A Question on the Balcony

For a day and a half, Sera behaved with admirable maturity.

She did not avoid Alex. She merely found several urgent reasons to be elsewhere whenever Alex appeared.

Unfortunately, this meant she saw very little of Alex.

By the second afternoon she was annoyed about that too.

"The library has books," Rose observed, looking at the novel Sera had been holding upside down.

"An astonishing development."

"And the heir works beside the library."

Sera turned the book over.

"I may go and find something less predictable."

Alex's study door stood open. Sera could see maps on the desk, sunlight on the carpet, and Alex bent over a letter with a pen between her fingers.

She knocked.

Alex looked up. The pen went down at once.

"Hello."

It was only one word. Sera felt welcomed all the way to her toes.

"I wanted a book."

"Then you've made an excellent choice of corridor. What do you like?"

"Stories in which the heroine has some sense."

"That rules out half our collection."

Alex came around the desk, asked two proper questions, and found her a volume of travel essays with little drawings in the margins.

Sera had intended to leave immediately. Instead, she opened it at the window seat and laughed at an account of a disastrous sea crossing.

"Have you read this?"

"Twice. The author dislikes every country except the one he's just left."

Sera sat down.

Twenty minutes later there was tea beside her and Alex, back at the desk, occasionally looking over when she laughed.

It was remarkably pleasant to occupy the same room without being expected to perform.

The next day she returned with the book and a question about an illustration.

The following day she brought lemon cakes from the kitchen.

"You needn't bribe me to borrow things," Alex said.

"They're for me. I merely felt awkward eating them in front of you."

"Very considerate."

Alex took one, but first moved a second cup onto the little table beside the window.

It was blue, painted with tiny white flowers.

On Sera's fourth visit, the cup was already there.

She noticed. She said nothing. When Alex stepped out to speak to a steward, Sera touched the warm handle and smiled into the empty room.

By the end of the week she knew Alex tapped a pen against her lip when thinking, forgot tea when reading reports, and always looked at Sera before the door had finished opening.

She also knew the small scar across Alex's right knuckle, because she had begun noticing her hands an unreasonable amount.

The welcome ball approached with its usual accumulation of advice.

Don't speak too quickly. Don't laugh too loudly. Remember the ambassador's title.

Sera had learned all of it years ago. That didn't stop the instructions filling her head as Rose fastened the last pearl button of her pale green dress.

"You look lovely," Rose said.

"I feel like a beautifully wrapped obligation."

"Then let someone unwrap the conversation before you decide the evening is lost."

Alex arrived carrying a narrow bracelet of blue stones.

"My mother asked me to offer you this from the family collection. You're welcome to choose something else."

Sera held out her wrist.

Alex took one look at her fingers.

"You're cold."

"I'm anticipating all the ways I may embarrass two royal houses."

"That sounds exhausting."

"I've been practicing."

Alex's thumb rested lightly beneath her wrist while she closed the clasp. The touch stayed a moment after the bracelet was fastened.

Sera looked up.

Alex met her eyes, then glanced away, smoothing a sleeve that was already perfectly smooth.

There it was again. The small breach in her composure.

Sera wanted, suddenly and fiercely, to know how to cause it on purpose.

The ballroom glittered. Sera greeted people, remembered names, and kept her shoulders straight until they ached.

When Alex finally offered her a hand, she nearly sighed with relief.

"I know this dance," she said as they stepped together.

"I didn't doubt it."

"I was reassuring myself."

Alex's smile gentled. One hand settled at Sera's back.

The music began. Sera counted silently, remembering where to place her feet, how much to turn, when to look away.

"The ambassador has fallen asleep," Alex murmured.

Sera's eyes darted past her shoulder.

"Don't look. His wife is trying to wake him with her fan."

"You made me look."

"You also stopped counting."

Sera glanced back. Alex was watching her with such quiet satisfaction that she forgot the ambassador entirely.

"How did you know?"

"You were moving your lips."

"You shouldn't have been staring at my mouth."

Alex missed half a step.

It was tiny. Nobody else would have noticed.

Sera did.

Delight rose through her so quickly she almost laughed.

"Was that my fault?"

"Entirely," Alex said.

By the end of the dance, Sera had forgotten to be afraid.

A woman in silver approached with a pleasant smile and asked whether Alex was free for the next set.

Sera's fingers tightened before she could stop them.

"I was hoping for another," she said.

Alex didn't look away from her.

"Then another it is."

Later they escaped to the balcony, breathless from dancing. Sera rested her palms against the cool railing while music drifted through the open doors.

"You rescued me again," she said.

"You were doing very well."

"I know. That was the surprising part."

Alex laughed and lifted the cloak folded over her arm. "May I?"

Sera turned to let her settle it around her shoulders.

Alex stood close, fingertips arranging the collar. The night smelled of wet leaves and the orange trees below. Sera could see the fine pale line at the edge of Alex's lower lip.

She remembered how that mouth had felt against hers.

Alex stopped adjusting the cloak.

For a moment neither moved.

Then Alex let her hands fall and took a small step back.

Sera caught her sleeve.

She had spent a week inventing reasons to enter a room. She was tired of leaving the important things unsaid.

"If I kiss you now," she asked, "will you still call it an accident?"