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Stepping On Toes
Prince Adamo wasn’t joking. He truly is a horrible dancer.
Protocol demands that Dulcis dance with King Serpen and they’re revolving around the newly cleared dance floor in a mix of Viennese Waltz and the Paso Double. Impressive, but slightly histrionic. Thankfully, someone’s dragged the eagle trumpeter away to bury him, or his instrument, and the music’s coming from a harmonious combination of strings, flute and drum, or variation thereof. It’s a bit like a groovy chamber orchestra.
That leaves Adamo at a loose end and he decides to operate out of noble charity and ask the old bag in burgundy, currently doing her best impression of a wallflower. I admit to being rather touched, until we actually start dancing and it becomes apparent that, not only does he have no discernible sense of rhythm, he finds co-ordinating his feet a challenge. Coupled to the fact I have no idea what I’m doing and we have a recipe for utter disaster.
I should be grateful he’s taking turns as to which of my feet he treads on, to mitigate the pain, but then he manages to trip his right foot over his left and pitch forward, face landing in my ample cleavage. I admit that part isn’t entirely unpleasant.
“Excuse me,” says his muffled voice. He rights himself, having turned a shade of pink. “Perhaps we should sit, as it’s rather hot.”
“Agreed, Your Highness,” I laugh. Embarrassing teenagers is one of my specialities.
We take up residence in two of the chairs resting against the far wall, and leave the hall to the less gravitationally challenged.
“I’m sorry, Edi,” he says. “My father would be ashamed of me.”
“He didn’t have much of a sense of humour then?” I ask.
“None at all.” His grin fades. “The only time he spoke to me was when he was roaring. I only realised he died because it went quiet.”
I desperately want to laugh, but I’m not sure how appropriate that is.
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” I venture. That’s what most say in this scenario.
“I’m not,” he replies. “He snatched my cuddly wolf pup toy when I was a cub, ripped its arms and legs off and burnt the head in front of me, bellowing that the only good wolf was a headless one. He might have led with fear and strength, but he was a terrible father.”
I’m a tad astounded by that speech and stare at him, floundering for words.
“My mother passed when I was a cub and if it hadn’t been for General Ursid, I wouldn’t have been prepared to take over at all. He’s the one who taught me. He’s gruff and scary to look at, but he has a big heart.”
I glance over at the hulking general, only to find him smiling at the antics of the wolf children, who are attempting to join in with the dancing. He looks positively dewy eyed until he catches us staring at him and plasters his serious face back on, before grasping a glass of wine from a passing tray and downing it.
As the dancers flow past, I catch a glimpse of the other side of the hall where Curt and Wings sit, side by side, ramrod straight, identical scowls aimed directly at me, arms tightly crossed. They remind me of a set of gargoyles. I choose to ignore them and press my luck with the chatty teenager.
“How are the negotiations going?” I venture. He looks uncomfortable, running his fingers through floppy ginger hair. “You don’t have to answer; it’s none of my business. The king made that abundantly clear.”
Adamo leans in, his gaze flicking around the room. Serpen is currently spinning too fast to notice much. “It would be going well, I think. Alpha seems reasonable. If it wasn’t...”
“For what?” I probe, when he falters.
“The missing. We’re stuck on...” He suddenly shoots to his feet as an emerald skirt sways into my eyeline. “Your Majesty.”
I look up, straight into the piercing blue gaze of the king, a pink faced Dulcis beside him.
“Prince Adamo, perhaps you would care to take over from myself on the dance floor,” says Serpen, lifting Dulcis’ hand and leaving neither with much choice.
“I would be delighted,” Adamo stutters and swallows heavily. I’m not sure if he’s afraid of her or his own feet. As he leads her to the dance floor, I hear him whisper, “I did warn you I’m not a dancer.”
She giggles. “I know. I was watching you.”
He slaps his palm on his forehead and groans.
“But we can sway a little, surely?” she adds.
“I’d like that very much.”
“So long as you don’t bite me again.”
He beams at her. “You kicked me first. Right up the...”
She snorts with laughter and swiftly swallows it, glancing across the room at her father.
Hmm, I suspect there’s more in danger than just their toes.
“Edi?”
My gaze returns to the king and his outstretched hand. Oh no. Please don’t let me stomp on the king. Perhaps I can feign illness; it is blazingly hot in here. If I had makeup on, it would have run down my face by now. Too late, I find myself out on the floor and the dancers revolving around me are doing the dance equivalent of rocket science to the speed of Formula 1. Even Dulcis and Adamo have decided to give this one a miss. They stare at us, anxiety showing on both faces. I don’t want to look at the gargoyle pair by the wall, but I can’t help myself. Curt stares at his feet. Wings sports a self satisfied smirk that reminds me of Krystal giving me dietary advice.
The first few spins are a nightmare, involving rotation, change of direction and steps so complex that I resemble a sloth on roller skates. Then I manage to catch my skirt between my legs just as I’m turning and end up trussed up like an Egyptian mummy. Over my partner’s shoulder I spot Ambassador Anguis speaking to the orchestra and the music suddenly changes to a much slower rhythm with a simple tune. I’m extricating myself from burgundy bandages when I see Anguis heading straight for me.
“May I step in, Your Majesty?” he asks.
“Please do,” Serpen replies, thrusting my hand into Anguis’. He swiftly glides away.
“You must be a sucker for punishment,” I tell Anguis and he chuckles.
“That dance is notorious and rather ugly, in my opinion.” He loops his hand around my waist. “This one is much more edifying. Follow me. If the prince feels safe, then we should be fine.”
He gently turns me in a quarter circle and I see Adamo and Dulcis slowly swaying in each other’s arms. They’re already getting too close from the look on her father’s face. If they had shotguns in this world, the prince would be in danger of a backside full of buckshot, negotiations or no.
Gentle pressure from Anguis’ hands sends me two steps to the left before another quarter circle. This I can cope with.
“Thank you. This is much more my speed,” I tell him, able to look up into his face rather than stare at the floor, “and it was kind of you to rescue me.”
“I simply saw my opening and took it,” he replies, his smile oozing charm.
Two steps to the right and one back, quarter turn, brings me in line with a scowling wolf, who seems to have lost his bird partner. Curt pointedly looks away, in a huff. That makes me smile; I’ve no idea why. Maybe I’m not very nice.
“Full circle coming up,” Anguis warns. “Slowly.”
We rotate gracefully and my skirt decides to play nicely.
“Beautiful,” he comments.
“I hope things are going well.”
“I think we’re dancing rather well,” he replies.
I look him in the eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He gives me a pensive smile. “You’re fond of this wolf pack.”
“Curt saved me from a storm, when I was alone, and his family have taken me in without question. Well, maybe not Wings, but the others.”
Two steps, turn.
“I’ve only spoken briefly to the prince,” I continue, “but he seems a sweetheart, despite his father.”
Anguis’ eyebrows rise with surprise. “It also seems you rather inspire trust from those around you.”
Now I’m the one shocked. I don’t think anyone’s said that to me in decades.
“You’re surprised?” he asks.
“Most people think I’m a joke.” The truth is out before I get a hold on my mouth. “Where I come from, anyway.”
“It doesn’t sound a pleasant place to live.”
Two steps, turn.
“It’s not. Spin?”
“Indeed.”
When we arrive back in place, he gives me a tiny dip as an embellishment. The next half turn brings Dulcis into my sights and you would struggle to get a credit card between her and the ginger bear.
Anguis follows my gaze. “I wouldn’t like to see either of them hurt.”
Now that statement bothers me. Two steps, turn.
“Should she be concerned?” I ask.
The delay in replying is slight, but perceptible. “Life can be unkind to young love,” is the cryptic response.
“What aren’t you saying?” I probe.
“That more may prise them apart than keep them together.”
“They’re children, Anguis. They should be given a chance to get to know one another before being thrust into a union anyway.”
Two steps, turn.
“I agree,” he says, “but not all friendships are allowed to endure.” The serious look in his eyes speaks volumes.
“You don’t think there will be truce, do you?”
Levity sweeps over his face, but it’s simply a mask dropping back into place.
“Not at all,” he insists. “Negotiations are going well. I’m just cautious by nature.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” I laugh.
“Circle,” he says, and spins me twice at double speed.
I feel dizzy for a second and lean against his chest. When the room stops shifting, I notice Curt still scowling at me. I would think he had turned into a statue, if he wasn’t holding another full glass of wine.
“What’s your home like?” I ask.
A shadow flits across Anguis’ face. “It’s magnificent, but very cold, especially at this time of year,” he replies. “The King’s Citadel sits on the mountain peak.”
“It must have been a long, freezing journey here.”
“Freezing, but rapid,” he laughs. He sees that I’m confused. “Snakes are transported by eagle,” he adds.
Wing’s massive feet pop into my mind’s eye. “Like, picked up in claws?”
“Carried in a harness, except the king and myself. We’re in a flight chair.”
I get a flash of Serpen and Anguis clutching each other in a rollercoaster, and can’t help but smile.
“I’ll ask Wings to take you on a flight,” Anguis says, with a poker straight face.
My eyes widen in horror. “Don’t you dare.”
He laughs and gives me one final spin. When the music stops, he bows. I glance around, but the women aren’t curtsying, so I bow back. He turns to leave me, falters, leans back and whispers, “Keep Dulcis away from the bears.” Then he’s gone, back to the side of his king.
Whilst the musicians rest, copious amounts of wine pour into the breach. A sudden crash makes me jump and I spot two children being scolded beside an upturned music stand, whilst the others scurry between the instruments.
“Madam Edi.”
Do what? Who?
Prince Adamo looms up at me, managing to arrive without tripping over anything. “I hear you’re a Teller of Stories. Bears love stories.”
“And bouncing in snow.”
“Everyone loves stories,” Dulcis adds. “Edi, do you know a story about bears?”
Multiple pairs of eyes swivel to stare at me. “Erm, I don’t think this is the right occasion for...”
Curt slams a chair down behind me with a crash. “Sit.”
“As you ask so nicely.” I give him a glare and take my seat in the middle of the room. My captive audience assembles around me, the children front and centre.
“How do you remember all these stories?” Curt mutters, leaning on the back of the chair.
“I don’t,” I whisper, watching Wings shuffle about at the back. “I make them up as I go.”
Curt grumbles to himself and shows no sign of moving, so I launch into the obligatory beginning. “Once upon a time, there was a tiny bear cub, the tiniest in the land. He was so tiny that when he was born, he could fit in his mother’s paw.”
‘He’ll grow,’ his mother told his father, but as time passed and Tiny barely grew, his parents began to worry. ‘He’ll never be a big, tough bear that size,’ his father moaned, ‘and what’s the matter with those eyes?’
“Because, you see, Tiny had one blue eye and one green eye.”
“Oooh,” chorus the children.
“His mother knew that, no matter what she said, his father would always be disappointed with a tiny cub. He wanted the strongest, like himself, not a bear who didn’t look like any of his great family line. His father, grandfather and as far back as the very oldest could remember had always been big and brown eyed. He watched as Tiny strained to reach the table, struggled up the stairs and roared like a baby eagle.”
A snort comes from the wolfman loitering behind me and the children laugh. Wings’ frown deepens even further; if that were possible. To my surprise King Serpen and Ambassador Anguis take a seat close by, listening to the story. When I catch his eye, Anguis winks at me.
“As a cub, Tiny had lots of friends, but as they grew taller and wider, towering above him, paws as big as his face, they stopped wanting to play with him. He learned how to play alone, his mother watching sadly.”
“Awwww,” go the children. Prince Adamo glances back at General Ursid, who smiles at him, their bond obvious.
“And thus, it would have stayed; Tiny beloved of his mother, but tolerated by the rest of the pack as an oddity, if it hadn’t been for the great storm.
“Now, the weather had been getting worse for some days, but it was Frozen Season and the bears were used to the cold. Even as the wind rose and the snow fell, they were unafraid. Tiny’s father remembered living through snowdrifts as tall as a tree and huddling together with his parents against wind that ripped that tree from its roots. He knew he could keep his family safe; after all, he was the greatest, the biggest and the strongest in the pack.”
I’m scanning all the enraptured faces, when I feel an icy draft drift across my neck and shiver. I look up to catch the door closing against the freezing night and a man hurriedly edging around the gathered crowd, heading towards Alpha. Curt tenses behind me, his fingers involuntarily tightening on my shoulder.
“But the wind grew stronger and louder, shrieking as it hammered against their home, like the fists of a mighty beast, straining to get in.”
The man reaches Wings and speaks to him, the birdman’s face soon reddening from anger. They both shove through the crowd, heading for Alpha, who’s spotted them coming his way.
“Hail the size of my fist pelted down, bouncing off the frozen river and flattening the snow. Crack. Crack. The ice splintered under the onslaught, fault lines spreading out like a spider’s web.”
Serpen and Anguis sense something happening and turn in their seats. Whispering begins amongst the wolves, their faces darkening as accusing glares are thrown at the bears. The snake guards close around their king and ambassador.
“Tiny crawled out from behind his shaking mother as the walls rumbled around...”
I falter as Wings reaches Alpha and his expression flashes from curiosity to rage. Wolves edge towards their pack leader. Curt’s grip tightens on my shoulder and I peer up at him.
“Stay close to me,” he whispers and I nod, rising from my chair. I want to be on my feet if it’s all going to hit the fan. Behind me, wolf parents hastily grab their children and push them back behind a wall of menacing wolves. Alpha yanks Dulcis away from Adamo’s side with such ferocity the sleeve of her dress rips at the shoulder.
“What’s happening?” King Serpen demands. “Hold your peace in my presence.”
“We met here to negotiate in peace,” Alpha bellows, ignoring the king and glaring at the bear prince. “Adamo, we hosted you in good faith and whilst you moved among us, among our children, our wolf hunting party has gone missing. You lie to us all.”
