Hilda's chest rose and fell under Rudy and Sylphy's gaze as she drew a breath, her words a little disordered.
"The dance steps and the final postures are now taught. What remains… is the simplest part—the gesture of inviting someone to dance. It's simple, so I saved it for last."
She tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear, looking slightly tired from the earlier dancing.
"You simply extend your hand before you and bow in invitation."
Eris, noticing Hilda's downward gaze, followed it to the floor.
There, on the top of Hilda's shoe, was a fresh, clearly visible footprint of her own making.
The young lady's face paled slightly.
"D-did I hurt you, Mother?"
Hilda shook her head with a smile.
"No. It's fine, Eris. Now, let me show you the invitation gesture—"
But before she could finish, Eris released her hand and glanced around with darting red eyes… until they lit up upon landing on Allen.
In the startled stares of Ghislane, Sylphy, and Rudy, she strode forward, took Allen's hand, and declared,
"Allen knows the steps! I'll have him do the demonstration! I can't even touch him in sword practice—so I definitely won't step on his feet!"
She turned to look at him directly.
Allen glanced down at her hand, was silent for a moment, then said,
"…An invitation gesture, hm? It is simple. I've seen it before. I'll demonstrate. The form may not be perfect, so I'll let the lady correct me at the end."
"Great!"
At Eris's cheer, Hilda blinked, then nodded lightly and stepped aside to stand beside Sylphy, her pace a little uneven.
All eyes turned to Allen.
Even Eris, standing opposite him, was focused.
Allen spoke after a brief pause, in his usual Water God Style precision—data and detail. But his words also carefully framed himself as an "observer."
"The distance between two people is about ninety centimeters—roughly a step and a half for an average person."
A twist of his wrist and his hand slipped free from Eris's grip.
He stepped back.
Exactly the right distance.
"Then bow, at the same angle as a normal noble's salute."
He bowed—forty-five degrees.
"Extend your left hand forward, palm up, level with the chin. That way, the lady can accept the invitation with her right hand."
His hand extended, palm open before Eris.
"And finally—"
"Place your right hand on your chest."
His right palm spread over his heart.
Precise.
Exacting.
Flawless.
Elegant.
"That's about it. If the lady wishes—"
He hadn't finished when Eris suddenly smiled, slapped her hand into his, and said,
"Okay!"
Then she yanked the surprised Allen toward her and immediately launched into the Foxtrot again.
She hadn't had enough earlier—and she was happy to dance with Allen.
He sighed faintly but placed his hand at her waist with a fond look, indulging the willful, endearingly fierce little lioness.
Just as he had indulged her so many times before.
Steps shifted and turned.
They danced.
Perfectly in sync.
No words were needed—this was the same silent coordination they'd built from sword practice.
The rhythm of their steps sounded again.
Rudy, mouth open, was amazed yet again at how much Allen spoiled Eris.
Sylphy, too, looked at the fiery-haired girl's unrestrained smile and showed the same helpless fondness.
Though older, Eris could be such a child sometimes.
But… wasn't that spirit wonderful?
Sylphy smiled faintly—then her expression froze.
A soft pat.
Barely audible beneath the dance steps, yet striking her heart like a hammer.
Eris's heavy steps completely covered the sound, but Sylphy had imagined it anyway—
Because—
It was within her peripheral vision.
Though her eyes were on Allen and Eris, she'd been watching Hilda all along.
Sylphy turned her head.
And saw—
Tears sliding silently from Hilda's eyes, tracing down her cheeks, dripping from her chin.
A glistening thread.
Hilda… was crying.
She stared, dazed, at Allen and Eris dancing.
The simple invitation gesture—
Allen had done it exactly right.
It was the Boreas-exclusive form.
But—
It wasn't something ordinary nobles used.
Most would keep the right hand behind the back, not place it over the chest.
Why?
Because—
Their crest wasn't the "Iron Heart."
They had no need to offer the heart of Boreas to anyone.
From deep within her, a distant memory welled up.
The figures before her blurred—
And she saw herself thirteen years ago.
An ordinary evening.
And yet, extraordinary.
Two people dancing in this same hall—
Philip, and herself.
"Why put your hand over your chest? It's strange, Philip."
"This is the Boreas family's unique invitation."
"Oh? Why that posture?"
The young Philip, with his brown curls and gentle eyes tinged with a look she hadn't understood then, raised his brows and smiled.
"Because—it's the Iron Heart."
"Iron Heart?"
"The Boreas family crest, Hilda. I'm inviting you here to this hall."
He lifted his finger above his head, pointing to the sky.
She had looked up in surprise.
The sunset glow swirled in a riot of color—
And the Iron Heart spread its wings.
Philip's voice echoed beside her.
"I wanted to show you… the Heart of Boreas."
She had looked down in a daze as he placed his right hand over his heart and extended his left to her—not behind his back.
Because—
He was offering her the Heart of Boreas.
Hilda wiped her tears now, staring at Allen as he danced with Eris.
It was a truth she feared to face, too uncertain to confront—
A possibility tiny, yet real.
One that had come without warning—
Leaping over all reasoning—
Borne on sheer coincidence—
And all the hope she'd kept buried.
Brown hair. Gray eyes. Invited here by Philip as a family tutor. Familiar with royal noble dances.
And knowing the Boreas-only invitation gesture.
Could a mere "ordinary" adventurer…
Also bear the Heart of Boreas?
Allen…
Allen Boreas Greyrat?
(End of Chapter)
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