“You cannot dance up there," he said, quietly. "I can see you are in mourning. But you are welcome to dance here, among the magic. Please. Come and mend you broken hearts here. Come back, every night.”

“One last dance, my lady, before I am never to see you again?”

“And," said the Keeper, his eyes cold. "You are never to refuse me another dance again.”

“I say,” he said, smiling his very white smile and pullingher a touch closer. “You don’t look half bad in the sunlight. Itbrings out a perky red in your hair.”“Oh, honestly,” said Azalea, trying to tug her hand awaygently. “Mr. Hyette, please.”“You don’t find me handsome?”“No.”Mr. Hyette’s smile faded.“Now see here,” he said. “You certainly have no right tobe picky. Everyone knows the point of this silly riddle is tofind the future King.”

“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.”

“We can go without dancing and things a little longer.""Especially since our Great Slipper Scandal quickened the undead and nearly destroyed the palace," said Bramble. "It put us off dancing for at least an hour.”

“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!”