One Dance
1288 Words
The first waltz gradually gave way to another, and then another, until the music became as much a part of the evening as the candlelight itself. Couples drifted effortlessly across the polished floor while conversations continued around the edges of the ballroom, rising and falling between bursts of quiet laughter. Professors greeted former students they had not seen in years, alumni reminisced beneath the portraits of Blackridge’s founders, and waiters moved discreetly through the hall with silver trays balanced expertly in their hands. For the first time since Founders’ Week had begun, Evelyn found herself with nothing to organise. The exhibition was open, the guests had all arrived, and every carefully planned detail seemed to be unfolding exactly as the committee had hoped.
She allowed herself a slow breath, standing beside one of the tall windows where the gardens shimmered beneath hundreds of tiny lights. Beyond the glass, the fountains reflected the moonlight so perfectly that they almost looked frozen in time. It was difficult to believe that, by Monday morning, the castle would return to its ordinary rhythm of lectures, essays and examinations, as though evenings like this had never happened at all.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Evelyn turned to find Damian approaching, his bow tie already sitting slightly crooked despite the evening having barely begun.
“I thought your parents had kidnapped you.”
“They nearly did,” he replied with theatrical exhaustion. “Apparently I’ve spent six years failing to introduce them to half the people they wanted to meet.”
She laughed.
“That sounds like a very specific problem.”
“It is, and unfortunately it’s mine.”
Before she could answer, Damian’s mother appeared beside him with the same warm smile she had worn throughout the evening.
“There you are,” she said kindly. “I hope my son isn’t monopolising your evening.”
“I’d argue she’s monopolising mine,” Damian muttered.
“You’ve survived worse.”
“I have, but not by much.”
His parents exchanged an amused glance before his father turned his attention back to Evelyn.
“I was hoping we’d have another chance to speak,” he said. “Damian tells us you’re considering law after graduation.”
Evelyn nodded. “Either law or politics. I haven’t completely decided yet.”
“Two excellent choices,” he replied thoughtfully. “Though whichever path you choose, don’t let other people decide what success is supposed to look like.”
His wife smiled softly before adding, “Titles open doors, Miss Carter, but character decides who stays in the room.”
The words were spoken so naturally that they felt less like advice and more like something she had repeated many times before, perhaps even to her own son. Evelyn glanced briefly towards Damian, who responded with an exaggerated shrug.
“They’ve been giving me speeches like this since I was twelve.”
“And have you listened to any of them?” his mother asked.
“Occasionally.”
“When?”
“I’m sure there was one memorable afternoon.”
His father chuckled, shaking his head.
“You inherited your mother’s sense of humour.”
“I thought you always claimed it came from you.”
“I like rewriting history.”
Their easy conversation made Evelyn smile despite herself. There was something unexpectedly comforting about watching a family tease one another so effortlessly. They carried distinguished surnames and moved comfortably among politicians, judges and aristocrats, yet none of that seemed to matter when they stood together. For a few peaceful minutes, they looked like any other parents enjoying an evening with their son.
A familiar melody rose from the orchestra once more, softer than the previous waltz, drawing several more couples onto the dance floor. Damian glanced towards the musicians before quietly excusing himself, claiming that his mother had already begun giving him the look that meant he was expected to dance at least once before the evening ended.
The moment he disappeared into the crowd, Evelyn remained where she was, absentmindedly watching the dancers. She had never minded observing from the side. There was something strangely beautiful about seeing dozens of conversations unfold without a single spoken word, each movement timed perfectly to music that had echoed through Blackridge for generations.
“Excuse me.”
The unfamiliar voice was calm and courteous.
She turned to find a young man standing a respectful distance away. He looked only a year or two older than she was, dressed in a dark tuxedo with the discreet Blackridge alumni pin fastened neatly to his lapel.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said with an easy smile. “My name is Nathaniel Brooks. I graduated last year.”
“Evelyn Carter.”
“I know.”
His smile widened slightly.
“I’ve heard Professor Langley speak very highly of the committee responsible for this year’s Founders’ Week.”
She felt a little embarrassed.
“I think he gives us more credit than we deserve.”
“Perhaps.”
Nathaniel extended his hand with quiet confidence.
“Would you allow me the honour of this dance?”
Evelyn looked briefly towards the crowded ballroom before returning her gaze to him. After only a moment’s hesitation, she smiled politely.
“I’d be delighted.”
Together, they stepped towards the centre of the dance floor.
Neither of them noticed that, from the opposite side of the hall, a pair of grey eyes had unconsciously followed every step.
Nathaniel proved to be an excellent dancer.
He guided Evelyn confidently through the waltz without ever trying to impress her, and before long they had settled into an easy conversation about university life, Blackridge traditions and the strange feeling of returning to the castle as a guest rather than as a student.
“I still catch myself expecting homework,” he admitted with a quiet laugh.
“I imagine that fades eventually.”
“I hope so.”
The music carried them effortlessly across the ballroom until the final notes gradually dissolved into warm applause. Nathaniel stepped back and offered a courteous smile.
“Thank you, Miss Carter.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
After wishing each other a pleasant evening, they parted without ceremony, each disappearing into a different part of the hall.
Evelyn had barely taken a few steps towards the refreshments when she noticed Damian leaning casually against one of the marble columns. His attention, however, wasn’t on her.
It was fixed on Cassien.
Damian tilted his head ever so slightly.
“You’re staring again.”
Cassien didn’t even look at him.
“Am I?”
“Quite obviously.”
A brief silence followed before Cassien adjusted one of his cufflinks with practiced composure.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Damian’s smile widened.
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably not.”
“Good,” Damian replied. “Because you only ever look that serious when something has your attention.”
Cassien offered no response.
His gaze shifted across the ballroom one last time before he finally set his untouched glass on a passing waiter’s tray.
Without another word, he crossed the hall.
Evelyn looked up just as he stopped before her.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Around them, conversations continued, glasses clinked softly together and the orchestra quietly prepared its next piece, yet the rest of the ballroom seemed strangely distant.
“I thought,” Evelyn said first, a faint smile touching her lips, “you weren’t planning to dance tonight.”
“So did I.”
There wasn’t the slightest trace of humour in his voice.
Only quiet certainty.
He held out his hand.
“Would you care to dance?”
- Writer
