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Not even two weeks ago, it seemed that everything was doomed, and Dorian was walking into a battle he didn’t know if he would get out of alive. Today, looking around the ballroom of Orynth, one would think it was a lifetime ago. Everybody looked so damned happy. Tired, yes, but purely and simply happy nonetheless. Rowan was displaying some spectacularly talented dance moves apparently no one knew he had, judging by the awed stares he was getting. Aelin, in her turn, looked breathtaking in her black and gold dress, completely amused to be twirled around by Rowan. In the right corner, Dorian could spy a giggling Evangeline standing tiptoed on top of Aedion’s feet while he moved them around in time with the music, a proud Lysandra watching and laughing. Yrene and Elide just chatted excitedly, while next to them Lorcan and Fenrys just seemed more interested in the food displayed at a large and luxurious table. But there was one person in particular Dorian was scanning the room for. A certain white haired witch.
It had been ten days since Dorian last spoke to Manon. Since he held her tightly, while she sobbed quietly, every unspoken word between them conveyed in that hug. He wanted so badly to take all that grief, that sadness, away from her. From himself. He knew he couldn’t. So they just held each other, in silence. For all they’ve been through. For those twelve bright souls. For minutes, maybe hours, he didn’t know. He had never seen her cry before, never seen her so vulnerable. That she trusted him enough to let him see that side of hers, that soft side he always knew she had, but wouldn’t let the world see. It unlocked something in him, something he didn’t know if he was capable of anymore. She eventually quietly let go of him, and flew away in Abraxos. Where to, he didn’t know. He quietly watched her these past few days, though. Would observe her flying away every morning, Abraxos with her, looking healthier every passing day. She looked exhausted, grief and tiredness, and the pressure of being queen, taking its toll on her.
It wasn’t very hard to spot her. She was sitting alone, at the far corner of the room. Just quietly observing everyone. His breath caught in his throat instantly. She looked stunning. She hadn’t bothered with fine clothes, and was wearing her usual witch leathers, the ones he had come to love so much. Her unbound hair flying loosely from her face, matching so perfectly the crown on her head. Her eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, but as soon as she caught his eyes, her stare stopped. Pinning him to the spot. A question, or a challenge? He didn’t care. He crossed the room to where she was, and sat right next to her. While observing the party around them, he decided to make conversation.
- What are you thinking? - He tried.
- About how stupid you look in these clothes - She said, amusement in her eyes.
It was true, though. After all these months of traveling, and camping, and flying, and bringing down castles, he did feel silly wearing formal attire. He chuckled.
You’re supposed to have fun at parties, you know.
She just stayed silent, watching Rolfe spill his drink on the floor. He knew why she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Yet still. It hurt him to see her like that. Not that he could picture her walking around being all bubbly, even before. Yet still.
- I have an idea - He stood up, offering her his hand.
She just looked at his hand suspiciously, unwilling to move.
- What? - She asked, bluntly. He kept looking at her with his hand outstretched, but she just stood there.
- Come on - He gripped her hand and swooped her up in one motion, pulling her behind him as he trailed off to the dance floor.
- Wh-what are you doing? - She stuttered, suddenly realizing what was happening.
When they finally got to the dance floor, he just shot her a grin.
- No no no no no, Dorian, I don’t dance. - She said, trying to yank her hand off his grip.
He’d never seen her look so terrified. He let go of her and just stood there, amusement in his eyes.
- Would you grace me with a dance, witchling? - He said, extending a hand in invitation.
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People were starting to look to see what all the fuss was, and Manon was truly terrified to have people looking at her. Worse. People looking at her being asked to dance.
- I think you’re mistaking me for your ex-girlfriend, princeling - She said, with a pointed look in Aelin’s direction, who was laughing and happily twirling in Rowan’s arms. - I don’t dance. - She finished, crossing her arms.
He took a step in her direction. She stared at him with those molten gold eyes of hers, challenging him. He took another step.
- Please? - He said.
- No way. - she breathed. He took another step. Their faces were barely an inch apart now.
- Please? - He put a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her breath hitched. She didn’t say anything. She just stared at his mouth.
She didn’t realize until it was too late that he had grabbed her and was starting to move them around, too distracted by that damn mouth. Those damn eyes. Fuck that face.
He twirled her in one fast move, then brought her abruptly close to him again. Way too close.
- I am going to kill you - Manon hissed. - I’m going to cut you, then feed your parts to Abraxos.
She didn’t let go of his grip, though. Just stood there, back stiffened, letting him guide her through the dance floor. He was a good lead, in all honesty. She supposed he had to be, having grown up in a palace and been given a prince’s education.
- If you can take me - was his only answer.
Manon just rolled her eyes. Arrogant bastard.
He brought his face closer to hers.
- Just because you brought down Morath, doesn’t mean I can’t still take you, princeling.
- Yeah? - He teased, inching even closer.
- I can take you anytime - She confirmed.
- Hmm - was his only answer.
Fuck that stupid face. She closed the gap between them, his dance moves coming to a halt. For a moment it was just them, just this. His scent filled her nose, and suddenly she got lost in it. When their mouths finally met, it was like all the pain, all the sorrow of these last few days melted away. If only for a moment. She didn’t know how long they stood like this, just stopped in the middle of the ballroom, kissing.
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Suddenly there was some loud whistling and cheering coming from near the food table. Fenrys and Lorcan. Manon broke the kiss apart, pushing Dorian’s chest away all of a sudden. Yrene and Elide were just laughing. Like they’d been watching this whole scene the entire time. Like they’d all been watching. Chaol just stood like he’d been caught midstep trying to reach Yrene to give her some refreshments. He almost dropped the glass to the floor, his mouth open. He gave a pointed look to the other four, who were all laughing. When was someone going to tell me about this?, his look seemed to say.
Manon looked bright red. And furious. Dorian looked at his friends, then back at her, and just grinned.
- I didn’t know you could be embarrassed so easily, witchling.
- I’ll truly kill you - She threatened, then stormed off.
Dorian just smiled and watched her go. He would enjoy this, he thought. Making her angry. Making her happy.