“It is only glass, you know. Nothing fine or grand.Your Mother knew it, when she accepted it with my hand.And she knew I danced as well as a tree. She knew about the politics and duties and responsibilities of marrying into royalty. She knew all those...unfortunate things. Things some people might even call ghastly.”

“What's kissing like?""Mmm-like dancing,actually." Bramble pushed her prridge to Ivy and grinned. "You know, the part after a spin, when the room turns about you. What do you think, Clover?"Clover shook her golden head."I think it more..when the gentleman catches you in his arms, that warm feeling that makes your toes sort of curl."Bramble's face twisted. "No..that's not right. Well, dash it, if we knew more dances-”

“Try it alone now," he said. "I taught you when you were six. You were a fine little rider then. Do you remember?""No!" said Azalea."You remembered how to ride last winter," said the King quietly. He had his arms crossed. "You rode very well, one night last winter, if I remember."The horse beneath Azalea shifted, and she clutched to keep her balance."That was nearly a year ago," she stammered."Some things are burned into one's memory."The King helped her down gently onto solid ground, and didn't say another word.”

“You once said you had studied at the university," said Eve shyly. "What did you stufy, please?"Azalea blushed. It was all right for the girls to interrogate normal gentlemen, but this was the one she wanted to keep."Ah," said Mr. Bradford, coloring as well. "Politics, actually. Some philosophy, and sciences. But...mostly politics, I'm afraid.”

“What did your mother do?" he said."Sir?""When it was time for bed," said the King. "Tell me."The girls exchanged nervous glances. He was talking about Mother."She used to help the girls with their prayers," said Azalea, hesitant. "And-sometimes she would read stories."The King set the sword on the table, next to the vase."Very well," he said as the girls whispered to one another. "I will read you a story."The whispering stopped.”

“It had been two weeks since they had last danced, and Azalea lay in bed, awake again. A dream hadn't roused her this time, but rather an odd tinny noise that had been clinking across the wooden floor of their room, under their beds and butting against the wainscot with a clinkety tap-tap. It sounded like ... well, quite honestly, it sounded like a spider dragging a spoon.Azalea knew it couldn't possibly be that (or, rather, she hoped it wasn't), but even so, she heaved herself from the bed and grasped one of Hollyhock's boots, strewn across the floor. The tapping now clinked from the fireplace, and Azalea caught a glint of silver among the soot. Raising the boot, she tiptoed to the unlit hearth.The fireplace in their room was massive - so large that Azalea could stand up in it and her skirts wouldn't brush the sides. The silver hopped. Azalea dove.In a puff of soot, Azalea found herself sitting in the hearth, and the silver bit skittering away like mad. Azalea grabbed at it and was rewarded with a very sharp, very familiar bite."You!" Azalea seethed, leaping up. Now she recognized the half-hopping half-skitter motion. The sugar teeth!”

“He was shockingly easy to follow. The pressure of his hand, the step of his foot, the angle of his frame... it was like reading his mind. When he leaned right, they turned in perfect unison. He swept her across the gallery in a quick three, a dizzying pace. Gilded frames and glass cases and the window blurred in her vision, and Azalea spun out, her skirts pulling and poofing around her, before he caught her and brought her back into dance position. She could almost hear music playing, swelling inside of her.Mother had once told her about this perfect twining into one. She called it interweave, and said it was hard to do, for it took the perfect matching of the partners’ strengths to overshadow each other’s weaknesses, meshing into one glorious dance. Azalea felt the giddiness of being locked in not a pairing, but a dance. So starkly different than dancing with Keeper. Never that horrid feeling that she owed him something; no holding her breath, wishing for the dance to end. Now, spinning from Mr. Bradford’s hand, her eyes closed, spinning back and feeling him catch her, she felt the thrill of the dance, of being matched, flow through her.”Heavens, you’re good!” said Azalea, breathless.”You’re stupendous,” said Mr. Bradford, just as breathless. “It’s like dancing with a top!”