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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Twenty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 20 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] Part Twenty [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

Your turn catches Breighton’s attention and you both move to allow Dale and Grandfather into the loose circle that your group has formed.

Greetings fly around as everyone is introduced yet again while you hope this is enough of a disruption for the topic of conversation to change.

You haven’t even had a chance to hear about anything truly new and interesting about medical studies from this world yet.

“Lord Dale,” Dr Louisa says, a glint in her eye you don’t trust. “We were just discussing demonology laws. Given my area of study and given Northridge’s historically rigid stance on the laws forbidding any practice or study of the Depths, I was curious as to what your opinion on the matter was. Or yours as well, Lord Northridge, if anything has changed in that regard.”

You nearly have a heart attack at her bold question. Was the fact that only Grandmother was specifically warned against made her think that meant Grandfather is a more amenable target? Didn’t she realize the original warning was for her own benefit, not Grandmother’s? Your eyes dart to Grandfather and you brace yourself for whatever he’s going to say—you doubt Dale will be able to speak first.

Grandfather frowns sternly at Dr. Louisa, looking at her as if she had asked his opinion on the merits of running around naked with an unsheathed sword in the muck. “My stance has not changed, if you mean to say that Northridge should permit such activities within our lands or that any of the laws written by Lady Northridge should be repealed.” There’s no give to his words, no gentling them or self-consciousness. As if he had been asked if he still thought it was water in the river and couldn’t understand why that was a question in the first place.

He continues reproachfully, “A very audacious question, but I suppose given the foolhardy nature of your studies, unsurprising. Studying the intersection of materials from the Depths with an eye towards our medicine, except in how to counteract their poisonous effects, is the height of arrogance and recklessness. Northridge’s laws remain the gold standard and if everyone were wise enough to adopt them, then the violence and grief in the world would suffer a great blow.”

Dr. Louisa blinks back, clearly not having expected such a definitive and blunt dismissal of her entire field. Teresa pulls her goblet up to her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her grin. “I see,” is all Dr. Louisa manages.

Hopefully, that puts an end to her desire for drama or debate on the topic and you can finally move on.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares your opinion. Kenneth asks, seemingly unable to resist stirring the pot further, “And you, Lord Dale?”

“Hm,” Dale gives his head a little shake, as if bringing himself back to the conversation. “Oh.” The thoughtful frown on his face deepens as he rubs a hand on his chin. He gives Grandfather an apologetic look before he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I do not entirely agree.”

Grandfather turns to give Dale a look of parental skepticism, the kind given when a child expresses an opinion the parent feels they cannot be qualified to speak on. “No?”

Is that a good attitude for Grandfather to have or a bad one? You’re not sure. It’s not suspicious at least.

“No,” Dale repeats. Is it only because of your knowledge of his nature that you see in his eyes when he makes the decision to truly present an opinion other than agreement on this, most delicate of topics. Does it read merely as bracing one’s self to a parent to the others? Or is it only you who can tell what placing his glass down means?

Dale opens his mouth, closes it with a frown, before he begins again, “I understand the motivation behind the laws Grandmother championed at a national level and agree with the vast majority of them.” His voice is careful and firm, but you see him fiddle with a cufflink before continuing, “However, if I am being honest, I feel Northridge’s ban is ultimately to our own detriment.”

This is a risk and you don’t know why Dale is taking it. Obviously, since he’s a demon you assume he must have a less than glowing opinion of Northridge’s stance, but why press that now? Now, when Grandfather had finally backed off? He’s clearly being careful with his words, but why say them at all?

When Grandfather opens his mouth to object, Dale barrels onward, obviously having committed to this conversation, “I certainly do not think the danger is not real or present, however, a complete ban prevents us from truly understanding that danger and prevents us from learning best to counter and deal with such a thing, if it were to arise.”

Your thoughts race with each new word out of Dale’s mouth. Is he trying to test the waters? To see if Grandfather will bend? And to what point? What is he planning? For the first time in a while, you let your worries about what Dale has planned overwhelm your worries for what others have planned for him. What does he want? Why is he still here? Is trusting in him the biggest mistake you’re ever going to make? Why is this the line he’s walking, that he’s pushing?

“Banning the knowledge and materials needed to summon or create portals is what keeps us safe from the very danger they present,” Grandfather scolds.

“What about the Fallridge fire ten years ago?” Dale counters. He glances at the group, likely seeing unfamiliarity with this incident. His eyes end their scan on you and he elaborates, “While home from school, a student tried to use substandard ingredients and whatever notes he could sneak into Northridge to open a portal. The result killed him and everyone within the block.” He turns back to Grandfather. “Let alone the others who died when those firesprits ran loose and no one knew how to seal the portal or banish them?”

You wince at the description of the incident, though you’ve heard similar stories before about summoning mistakes, or those who were summoned correctly but with the intent of causing harm. It does sound like a larger death toll than usual, especially if no one had the supplies or training to put an end to the incident or the demons.

It’s also an interesting angle for Dale to come at this from. You were worried he’d just suggest a repeal to the bans, that having such strict laws is holding the fief back, as you’re certain the original Dale had thought. This Dale though… he’s certainly not trying to downplay the danger demons can present, if anything you think having such trained personnel would only make it hard for him to remain undetected. Why is he going there with this argument? Just hoping to propose stricter protection in order divert suspicion?

“And how bad could it have been if he’d done so correctly?” Grandfather snaps back, but he looks uncomfortable. “What about all the other disasters that the ban prevented from happening?”

Dale looks disappointed in Grandfather’s answer although you think it's a fair question to ask. “Firstly, you know I cannot prove a negative. Secondly, there are plenty of other fiefs that do not have bans who also do not have constant accidents like this. Thirdly, his warding is what failed which means if he’d done so correctly, it is less likely anything would have gotten through. And finally, having trained responders in the guards and our own schools to help combat such an accident could only have helped in this situation.”

Of course, that’s also a fair response. Your own fief, as best as you can remember it, has the same laws as the country as a whole and have not had significant incidents—at least, none that you heard of. While you were never particularly involved in anything regarding the running of your fief—that was your parents and brother and sister-in-law—they did frequently discuss such matters in front of you, having forgotten you were in the room in the first place. You’ve heard of accidents like that once or twice, but always handled competently by the city guards and put to rest quickly.

“A singular occurrence is not enough to call for a solid and successful policy to be re-written or repealed,” Grandfather replies, folding his arms. You can see he’s not willing to concede this point.

Dale folds his own arms in response and you hope he knows what he’s doing because this seems incredibly risky. You’d just gotten Grandfather to fall back from his investigation and now Dale is possibly bringing that back into focus. At least, you feel relatively comforted by the fact that so far, Dale is only discussing policy and law, nothing personal. “What about the incident in Hallen five years back? Or the diplomatic incident with Fief Sularia? They still refuse to talk to any of us. Our mining caravans are more vulnerable to bandits who use demons as they cannot hire any with sufficient knowledge to defend them.

“And even myself.”

Well, there goes that. He has to go and bring up his own experience. You try hard to stop your nails from digging into your arm as you wait for what he’s going to say. “Someone from the family Vitoron attacked me for the fact that his entire family, save himself and his older sister, were worked to death in the mines because of a book they possessed and work they did outside the fief, where it was legal.”

You glance at Breighton to see if she has any insight into this specific incident and see her face has paled.

“What?” Grandfather’s look of frustrated discomfort melts into something truly startled and worried at the last point. “You never said anything of the sort happened.”

“I knew how you and Grandmother would take news of such an occurrence,” Dale replies smoothly, no hint of apology for keeping this from them in his expression. “And while I don’t blame the laws for his actions—revenge against me, who did not write or enforce the laws or actions taken against his family when I was all of nine—what did concern me was that I had no means of defending myself or knowledge of what he was even attempting,” Dale replies, his mouth grim.

“So yes, I did look into demonology.” Dale juts out his chin. “Ignorance is not safety.” For the sake of the sun, you hope this is Dale’s try to convince Grandfather that any odd behavior or demonic knowledge came from before he returned to Northridge, not his accident, but why now? You’d both already hid any reactions to his clumsy unmasking attempts that he’d finally started to truly back off. This seems like a step backwards, like it will make Grandfather more suspicious, not less—or at least anger him. Maybe he was just trying to act as authentic to the original Dale as possible, hoping that would sell the deception?

But is this public argument before he even officially inherited be what Dale would have done? Quite frankly, you didn’t know him well enough to guess. You can only hope this Dale knows what he’s doing.

When Grandfather looks shocked at Dale’s admittance, Dale’s frown deepens. “You trained and taught me to protect myself and Northridge. You expect once I have the opportunity that I would neglect to learn to protect myself from what is potentially the greatest one?”

“Those tools and knowledge are double-edged blades—poisonous ones at that,” Grandfather says, obviously settling on parental outrage. His face is hot with anger, though you expect it is also to cover up embarrassment at Dale’s public disagreement. And it's not as though you don’t think he believes what he’s saying about the danger.

“All tools are. All knowledge is,” Dale retorts, sounding the most like his old self since the accident—but even in his anger, there is a restraint, an attempt at sounding measured that the original Dale never thought to exercise. “I’ll not leave myself vulnerable out of fear or the misguided arrogance that I can successfully remove the threat entirely. I’ll not be held captive in my own home.”

“Dale,” Grandfather looks stricken by that statement. “That’s not the purpose of our laws. That does not mean that there are not degrees of danger. One can be warned against poisons without sampling them and hoping you survive.”

Is Dale trying to use the original Dale’s thoughts and motivations to justify laxing the laws in Northridge so that later he can take advantage of not having to hide so much? Is now the time for that? Your eyes go to Breighton, who looks grave as her eyes dart between her father and nephew, her lips firmly pressed together.

“Can they? In Northridge?” Dale asks, resigned, as he picks up his goblet once more, eyes focusing intently on the liquid within like it might hold the answers he seeks. “Because from where I’m standing everything is banned, including how to protect oneself.”

“There should be nothing to protect yourself from, if everyone would simply listen to reason and stop inviting venomous snakes into their homes or playing with fireworks indoors,” Grandfather snaps.

“But they won’t,” Dale says, the frown set deeper in his face, his countenance dark. “They’re never going to.”

“There is no safe way to engage with demonoloy or summoning,” Grandfather says, a cord on his neck standing out. “I don’t know what you thought you learned or what benefits you think you gained with that knowledge, but you’ve only put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

Dale opens his mouth to respond, his eyes snapping, but Grandfather refuses to let him. “I will not hear anything more about this and you’ll not mention anything of the sort to your Grandmother. She has worked far too hard and for far too many years to keep you safe to hear you’ve disrespected her efforts in such a manner—to say nothing of the disrespect to the memory of your parents.”

Dale had pressed his lips together when Grandfather mentioned Grandmother, looking away, but at the mention of his parents, he snaps back to attention. Taking a step towards Grandfather, Dale says, heatedly, “You may disagree with my decisions, but do not suggest I did so out of disrespect. That I did not do so because of what happened to them, not despite it.”

“Father,” Breighton’s voice cuts through the tense silence, her hand landing on Grandfather’s shoulder. The other landed on Dale’s. “Dale. Now is not the time nor place for such a discussion. I know that neither of you would disrespect Remmy or Qiana and you know that about each other too. This is a celebration of a betrothal, not a magistrates court. No laws are being rewritten tonight. And no one is going to get Mother involved in this either. Yes?”

Grandfather looks as though he wants to disagree, but then he finally looks away from Dale to meet Brieghton’s eyes. Whatever he sees there, makes him deflate. He bows his head slightly. “Yes.”

“Yes,” Dale echoes after a similar look from Breighton. He looks more annoyed than Grandfather, but also more cowed.

Grandfather sighs, looking tired. “I know your intentions are meant for the best, Dale. That whatever you’ve done is because you felt it warranted. I am aware you have felt trapped in Northridge in the past, but that has never been our intent. We have only ever acted for your safety and wellbeing.”

“I know,” Dale admits before downing the rest of his wine glass. “I did not mean to imply otherwise.”

Breighton lets go of both of them at those words, seemingly aware that's as close to an apology either of them will get. She turns back to the group, who have, out of politeness or discomfort, given the Northridges’ space. They closed their circle to talk quietly amongst themselves while the family argument between their hosts resolved—no doubt listening, but at least pretending for propriety that they were not.

Before she can say anything to smooth your return to more calm conversation, a sudden noise makes you wince and look around, eyes a bit wild, at the sound of a threat when you are already so tense. Instead, your gaze lands on the balcony overhead where the instruments for the musicians had been left. Multiple people are up there and seem to be setting up to resume performing. One of them gives you an apologetic look before returning to her cello.

Breighton has snagged Teresa’s elbow, who steps aside easily so Breighton can say to the rest of the group, “It looks as though the music will be starting up again momentarily. Was someone going to fetch us when the Governor’s study room was ready?” She directs the question to Dr. Louisa, who had originally went to see about it, but there is that same sharpness Breighton occasionally has that betray, despite her mild words, the fact that she remembered exactly who instigated the argument.

“They were supposed to come to me,” Dr. Louisa replies evenly, her voice calm and giving no hint that she might be concerned about Breighton’s ire—except the wary look in her eyes. You don’t think she regrets what she pushed for, but she’s at least aware it had consequences and that Breighton will not forget.

You wish you could send Dr. Louisa the bill for the next batch of ingredients for calming and sleeping teas you’ll have to order after this conversation. This betrothal has made you work through your store at an unprecedented rate–the only other times you came close was during final exam periods. That’s not all her fault, but tonight certainly is.

“However,” Dr. Louisa continues. “I propose we head over now regardless. Perhaps we can intercept a messenger.”

“Why don’t we wait in the chess room?”Alent speaks up. “I know the Governor always has it prepared, for all there’s not much to amuse oneself with there. We can let someone know we’ve relocated there to wait. It’s directly off this hall.” He begins to purposely move in that direction and the others follow.

Julion catches the attention of a maid to tell her we’re moving while Breighton purposely steers Grandfather to the other side of the group from both Dale and Dr. Louisa. Since he’s met Kenneth before that seems like the safest move. You nod in response to her look and heard Dale towards Teresa—the least intimidating member of the party—for distraction.

You wind up in step with her and you’re grateful when she picks up the conversation right away, asking Dale what universities and colleges he’s visited throughout his travels. That leaves Grandfather up front, with the other members of the group in the middle, and Dr. Louisa just ahead of you, Dale, and Teresa who are pulling up the rear.

As you make your way through the rather crowded hall, conversation getting louder as the musicians who are ready begin to play once more, you start to feel claustrophobic. The only benefit to being somewhat of a main attraction at these events is that usually there’s more open area around you. Now that you’ve got to cross the entire hall and everyone’s caught up in the gala, which is in full swing with the music returning, that’s not true. You’ve never wished for that extra attention and therefore space more.

After the pair of you are jostled by a hurrying woman, you start to remind Dale to use his cane, for it often seems to slip his mind at these events, but then you stop. You don’t want to come across as ordering him about—that’s one of the reasons Grandfather was suspicious in the first place. Nor do you want to seem overly fretful—or draw too much attention to his continued balance problems.

Of course, him tripping reminds people of that as well. Still, you’re not going far and the cane is in his belt, if he needs it. If he needed it, he’d use it. You’re just looking for something to do, some way to offload some of the tension still causing you to hold yourself tight.

You can’t say you contribute much to the conversation between Teresa and Dale. Between the noise of the crowd, your own nervousness, and the fact that you haven’t traveled much yourself, you feel strangely out-of-place, like an impostor despite this whole event technically being held for you. Like someone’s going to catch you and Dale in your lie at any second. It’s the most uncomfortable you’ve felt at one of these events after going to so many the past few weeks.

Reaching the chess room and entering the mildly cooler room feels like a relief. Since nothing has happened yet, each minute that passes feels like it's lifting the weight slowly from your shoulders.

As you all rearrange yourself around one of the tall tables, Dale catches his foot on a too long tablecloth and stumbles. As the other closest person, Dr Louisa reflexively steadies him, clasping Dale’s hands and forearms as she helps him regain his balance.

Dale smiles ruefully, saying, “I thought training would be the time I needed my cane the most, but alas, the opposite appears to be true. My primary instances of near falls have all been while walking at my leisure, rather than during anything rigorous.”

You quickly move in to offer your own hands to aid him in stabilizing his balance and something dark catches your eye. Does Dale have ink on his hands? How odd, neither of you did any paperwork today.

Then you remember: Dr. Louisa’s gloves. Your hands clench around on his own, his fingers instinctively curling around yours. She said they revealed the stain of a demon when coming in contact with them in the flesh or the possessed.

Shit.

Dr. Louisa seems preoccupied with her discussion with Scholar Callipan and has already dismissed her contact with Dale, but who knows how long this effect lasted? She had said not long but what did that mean?

Dale doesn’t seem to have noticed your grip on his hand is far tighter than it should be, which is smething. He also doesn’t seem to have noticed what’s happened because now that you’re paying attention, you can see his other palm as he returns it to his side. There are dark, rich blue deepening to black smudges blooming where Dr. Louisa’s gloves touched him. And he’s making no move to hide them.

You need to either alert Dale so he could be extremely careful himself or get him away from Dr. Louisa so she can’t notice. Ideally you want to find some way to cover up his hands, though you’ve no idea how to subtly encourage Dale to put on gloves without anyone else noticing. Plenty of the others overheard her explanation of Dr. Louisa’s gloves and you didn’t want to alert any of them.

“Excuse me?” You turn to see a maid just inside the entryway. She curtsies and says, “Dr Louisa?” Dr Louisa nods, taking a step forward to identify herself. “The Governor’s study is now available for your use.

“Wonderful,” Dr Louisa says before turning to the others, “I know we only just arrived here, but let us relocate once more.”

“Yes, let’s,” Kenneth agrees. “There will be more room there and there’s a manuscript on the Governor’s shelves that I’m certain will support my point.”

“If you think it will aid in your case,” Julion says and gestures out of the room, “you’re welcome to attempt to locate this tome. I cannot wait to hear about how you misremembered which book or see that it will show I am correct.”

“This is far too academic for me,” Grandfather says and you risk looking directly at him, having avoided doing so since the argument. He seems more or less back to his usual demeanor, for all his gaze skitters over you and Dale relatively quickly. Good news for now, though it does nothing to calm you down. “I believe I shall return my wife’s side.”

Everyone murmurs their farewell to him and your mind races to come up with a similar excuse to leave the group without having to follow Grandfather—that seemed far too risky.

Another note from a violin pulls at your attention and inspiration strikes. “Lord Dale, would you care to indulge me with a dance? I adore this song,” you say, hoping your smile seems sincere to the others as well as Dale.

He turns to look at you at your words and so do quite a few of the others. You’re suddenly aware that you’re still holding one of his hands in both of yours, covering his palm as thoroughly as you can since you haven’t been able to think of a way to subtly grab the other. Do you look too simpering or clingy, holding on to him like this? You try to remind yourself that Dale is your fiance, that this is well within the bounds of acceptable contact and of acceptable social requests.

Dale looks mildly surprised, but his eyes dart to the musicians and to the paused scholars. While it feels far longer to you, it's truly only a few seconds before he smiles. “Of course, my lady.” He nods to the others, “Please excuse us. We shall endeavor to rejoin you later.”

They all murmur their farewells and none seem to take second glances at Dale or his hands. A few look mildly amused by your hold on him or perhaps your request. Someone makes a joke to his husband about how they used to dance when they were newly married.

Still, you don’t feel the steel rod of tension melt from your spine until you’re on the dancefloor, one of Dale’s hands clasped in your own and the other firmly pressed to your waist. You hope that between the dance’s movements, the lack of the more educated audience, and then your hands covering each other will help mask any sign of Dr. Louisa’s little test until the effects dissipate.

While you’re starting to relax, you stumble as the dance picks up pace. Dale’s hold on you is strong enough that you don’t fall out of step too badly. You try to recenter yourself in the moment, in the dance, before you make a more obvious mistake when Dale asks, “Are you quite alright?”

“Hm?” You look up to see him looking down on you, concern in his expression. You feel some heat in your cheeks as you rush to reassure him, “Oh, yes, I’m fine.” He still doesn’t seem aware of what happened and while you’re glad that means whatever the darkening effect is, it doesn’t hurt, it does mean he’s likely confused to some degree by your desire to dance and then inattention to the movements of it.

Before you can make an excuse, he looks almost guilty as he says, “I hope I didn’t upset you back there. I hadn’t meant to start such an argument with Grandfather.”

Your fingers tighten briefly around his at the reminder, but you try to smile back at him. “I did not think that was your intent.”

“But you do think it was poorly timed,” Dale deduces.

It’s one thing to still be hesitant in large groups, but you have been making strides with being more honest with Dale. “Perhaps, with such a sensitive topic, at a party, with an audience before… Now, was not the best choice.”

Dale sighs, looking out over your head as you turn. “You’re probably right, though I struggle to think of a good time.”

“I doubt there will be, but there will still be better ones than now.”

“You are right, I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity,” Dale replies. He looks back down at you. “Poor judgment on my end, but I grow weary of so much talk around things, vague allusions to topics that can’t be broached because of propriety, time spent with nothing much to show for it.

“It’s been a long few days,” you reply, rather relieved to hear him say as much. “A necessary stepping stone, but a tiring one, especially with these galas thrown into the mix alongside the meetings. I’ve never met or talked to so many new people in my life.” In fact, the act of dancing without having to listen intently and worry about what you say is welcome. You feel yourself settling even further, away from the danger and, while not truly alone, at least currently only expected to converse with Dale.

Dale actually lets out a short laugh at that pronouncement. You cautiously meet his eyes and smile shyly when you see he’s truly not laughing at you, but with you. “It has been rather a marathon of meetings and galas, hasn’t it?” Dale agrees. He gives you a smile that says he’s happy to be in on the secret. “I’m pleased to help you escape whenever you’d like, provided you don’t mind my own company.”

Your smile widens, this is what you’d been wanting—a friend, a partner, an equal who helps you as you help him. “Of course not,” you reassure him, “it's not the same sort of thing at all.”

“No?” he asks, sounding amused.

“Oh!” You blanch at how that might sound and rush to clarify you don’t mean to discount his company, “I didn’t mean that as an insult, rather the opposite, I promise.” Aside from still being very aware of Dale’s physical presence and his attention when alone with him, most other sources of tension and worry that usually tug on you are less.

In fact, the remaining danger seems to be the way he makes the rest of the world fade away, makes you want to lean on him in this dance, far closer than it requires. To spill your thoughts even though there’s no call for it. To ask him the many questions of who he really is and why he does what he does that stay buried so that you can still claim ignorance. Because you are still afraid of what the answers might be.

“No insult taken,” Dale replies, sincere enough that you believe him. He spins you around in time with the music and that must be why you feel lightheaded when he pulls you back. He continues, confiding, “I rather feel the same. There is so much to remember and a chance to breathe is appreciated—well, so to speak.”

You puff out air as the pair of you spin out and away, taking more jumping steps with the music. You briefly trade partners for the next portion of the dance before you’re spun back together. The dance slows enough for you to allow you to attempt to manage your panting.

“Yes,” you agree, out of breath, but enjoying yourself despite the exertion. There had been so many years when you couldn’t have managed more than the first few steps before needing to sit down and you always get a thrill when you remember you can truly dance now. Beyond that, so much close attention on talk and connections and names—the simplicity of dancing in terms of deep thought is making you feel almost fluttery without the weight of concentration. “Dances such as these do rather discourage conversation by virtue of leaving you with little breath to do so.”

“Was that not your plan to avoid conversation with me from the start?” Dale asks, his tone nearly as arch as his eyebrow.

You’re relieved that by now you can tell when he's teasing you. Your cheeks are hot from the exertion, not from said teasing, you reassure yourself as you try to toss back, “You overestimate me, my Lord.”

Dale laughs as he spins you away from him. You trade partners in a whirl of motion before he catches hold of you once more. He tilts his head down in order to speak close to your ear—his words for you alone, “I don’t think I do, my Lady."

[Part Twenty-One]

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