Chapter 156 - 154: Steps Of A Barbarian .

Chapter 156: Chapter 154: Steps Of A Barbarian .

(His perceptiveness is a matter of personal pride, for Gurdet, but even his gaze isn’t all-encompassing, and focused as he is on the exchange, he doesn’t catch the subtle shift in Vogrid’s expression.)

​A moment of silence passes; the servant and the eavesdropping soldiers all still clearly in a mild state of shock, when the princess, who has sat so patiently through the formalities, abruptly claps her hands together in delight.

​" Well, " she prefaces brightly, decisively beginning to gather up her skirts, "Now that that’s sorted, shall we dance, cousin?"

​Montrel, for one (who has, of course, been listening in with poor concealed interest ever since Bongo had whisked Khobi away), has never seen a single question have Khobi looking so horrified.

​" Uh ," he splutters heavily, even as she holds out a hand for him to take, and says the exact four words he shouldn’t, "...I don’t really dance?"

​("Oh he’s fucked," Gandy chimes in, as the rest of the eavesdropping soldiers wince sympathetically, shaking his head.)

​It’s the wrong thing to say in the company he’s in, and the king smiles, like he’s gone and walked right into a cleverly rigged trap, telling him, with a measure of glee, " --Oh, but she insists."

​"Yes," the princess sniffs, smiling in that way princesses do to get their way. Montrel doesn’t know how Khobi can possibly be immune to it, "I do."

​And because she’s their princess, the soldiers, who have so obviously been listening in, can do nothing but watch as she locks her arm around his, and promptly leads him out onto a steadily filling dancefloor before he can mount any further protests.

​("I don’t know this dance," Khobi hisses under his breath, as other pairs start to float into a loose ring around the edge of the dancefloor, in anticipation of some kind of choreographed dance.

Xena just gives him a reassuring look.

​"It’s easy," she whispers, taking his hand and offering a small squeeze to put him at ease.

It doesn’t help much. His aching limbs are steadily loosening up, but he’s still sore, and to his memory hasn’t danced a day in his life. "Just copy everyone else."

​She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Khobi appreciates her confidence but shares absolutely none of it, and while he knows he’s plenty capable of throwing her off and just walking off the dancefloor, when she looks up at him her eyes are bright and full of stars and she looks so thrilled that he’s come this far, that he can’t quite find it in his heart to let her down.)

​The soldiers, hovering just shy of the dancefloor all catch the mildly panicked look Khobi shoots them, and all know what it is they have to do, but in the end it’s Rogard who makes the decisive first move.

​"...Okay, come on," he snickers, when there are only a handful of counts left to the song’s upbeat opening notes, and breaks rank to approach the nearest young maiden gazing forlornly at the dancefloor.

After a beat, and a heavy sigh, Gandy follows him.

​"What?" Montrel deadpans, like he doesn’t already know, as Rogard offers the girl his hand and gestures towards the dancefloor. She blushes down to her ankles and nods eagerly, and Gandy makes sure to catch her prettiest friend on his arm, "Out there?"

​"Yup~" Rogard trills, giving Montrel a conspiratory wink for catching on so quick and immediately making a beeline for the dancefloor, "What? We can’t let him do this by himself."

​"Yes we can," Montrel insists, with heat, yet somehow, despite all his protests, and the amount of effort he’s expended throughout his entire adult life to avoid this exact situation, he finds himself hurriedly pleading a girl to accompany him out onto the dancefloor after his fellows.

They manage to get into position just as the music really kicks in, and for the first time ever , and hopefully the last --he’s grateful for the dancing lessons all the castle children had had to attend as a part of their schooling, because at least this is a song he remembers.

​Whether or not he remembers the steps is another matter, but he figures it can’t be too hard.

​They teach it to children, for fucks sake.

​And it’s not hard, actually. The men, for the most part, just have to make sure not to trip over their feet while their partners dance away from them, and then back into their arms in turn; only to reach for the next man in the circle, and move on to a new partner when the music changes.

It’s a lively tune; a favourite of the youth during warm evenings in the spring; perfect for boys too young to be courting to have a moment in time with all the prettiest girls in the castle, and for all the girls to bat their eyes and capture the heart of one partner, and then giggle as the music carries them away to the next poor fool.

​That’s not to say that it’s easy , because it’s not that either --not because the steps are tricky, or anything, but mostly because Montrel’s grace on the battlefield doesn’t translate well at all, and he winds up accidentally kicking his partner in the shin. More than once, actually.

She looks quite relieved when the music sweeps her away from him and a different lady has to spend some time in his arms. It’s a little insulting.

​Montrel is honestly a little offended by how easy Rogard makes it look. And he’s the one with the injured ankle. Even Khobi, after narrowly avoiding whacking the guy next to him, doesn’t do too badly.

And Khobi tries; he really does. The whole rotating partners business had caught him completely by surprise the first time, and a couple of the first women who had danced with him had looked irritated at having to go through him to get to their special moment with Rogard, but after a rocky start, he kind of gets the hang of it.

He won’t be winning any dance contests, and Rogard grins at him from across the floor like an idiot the whole time, like he’s immensely enjoying himself, but after the sequence repeats itself a few times, he manages to get the steps in the right order, at sort of the right time, and his partners stop tutting at him for getting it wrong.

​Some of them even start to look impressed. And --although Khobi might have been imagining it --a few of them look disappointed to leave him, and send him wistful looks as the music commands that they part.

A few even get closer than strictly necessary, including a woman who had to be at least twice his age.

From across the dancefloor, Montrel had seen her running her hand down Khobi’s chest, and had almost completely lost it. He’d snorted into his partner’s hair, and gotten such a filthy look for it that Khobi couldn’t help but helplessly grin back.