Roke Alva

• Young man, are you imitating your heraldic animal?
• No...
• Then why are you trampling on my feet like a boar?
• Oh, sorry...

Dance is a complex art. Richard knew that already; the home lessons had paid off. But he didn't expect to have to relearn, especially under Roque Alva's tutelage.

"The Queen's reception is the day after tomorrow. I don't want you to embarrass me. Stand firm, Okdell."

Richard sighed and took Rocque's hand again. Alva had insisted that the young man lead the waltz, as he would be dancing with the ladies. The marshal, surprisingly, made a fine lady; only the smell of wine and the broadness of his shoulders hindered him.

– Let me explain again: you need to move in a square. Right foot...

Right leg forward, left leg next to me. Right leg. Right... hand on my shoulder. Warm. He's completely warm, but his eyes are cold. Beautiful. You could drown in them...

"...and keep your back straight. Is everything clear, young man? If so, let's begin on my count. One, two, three..."

...and what did he say?