"Is that any way to speak to your blind sister, Brother? You foul-mouthed, mean-spirited old hag."
"Judging by how loudly you're shouting, you're doing just fine. I'm glad you're healthy, Frey. And for the record, I am not an old hag."
There was no winning an argument with him. Frey struggled to steady her ragged breathing.
Memories surfaced of her brother sitting high up in the branches of a tree, teasing her when she was a child. She didn't need to see him to know he was wearing that same infuriating expression—arms crossed, eyes narrowed, looking down on her with utter contempt.
In the end, Frey, her fists trembling, fell right into his trap.
"Fine."
With a face full of stubborn pride, Frey accepted the wager.
"My Lady!"
Roxana and Robert cried out in unison, both horrified. Ignoring them, Frey held her head high and declared, "I will learn to dance perfectly within five days. But if I win, you must take me with you, no questions asked."
* * *
It had been a long time since the siblings had stood face-to-face and held a proper conversation. Ever since Curtis had come to retrieve her, Frey had been consistently cold toward him. It had already been two years since their fractured relationship had begun to hang by a thread. Robert had tried to use this as an opportunity to suggest that Curtis teach Frey to dance himself, but both siblings had rejected the idea instantly.
"I'll show him. I'll dance so well he won't know what hit him. You'll see."
Having finally made up her mind, Frey burned with determination. Robert hired a dance instructor to teach her ballroom dancing for two hours every day. She learned diligently, but her progress was slow. When the banquet was only three days away, Frey confessed honestly, "I can't quite picture it in my head, Teacher. I understand the woman's movements, but I don't know the man's part."
"What are we to do? There isn't enough time to go through everything step by step now. I suppose you have no choice but to rely on your partner's lead."
"I don't want that. That wouldn't be me dancing on my own."
Frey pouted and turned her head away. Even after the dance instructor sighed silently and left the room, her mood remained sour. It wasn't until evening that Frey, who had been sulking all day, found a breakthrough.
"Roxana."
"Yes?"
"You can play the man's part."
"…Me?"
Roxana, who had been clearing away the washbasin, froze at the sudden instruction.
"Yes. You must have seen it over someone's shoulder, right? You're smart, so you must have memorized it quickly."
That was true, but she had no confidence in teaching anyone. Aside from attending one small banquet when she was fifteen, she had never danced with anyone. Even then, she had been so clumsy she had stepped on her partner's feet.
"I'd rather not ask the teacher; it's more uncomfortable than asking you."
"My Lady."
"When you think about it, I'm only going because of what you said. So, I'll be counting on you starting tomorrow."
Before Roxana could carefully refuse, Frey had already reached her conclusion and lay down on the bed with a refreshed expression.
* * *
In the end, she had no choice but to practice all night. Late at night, when everyone was asleep, Roxana went out to the backyard to practice the man's dance steps. Assuming a partner was there, she moved one foot after another, one hand curved as if around someone's waist, the other extended as if holding someone's hand.
"Is this right?"
She traced her memory to the end, but something felt off. As she hesitated and practiced the movements clumsily, she heard a rustling sound. Roxana whipped her head around at the sound of footsteps on the grass and froze like a statue.
"I thought a ghost was wandering about."
Curtis, dressed in a light robe and holding a longsword in one hand—perhaps he had been practicing swordsmanship—was looking at her with a pitiful expression.
"It's a mess."
Roxana, caught in an embarrassing moment, hid her flustered expression.
"It's only natural, as I'm not used to it."
"And here I thought the House of Dalton was one of the wealthiest in the country."
Curtis sneered and reached out toward her. Having learned from experience, Roxana dodged his hand, but when she glared at him silently, he pointed to her shoulder.
A caterpillar that had fallen from a tree was sitting on her shoulder. But instead of jumping and crying out as he expected, Roxana calmly let the caterpillar crawl onto her index finger and moved it to a tree branch. Come to think of it, she had been a strange girl since she was young.
"What's wrong with me riding a pony? There's no law saying only men can ride. And I'm better at it than you, anyway."
She never cared what others thought, nor did she give much thought to her dignity as a noble lady. She would borrow a stable boy's clothes, tie her long hair back, and ride ponies.
The old memories she thought she had erased long ago surfaced just as things were starting to calm down. Curtis hated the woman before him for constantly making him recall the past. Yet, he despised himself even more for continuing to follow her with his eyes. The cause was always Roxana Dalton.
"I must have miscalculated, Roxana. I brought you here to make you suffer more than you did at the convent, yet here you are, obsessed with dancing."
"If that's how it looks to you, then I suppose it is."
Roxana answered vaguely and avoided his gaze. She wanted to leave. The memory of his hand pulling her close and his soft voice from earlier lingered in her mind—the complete opposite of the cold gaze he was casting down at her now.
"If you'll excuse me."
Roxana bowed her head and brushed past him. She tried to walk away quickly, but her arm was grabbed. Before she could even struggle, she was caught by the shoulder and spun around.
"I'll say it again: your dancing is a complete disaster. Don't you feel sorry for my eyes, having to witness such a sight?"
"……."
She knew it herself, even without him repeating it. The man before her was a master of sarcasm. Roxana bit her lower lip and took a deep breath, but then, a bolt from the blue struck her.
"Are you planning to hold a grudge over being made a maid and bring shame upon my sister?"
"I never thought of such a thing! Goodness."
A shrill voice escaped her before she could stop it. Curtis narrowed his eyes and pressed on relentlessly.
"Isn't it? It's certain that you incited my sister. Otherwise, there's no way a girl who had been holed up in a cave until now would suddenly take an interest in balls and the like."
She wanted to deny it, but in truth, she couldn't say there wasn't a grain of truth to it. Roxana vaguely remembered the words she had blurted out to Frey in her sleep.
She had thought that no matter what kind of thunderous rage fell upon her the next day, it couldn't be helped, but what had happened was far more shocking than that. Roxana couldn't say a word and only bit her lip.
"It must have been Frey's idea."
Curtis, who had been obsessively watching her lips grow redder the more she bit them, suddenly proposed, "I'll teach you to dance."
"Pardon?"
Roxana's eyes widened in surprise. Curtis added mischievously, "They call this 'casting pearls before swine'."
Before she could refuse, her waist was wrapped in his large hand. Curtis pulled her into his arms with practiced ease and gently took her other hand. Her slender waist and the faint scent of flowers wafting from her stimulated his senses. Her eyelashes, which she had lowered in confusion, were the same red as her hair. He gave in to the sudden impulse that surged within him.
"Learn while I'm offering, Roxana."
"I'll teach you to swim, too. So you won't be swept away like a log again."
His voice was playful and tender. As the face of the boy overlapped with the man of sharp features, the tension in Roxana's body melted away.
Taking her silence as consent, Curtis began to lead her, step by step. Fluid, graceful movements followed.
*Fairy Banquet.* Roxana suddenly thought of the term used to describe the night performances of the gypsies. It felt as if she were bewitched by the night.
The soft moonlight bathed the tops of their heads, and only the sound of mysterious insects and birds echoed in the quiet backyard. Even the rustling of the grass with every step they took blended together like an orchestra. Roxana, who had been led by his guidance, only came to her senses after the elegant waltz had ended.
"That should be enough of a lesson."
Curtis, who had let go of her hand with a detached air, pulled both hands back. Before he could even take a step back, Roxana pushed against his chest.
"Roxana."
Curtis furrowed his brow at her expression, which was full of repulsion. Roxana swallowed hard. His gaze was as if he wanted to devour her right then and there. The same icy blue gaze that had looked down at her from inside his helmet was right before her eyes.
"Why are you doing this?"
Frey was the same; the Russell siblings were fickle, cruel, and charming. They would act as tenderly as they had in the past, only to change their expressions entirely and push her away.
Frey was still young and naive enough that her intentions were somewhat visible, but the man before her was a riddle the more she learned about him. He seemed to want her to be wary of him, but not afraid. He seemed to despise her, yet he didn't want her to die just yet.
"You locked me in a convent to live a miserable life, and now you tell me to be a maid. You acted as if you hated the sight of me, yet you caught me when I stumbled on the way back here. You sneered at me for spouting nonsense, and now, this."
She couldn't finish her sentence. Roxana blinked, her mouth still slightly open, as his finger traced her lips.
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