After the music of that first song faded out, we paused. It would be natural to separate, to let go. But neither of us seems willing to pull away first.
We sway into the next song, and the next. We watch person after person disappear to their rooms. Watch plates and cups cleared away. And even as the time ticks by, neither of us says anything, too afraid it will break this precious spell.
I don't think we ever would have stopped if not for Mrs. Hobbs announcing I should be in bed now. She insists I need to not only rest my ankle, but also be ready to get Lady Anna up for breakfast.
A pang of jealousy hits me because the footmen are allowed a bit longer. But of course this makes sense, they won't be needed for breakfast.
My very being seems to protest leaving this place, this moment.
Aleksi and I just look at one another for a moment. After holding onto each other so long, my stiff fingers groan in protest as I let go. I step out of the moment, out of the warm bubble we have created together. Back into reality. This time it is I that clears my throat and murmurs a goodnight before rushing off.
Though I can feel his eyes follow me, I don't dare look back as I fly up the stairs.
The soft press of his hand still lingers on my skin. My back, my waist. I feel as if I could trace its outline in the air.
I just danced with him. In front of everyone. Amber and Grace will think their suspicions confirmed, and Lady Anna—God, I don't even want to imagine her smirk. I can only imagine the teasing that will commence tomorrow at breakfast. But still… I can't regret it. It was so safe. Strange, that word. Safe.
I am caught between reliving the night and scolding myself. I should have just made the excuse about my ankle and not danced with him. After last time too, I've probably given him and everyone else the wrong idea. Or… is it the wrong idea? Did he mean that the moment with the sparrow made him see me as a good person, a friend? Or something more? In what way exactly does he care?
I groan, covering my face for a moment, gripped again by that fluttery embarrassment.
I sigh heavily, pressing my fingers hard against my forehead, willing my thoughts to quiet.
The corridor stretches out in front and behind me, hushed and still—but not peaceful. There's a tension in the air, like the walls hold their breath. Suddenly the darkness feels charged. The last of the warmth seeps away and I am enveloped by the cool blackness.
My footsteps feel too loud. I speed up, though I don't know why.
And that's when I hear it.
I whip around, frozen. Everyone on this floor, the women's sleeping quarters, should be asleep. Yet something down the hallway definitely moved.
"Is someone there?" I ask the darkness. Maybe I am going crazy, seeing things. I hope I am seeing things.
But as my eyes adjust, at the end of the hallway I can just make out a blurry shadow. My body goes cold. That isn't the shadow of one of the maids, and no man is allowed on this floor.
I hear a step, too heavy to be one of the women, too slow to be accidental. A hush of leather against wood. Close.
I turn and run.
Heavy footfalls, clearly trying to be quiet, follow me, hot on my trail. It is as if I am in a dream, voice stolen, body slow, like moving through molasses. My skirt catches on something—nothing. Just air. I stumble, catch myself and keep running.
The footsteps behind me are uneven now, staggering but fast, gaining.
When I get to my door after what feels like an eternity, I fumble with the lock as he draws closer.
Quickly, quickly.
My door gives just as the footsteps reach me, close enough they feel like a second heartbeat in my chest. I burst into my room—my roommate-less room—and close the door. I don't have time to lock it before he reaches me.
"Why do you run, pet?"
The word slithers through me, wrong and possessive. I recognize that voice. I flinched away from it just hours before. It's the Valet. I push against the door to keep it closed, breathing hard.
"You're drunk." I try to keep my voice sounding even, firm.
"Mmm yes, but it won't make a difference, don't worry I'll find my way even now." His voice is almost soft, like he's trying to calm down a wild animal. My stomach turns and panic bubbles hot in my chest.
"This is improper." I reply, desperate, as my hold starts to slip.
"Only if we make it improper." He shoves at the door, determined. It opens, only slightly, and I push hard again, forcing it closed. The strong scent of alcohol forces itself through the cracks.
I start to cry small, panicky tears.
Will someone hear and come to help me? Everyone was so tired, plied with alcohol. I doubt they would stir even if I did try to call for help.
I think of another day, another circumstance, and suddenly I pray no one comes to help me.
But I can't hold the door much longer.
"I'll have to ask you to please leave." I know the fear is clear in my shaking voice, and I hear his laugh from the other side of the door.
"I don't think I will." His shoving gets more aggressive, rattling the door and the wall. It now slams open and closed, back and forth, and my strength is failing. I sob between clenched teeth.
"Why are you being like this?" He hisses, his anger finally coming to the surface through his slimy lies.
I don't respond, too busy with the door.
"Why did you lead me on if you were going to be like this?" He growls, shoving even harder somehow. I have no time to respond, no time to think.
He's still on the other side.
And I don't know how much longer I can hold on.
There's more fear in my veins than blood, more dread than breath, as I pray to be anywhere else—anywhere but this door, this body, this night that won't end.