Luneshale Pass [aaf] the weight of history

she was giddy, and for a moment, she let herself be as part of her truly was—just a girl. the other part moved as instructed, looking every bit the Queen she had been born and then brought up to be. she was chaste, and the moments he drew so close she might burn she danced away even as that same girlish part of her wanted to lean in, wanted to burn with him—
and in the pit of her belly, she did! she listened to him, eyes unable to part from him except for when they spun. you know I can make no promises, she whispered in turn, but there was a look in her eyes—a promise to try! but she drew nearer during their dance and said, I will wait to hear your call, 
how very alive she felt! how she already looked forward to the next evening, even while being in his company then! his name was on her lips, but the music quieted. she let it linger hotly on her tongue, warmed by this private thing too. the smile was impossible to be rid of, and it remained as her lips parted to speak after his genteel gesture: you dance quite well, my Sphinx, she commended, allowing him to then escort her back to her place on the dais. her steps were slow and elegant, the rhythm of the dance still in her ears and in her blood. who was it, that taught you? she asked with appropriate interest, her coolwater gaze  turning to meet his flametouched one.