Page 81 of Throne Off Course

She studied him for a long moment before reaching for his hand. “This is a terrible idea,” she murmured.

He laced his fingers through hers. “Probably. But I need you to hear me out.”

She let out a soft, quiet breath, shaking her head as he led her to the dance floor.

The music swelled, and they moved together—not stiffly, not as two people performing a formality, but as something else. Something neither of them knew how to name.

Heads turned as they glided across the floor. Where other couples maintained careful distance and followed prescribed steps, Alexander and Emilia moved with an intuitive synchronicity. His hand at her waist guided her with gentle confidence, and she followed his lead as if they had danced together a hundred times before. There was an ease between them, a natural rhythm that spoke of connection rather than obligation.

Several guests paused their conversations to watch, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and surprise. This wasn’t the stiff, formal Alexander they were accustomed to seeing at royal functions. This was someone else entirely.

From the corner of his eye, Alexander could see camera flashes. Whispers rippled through the crowd. He knew exactly what was happening—knew that by morning, their dance would be front-page news. And yet, for the first time in his life, he found that he didn’t care.

“I’m still working on it,” he said quietly, as they turned across the floor.

She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. “Working on what?”

“A plan,” he said. “For us.”

Her expression softened, but wariness remained. “Alexander—”

“I’m not asking you to wait,” he continued. “I’m not asking for anything. I just need you to know I haven’t given up.”

She was quiet for a moment, processing his words. “You shouldn’t be telling me this here. Not with everyone watching.”

“This is the only chance I have.” His voice was low, urgent. “Don’t give up on me yet. Not when I’m finally fighting for something that matters.”

Emilia’s fingers brushed against his as they moved, barely there, but enough.

“I can’t make any promises,” she said finally.

“I’m not asking for promises. Just… possibility.”

Something in her expression shifted, a glimmer of the connection they’d once shared breaking through her careful reserve. “I won’t close any doors,” she said after a moment. “But I can’t stand still waiting for one to open either.”

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. “That’s fair.”

They danced in silence for a few moments longer. The world blurred at the edges, the music fading into something secondary.

Then, Emilia smiled—small, quiet, just for him.

“I forgot how well you move,” she admitted. “When you want to.”

He smiled. “Only with the right partner.”

From across the room, Alexander caught sight of his mother, her expression carefully composed but her disapproval unmistakable. Beside her, the Minister of Culture watched with thinly-veiled curiosity. And at the edge of the dance floor, Genevieve observed them with an unreadable gaze.

The consequences were already in motion.

As the music began to fade, Thomas appeared at the edge of the floor, his posture straight but his eyes conveying a clear message: time was up.

Alexander felt it—the weight of reality settling back onto his shoulders. With reluctance, he slowed their movements as the final notes hung in the air.

“I believe that’s my cue,” he murmured.

Emilia nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I know.”

He released her slowly, stepping back with practiced formality. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Carter.”