down when her whirling brain finally translated it.
She no longer wore the meringue-like light blue ridiculous thing. It was instead a strange mix of her outfit when she had lived in the forest and what she had escaped the Thorn Castle in. An old brownish skirt and black corset top—but with a golden shirt that flowed under the corset and over her hips like a tunic. The skirts were all ripped and in tatters.
And her shoes were once again gone.
She shrugged.
“It’s my dream, isn’t it?” she said, whispering in his ear.
Phillip raised an eyebrow, thinking about this.
And then the moment was over and they were returning to their lines.
After that dance ended a circle dance began, which was a little disappointing; she wanted to be close to Phillip again. But a dance was a dance, and she was having fun, so she joined in that one anyway—and the one after that, and the one after that. Phillip bowed out after a couple, his constitution for such diversions not as hearty as hers. He toasted her from the sidelines and was polite but not encouraging to the local girls who flirted madly despite his reticence.
Finally, he was forced to retreat to a quieter area where the horses were tied up and carts and wagons were parked for the evening.
The princess eventually took a break, collapsing next to Phillip on a pile of hay, leaning her hot and exhausted body next to him.
“Rose…” Phillip began.
“I know, I know, we need to go,” she sighed, slugging down the last of his wine.
“Well, I don’t know….” He cast a worried look at the sky. It was now fully dark and the stars were out. The bonfire blazed bright orange and red against the sky, smoke hazing the heavens. “Maybe we should spend the night here. It seems safe. I worry about another direct attack from M—”
He stopped what he was saying when a funny-looking man approached them. He had been hidden inside the prettiest of the covered wagons: peeling paint decorated the sides in a landscape of mountains against a blue sky. Once-brightly-colored pennants still flapped bravely.
The man was certainly not a local; his dress was just a trifle too fine and too untouched by the dirt a farmer or woodsman’s life involved. His face was different, too, with a pointier nose and light blue eyes. He wore a multicolored cap that he touched when he sat down across from them.
“A fine night for a village dance,” said he.
“Aye,” Phillip said. “It is indeed. You don’t seem like you’re from this village, though.”
“You don’t neither,” the man retorted, but toasted with his mug—a slightly dented metal one. “People say you’re from that castle over there. The