"A dance?" Clara exclaimed, stunned. "You must be joking!"
She sat at a kitchen table, knife in one hand and a half-peeled apple in the other, staring at her aunt as if the older woman had grown a second head. Ingrud, not stopping as she peeled an apple as well, shook her head.
"No. It's the way of it in Gulder." She tossed the peel in a bucket of scraps. "We celebrate the sacrifice. When your aunt Helga..."
"There is an army of demons less than a week from here!" Clara interrupted.
"When your aunt Helga was chosen as one of the two sacrifices to the Dragon," Ingrud continued, "the kingdom celebrated for a day. And here, we celebrated a week."
"We don't have time!" Clara insisted.
Her aunt's gaze was like steel. "We will not dishonor you or Lord Verrier, Clara." The gaze softened. "Besides, your sword won't be finished before tomorrow anyway. And we can't hurry the evacuation any faster than that. So you, young lady, are going to have a fest in your honor like it or not!"
Nodding glumly, Clara looked past her aunt and outside. Already, workmen were erecting a stage in the town hall.
Later that evening, Clara stood stiffly as the festivities played out around her, fingers wrapped tightly to the wine goblet in her hand. Some people were feasting, but Clara found she had no stomach for it. The combination of her impending sacrifice, and concern it wouldn't even be enough to help her hometown against the demons, made her nauseous.
Oh, she wanted to enjoy the party, the celebration thrown in her honor. But how could she? The demon host was approaching, even now. How could anyone enjoy themselves while death waited just outside the walls? So she just sipped at her wine, fighting the angry tears that threatened to come up.
"Clara?"
"Sigurd?" Clara called, shocked by the man she saw before her now. He was two years older than her, yet, while they were growing up, he was hardly ever as tall as her. Somewhere, in the past four years, he had shot up in height, now almost half a foot taller than her. His pale blonde hair was still as wispy as she remembered, but the rest of his features seemed sharpened, baby fat melted away, revealing the strong jaw. His brown eyes were warm, as warm as his boyish smile. He laughed nervously as their eyes met, and she found her face growing hot.
"It's so good to see you, Clara," He said, seeming to savor her name as it rested on his tongue. The way he said it made her shiver, wondering if he would call it out like that —No! Stop, now isn't the time for those thoughts. Just because it would be easy to get lost in his eyes, didn't mean she should!
"Are you...are you a Paladin now?" He asked, unable to hide the reverence in his tone.
"I...no, I am still in training," Clara admitted, rubbing her neck. Was he always so handsome, or was that new? Goddess, why couldn't she think of anything else but how his mouth might feel against hers?
"Would you care to dance? I understand if you don't want to, but I was hoping..." He asked, like that, and she grew warm at the thought she could make a man stumble over his words. Especially a man as attractive as him...
"I would like that," she admitted, deciding to let herself get lost in the revelry, at least for one song. Lightning shot through her fingers as his hands interlocked with hers, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, shivering at the touch of his hand on her waist. She felt lighter than air, as he twirled her along the dance floor.
There was cheering and shouting and stamping of feet as Sigurd escorted Clara out into the square. Her cheeks, already pink from his attention, flamed scarlet. Then the band struck up a lively tune, and the caller began calling the steps, and suddenly she was too busy to do anything but spin and twirl and try to keep up with the music. Soon enough, despite her fears, she was laughing and enjoying herself.
From the sidelines, Ingrud watched her niece's obvious pleasure with a contented smile. Arms slipped around her waist, and a scratchy, stubbly face nuzzled the back of her neck, and she leaned back into a broad, strong chest. "You look pleased with yourself," her husband murmured.
"Do I?" she murmured back, turning her head slightly to kiss him. "Must be because my nefarious scheme worked."
Arthur watched Clara fall into Sigurd's arms as the caller called out to swing partners. "Did it now?" he grinned, returning the kiss. "And here I thought your nefarious schemes involved getting me alone..?"
She ground back against him. "Not all of them," she purred. "Just most of them."
Arthur laughed. "What would you have done if she hadn't been interested?"
"I'd have sent him back round. This time with his fiancee," she answered, laughing. "Hell, if she's anything like her mother I might need to anyway."
Clara flushed a little as she whirled into Sigurd's arms, skirts flying. His arms went around her waist, and for a moment all she was aware if was his strong, lean body hard against hers. Then she whirled out as they linked arms, spinning around one another.
He was taller than Willam, she noted, and fairer. Not stronger, surely —like herself, Willam had received the Mantle— but older and better defined. She wondered what his lips would taste like, and shivered deliciously at the thought of his bare chest and felt heat curling in her abdomen.
That thought started to sour her a little, but then the music stopped. "Bow to the band," announced the caller. "And bow to your partner!" She did and then froze at the final, traditional call of each song. "Kiss your partner!"
Sigurd's arms were around her and his lips were on hers. Her hands slid over his back, and she gasped a little in pleased surprise as one of his hands cupped her rear and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She clung to him, suddenly weak-kneed, and little inarticulate sounds of pleasure escaped her. And then, frustratingly, it was over.
"May I have the next dance?" he whispered, eyes twinkling.
"Oh Sigurd, that is hardly fair," Another familiar voice called out now, rich and playfully in its tone. A fire-haired girl peeked her face around where Clara could see. "You can't keep her to yourself all night."
"Thora?" Clara acknowledged, one of her closest friends before she left for her training. Goddess, she had grown far more beautiful as well, her tight, low cut dress. Clara couldn't help herself from getting lost in the rolling cleavage of her creamy breasts.
"The choice is yours, of course, my dear Clara. Sigurd is a fine dancer, and I am sure you would have a wonderful time with him, but there is no need to limit yourself to a single partner," Thora told her, her eyes suggestive, giving the word dance had many meanings in this situation. Clara's only response was to blush and imagine her lovely friend pressed up against her, both nude as their soft forms moved along one another.
"Well, Clara, would you like to dance with Thora this song? We could take turns with you," Sigurd suggested, sliding his fingers through a strand of her hair. The idea made her shiver, and Sigurd continued, "I hate the idea of relinquishing you, but I think I would enjoy watching, in this case."
"I...would like that," Clara confessed. Fantasies of Sigurd and Thora in played in her mind, offering her all the pleasures a man and a woman could. She took Thora into her arms now, placing her hands on Thora's slender waist, while Thora wrapped her arms around Clara's neck. Thora's scent, lavender, with hints of apple blossom, filled her senses, with their faces this close, their bodies this close, their breasts pressing up against one another's.
Dancing with her friend was just as pleasing and dizzying as dancing with Sigurd had been, and Clara found herself looking forward to that last call, and pressing hot lips against Thora's delicious mouth, tasting her tongue. Except, she wasn't just fantasizing now, as Thora's hands caressed her face, pulling her into the soft embrace, and a quick, moist kiss and left Clara longing for more. Before She could miss the heat of Thora's body against hers, Sigurd stepped back in to replace it.
The next few dances passed in a whirlwind blur for Clara. Her pulse raced, and she felt as if she were having trouble breathing, and she hoped it would never end. Sigurd and Thora had been her best friends, back before she'd been taken to the Temple for training, and it was wonderful to see them again! And they were amazing, Sigurd was so handsome now and Thora was gorgeous and they were kissing and Sigurd was letting his hands 'accidentally' explore her as they danced and Thora had 'accidentally' cupped her breasts when they'd spun together once, and damn but she was feeling flustered and hot and damp and...
And now they were dancing a wild reel, all three of them, passing from one to the other with all of them and none of them taking the lead. Thora linked arms with Sigurd as they spun wildly, then he spun to her and they caught hands and raised them high as Thora slipped between them - taking pains to rub against both of her partners as she did. Then she turned, catching Clara's hand and the three of them moved together to the music before Clara found herself pressed against Thora's back and Sigurd's chest.
The music ended. "Bow to the musicians!" the caller demanded. Giggling, the three managed to bow together without disentangling. "Kiss your partners!" Thora turned her head, finding Clara's lips as Sigurd joined them, and for a moment three sets of lips moved together in a dance as intricate as their steps had been. Hands moved over bodies as the kisses deepened and parted and changed orientations, and Clara was shocked at her daring as her own hands slid over Sigurd's rear and the skin of Thora's exposed cleavage.
"Maybe," Sigurd whispered, voice thick and husky, "maybe we should go somewhere else?"
