The Lady Was Defeated at Dance
The Lady was defeated at dance.
The ballroom had begun to ring with the sweet strains of the Imperial orchestra. One by one, the young lords and ladies gathered there had taken their partners' hands and fallen into step with the melody.
I, too, had risen and begun to dance — as had Rebecca.
"...You just stepped wrong."
"..."
Of course, while other couples gazed fondly into each other's eyes and conjured an atmosphere of pure sweetness, the only thing rising between the Lady and me was a chill of tension.
The kind of tension that exists for one purpose alone: to pounce the instant your partner makes a mistake. In place of tenderness, that was what filled the space between us.
"And yet you made a mistake yourself just now, my Lady."
"That was because you made a mistake, which made me make one."
"Spare me the excuses. Even if I hadn't stumbled, you would have anyway."
"Wouldn't have."
"Would have."
"Wouldn't."
Was this truly a conversation between the future Duke and the future Countess, the two young people meant to shoulder the Empire's tomorrow? Judged on its sentences alone, it was indistinguishable from the petulant bickering of seven-year-olds.
The sort of words that, if any of the other nobles dancing nearby overheard them, would make one hide one's face in shame — and they were flying freely back and forth between Rebecca and me.
"Might I suggest a wager instead?"
Growing genuinely afraid that someone might catch wind of our exchange, I made the proposal to the Lady.
"...A wager?"
"Yes. We'll count who commits more mistakes before this song ends."
"Ha. Do you honestly believe you can beat me at dancing?"
The moment Rebecca heard the terms of the wager, she let out a scornful laugh, as though I'd said something utterly preposterous.
It was a reasonable reaction. In truth, my dancing skills were still too embarrassing to even hold up next to the Lady's.
The Munchkin Young Lady, wanting in nothing, was a masterful dancer as well.
"Are you frightened?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
But as it always had, so it did now.
I was confident I could beat Rebecca. If I hadn't been, I would never have made the proposal in the first place.
"If you're not frightened, then there's no reason for the Lady to refuse, is there?"
"I'm only thinking of you, who will surely lose..."
"The Lady worried for me. I'm moved to tears."
"..."
Rebecca, who had been forcibly holding a smile for the sake of appearances, saw her face turn vicious in an instant.
"Don't make that face. It's terrifying."
"You dare call my expression terrifying—"
"When a Lady already fearsome enough in countenance pulls a face like that, it's like looking at a bandit. The little children over there would run away crying at the sight of you, my Lady."
"...You said the next song, didn't you?"
Let's begin immediately.
Unable to endure my barrage of provocations, the Lady finally accepted the proposal.
"Very well."
Never suspecting, of course, that this was the stratagem of a fisherman casting his lure and waiting.
A short while later, the song changed. The new piece was a fast-tempo waltz — the nightmare of nobles newly initiated into the art of dance, and...
"It appears I've already won this wager."
"..."
...the song I had struggled with most of all the pieces I'd practiced.
"It's the one you have the most trouble with. Rather than disgrace yourself for nothing, why not surrender now, while there's still time?"
The Lady, who had learned this from practicing with me, spoke as if the victory were already hers.
"Take my hand, my Lady."
I simply smiled quietly and offered Rebecca my hand for the dance.
"...The crowd's thinned out considerably."
It was something I hadn't noticed until the moment I extended my hand to Rebecca — but the ballroom, packed with dancing nobles mere moments ago, somehow felt emptier now.
So a fast waltz truly is a trial for young ladies fresh off their debutantes and young lords newly entered into high society. Most of them, it seemed, had chosen not to attempt the dance at all rather than stumble and draw laughter for nothing.
"Which is to say, this song is no easy feat."
"If you withdraw even now, I might lower the stakes of my wish for you."
The Lady was wearing an expression of such genuine concern. As if she could not begin to predict what humiliations might befall her if I lost to her.
Never mind that the one making the wish would be Rebecca herself.
Realizing this, I thanked the Lady for her concern.
"I've been meaning to say this for a while now, but you worry for your fiancé far more than I'd expected, my Lady."
"...I will never go easy on you, so steel yourself."
Rebecca's bloodcurdling warning was the final note before — at last — the opening bars of the song began.
The waltz, as dances go, is simpler than it looks. You clasp your partner's hands, match your steps, and turn round and round. By the dictionary definition, there is nothing difficult about it at all.
By the dictionary definition, that is.
As with everything in this world, thought and reality are two different things.
Holding a steady rhythm while turning is no great challenge. The difficulty lies in doing it in perfect sync with your partner.
Keeping the same steps while both your hands remain clasped in your partner's is no simple matter. Your bodies are connected by those hands — so if even one of you trips, the other loses their balance in turn.
In the waltz, a mistake never ends as one person's mistake alone. That is its charm, and its flaw.
But despite all such concerns —
"You stumbled right here last time, and yet this time you haven't missed a step?"
I was matching Rebecca's rhythm with surprising ease.
"We're hardly past the opening, are we."
Still, I did not let my guard down.
This song began slowly and only accelerated as it went — that was its defining character. Even if the opening allowed a measure of leisure in one's footing, that leisure would soon run out.
And just as I had predicted, the tempo of the music began to climb.
"You'd be... the Valencia Lady, yes? What a magnificent dancer you are."
"...And who is that beside her?"
"Isn't that her fiancé? I heard she had one."
"Whoever he is, he seems nearly as fine a dancer as the Lady herself."
Voices of the nobles watching our dance from nearby drifted over to us.
"Do you hear that? People are watching us."
"Then why not withdraw even now? There's no shame quite like disgracing yourself before an audience."
"Rest assured, that will never happen."
Knowing we had spectators did nothing to end our duel of nerves. The sparring continued, the dance went on, and before we knew it the music had reached its crescendo.
"Struggling, are we? Your face is already red."
"...Is it?"
"It is. So admit you've lost now, while you can. People are far more likely to make mistakes when they're worn out, you know."
Rebecca's own face was quite red as she said it — whether from exertion or something else, who could say. Mine was likely little better, judging by how the furious dance had set my arms and legs beginning to ache.
And that remark meant it was time for me to bring out what I had prepared in order to win this contest.
"Mistakes are only natural for me."
"...What?"
Rebecca reacted as though I'd suddenly said something completely absurd.
But it was far too early to be surprised. I still had plenty of words in reserve.
"How could I possibly not stumble, holding hands with a fiancée as beautiful as you?"
"..."
"Any man in this Empire would find it impossible to keep from faltering with you on his arm, my Lady."
"...Do you think such shameless flattery can sway my heart again?"
Her face had gone scarlet, but Rebecca maintained her composure still — as if to say that everything she had endured from me had not been for nothing. A Lady grown stronger through every defeat at my hands.
"If you truly believe that, then you've gravely underestimated—"
"You're beautiful."
"...I'm sorry?"
Though she had grown, it hadn't been enough to withstand what came next.
"Of all the faces of you I've seen over the past three years, today's is the most beautiful of all."
"..."
"From hair so vivid and bright I long to run my fingers through it, to cheeks flushed with embarrassment, to eyes that hold me alone, down to lips that make me think of nothing but wanting to taste them."
"..."
"I find myself wanting to capture this moment in a photograph and keep it for the rest of my life."
Words that are not sincere cannot fluster anyone. Rebecca may never notice it, but the reason the Lady has gone so red and so utterly rattled is that every one of my words is true.
At this moment of opportunity, I had poured out to the Lady all the brooding, unspeakable thoughts I normally kept locked away.
"...Uweh?"
Hearing my words — brimming to the brim with sincerity and shamelessness alike — Rebecca broke down entirely.
And I did not let the chance slip by. The steps I had kept perfectly steady until now twisted, ever so slightly, off their rhythm.
"Kyaaaah!"
Rebecca, already too stunned by my words to collect herself, naturally lost her balance the moment the steps shifted beneath her.
"I say this every time, but what on earth would you do without me?"
"..."
I caught the Lady on my arm just as she tripped over her own feet, stopping her fall before it could happen.
To everyone watching, it looked for all the world like a fiancé catching the Lady as she stumbled — sweeping her into his embrace.
"Kyaaaaaaah!"
Amid the cheers of the young noble ladies, their innocent hearts ablaze at this one-act drama unfolding before them, I quietly made my declaration to the Lady.
"You see, don't you, my beloved fiancée? That this wager, too, was mine."