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Harrow is late to the ball, but no amount of her meager knowledge of fashionable presentation will make her dress the latest fashion instead of a spruced up relic from the most ostentatious of her crumbling ancestors.
It doesn't matter. She finds the door to the ballroom on floor level, not the grand doors at the top of the elegant staircase where everyone else had been presented. She enters with as much dignity she can pull around herself, preparing to act like she meant to creep in awkwardly from an ornate side door and slide to a perch against the wall.
The Heir Apparent Prince Gideon is smiling and laughing in a circle of other people who are glittering reflecting her gladness, her suit an iridescent black with amber and red trim. The lights burn brightly from their innumerable sprawling sconces creeping and twisting elegantly along the walls to cast a pool of lightness on the elaborate swirling mosaic covering the floor.
For a moment the space between the comfortable darkness of the hallway and the spill of laughing light seems yawning and immeasurable. Then Harrow takes a step into the light and someone notices, Gideon turns, and Gideon smiles at her from across the room. Harrow can feel her blush climbing up her neck.
Gideon immediately moves to Harrow's side like it's where she's always meant to be, and bows over her hand. Harrow's grateful for her veil that hopefully obscures the blush crawling up her neck.
"My lady," Gideon murmurs as Teacher belatedly calls out an introduction for The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth, Harrowhark Nonagesimus. "I was worried I scared you off."
"You?" says Harrow. "Never." Her heart is beating fast and too much of her attention is on the space where their gloved hands touch. If Gideon ran her fingers down her hand to her wrist, they would catch on the space where the lace of Harrow's short gloves end and before the narrow sleeves of her gown begin.
Gideon smiles at her even more brightly and leads her into the room. "You give me too much power; you have made me bold." Gideon stops and releases her hand so she can bows to her properly. "May I have this dance?"
Harrow curtsies, feeling farcical and breathless, and replies, "You had only to ask, Lord."
Gideon laughs and recaptures Harrow's hand, leading her around the group Gideon had abandoned to the dance floor. She draws Harrow up beside her and turns, recapturing Harrow's hand with her other, and brings Harrow close with a touch on her waist so she can rest her palm over Harrow's spine. Harrow swears she can feel its warmth through all their separate layers of clothes.
Harrow puts her hand on Gideon's shoulder and feels her muscle under her fingertips.
Gideon smiles at Harrow, and they're close enough that Gideon can definitely see Harrow's answering smile through her veil.
"Are you ready?" Gideon asks.
"Of course," Harrow answers.
They dance.