Summary: Until that fateful ball at Lythikos, Liam considered the Cordonian Waltz ‘just another dance’. What happens when the right person comes along? Set during the Lythikos Ball in Book 1.
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Box step, reverse, spin, twirl. An arrangement of dance steps. Until you came along, that was all Liam ever imagined the Cordonian Waltz to be.
Oh, he’s listened to the history of this dance form a million times. Had a dozen dance masters scold him for his stiffness, his aloofness, the distance he never fails to maintain between him and his partner. This isn’t just any dance, they’d say: it is a conversation. Flirtation in fluid motion. A way to show her how you felt when you weren’t allowed any other way.
With Olivia somehow, he’s always gone through the motions. They grew up together on this dance, practising the steps in the palace ballroom till their backs ached and their feet were sore. There’s an easy familiarity in their footwork and hand-presses, in how they glide and fall together. A tendril finds its way out of her elegant chignon as she twirls, and she looks flushed and happy, he thinks. He’s glad because this sight is so rare.
And then it’s your turn. He remembers the first time you told him you didn’t know how to waltz, how you followed his lead and entrusted yourself in the safety of his arms. He wonders if he needs to do it again, and realises he would kill for a chance to do so.
But you don’t. You move backwards when he moves forward, allow his arms to frame you, glide effortlessly against him. When he spins you he notices that your eyes never leave his*. Suddenly he can’t stand to be stiff anymore. You move together, poetry in motion. Suddenly he feels so alive and even as you joke about this being just a “choreographed waltz in the dance floor of a private ball” both of you know this isn’t entirely the truth.
He twirls you just like Maxwell did, your back against his chest, his arms around you, his heartbeat quickening behind your ear. He whispers against your hair. Yes, you are special to him, he says. You look up. Your face is flushed. You stay ensconced in his arms a second longer than the dance dictates. Your stupid expressive face tells him everything he needs to know.
It’s then that he understands. What this dance means. Why it exists. Who it was meant for.
It’s then that he realises. You’ve ruined him for anyone else. He can never dance the Cordonian Waltz again without remembering how you made it feel. He can never dance the Cordonian Waltz with another woman again. Not without thinking “this isn’t how its meant to be”.
The Cordonian Waltz will never be the same again.
He will never be the same again.
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