A month ago, when they went on their way, and every day since, as she heard frightening tales of a woman carried off by a monstrous beast, following a trail south, Talia would never have imagined that she would now be dancing, and laughing, with her two sisters.

She couldn’t recall ever having a merrier time. Music had never been so vibrant and melodious in Malek and the Goddess knew the suitors had certainly not looked like the men of Farden. What was there in the water in the south? Every single person in the room seemed handsome, and happy. Her chest tightened when a little voice with dreadful timing reminded her that she’d be leaving soon.

There were more men than women in the assembly, she noted; a fine thing, for no lady sat out any dance unless she wished to do so. Each time the music stopped for a moment, a group of prospective partners appeared, offering their hands. Aleria, obviously, had twice as many prospects, and these were twice as charming.

Another dance ended and, after tilting her head to thank her partner for his time, Aleria walked fast, with great, confident strides, as she always did when she was moved with a purpose. There were men foolish enough to attempt to stop her progress, but she didn’t spare them any attention.

Talia exchanged a glance with Xandrie, who raised a brow, as their elder sister stopped right in front of a handsome, brooding man who had a distinguished air about him. He bowed, she curtsied and talked, visibly informing him that he was to dance with her now. The poor shmuck had no other choice than to lead her to the dance floor.

Talia was so taken by the entertaining and uncharacteristic scene - for when did Aleria go against the proper way of things? - that she didn’t hear or see Pretty Man approach. All of a sudden, he was right in front of her, though.

She was too startled to frown; besides, the infuriating man did look annoyingly agreeable, for such a dislikable character. In a dark uniform that seemed to confirm her first impression of him, distinguishing him as a military man, decorated with plenty of ribbons and medals, he would have made any woman swoon. She even liked his hair, now tied at the back of his head, although he still had a braid on one side.

How inconvenient that he should be quite so gorgeous. And why were her lips so dry whenever he was about? She wet them, biting down on her bottom lip and licking some moisture onto them.

Vincent bent before her and smiled amiably, holding her hand up to his lips. Her skin tingled and her insides melted, so, finally, she managed a scowl. What was his game now?

“My lady.”

“Am I, now? How presumptuous of you.”

He chuckled, his laugh low and rumbly.

“You will be,” he stated, making her snort in response. “I’ve come to claim you for the next half hour.”

“That’s not quite how this works, sir. I believe a man may ask and a woman might answer favorably, should she wish to do so.”

“Tell that to your sister,” Vincent replied. The violin started, indicating the beginning of a new dance. The barbarian just placed a hand around her waist and pulled her close like he had a right to do so. “Besides, I’m no man, ma’am. And dragons take their treasures.”

She might have protested, if he hadn’t started moving right then, leading her into the most exhilarating of steps; she had no notion of the dance and she didn’t need to - he moved and following was second nature.

He was so very close, she noticed; no one else held their partner right against their chest as he did. The whole inopportune thing messed with her ability to form coherent thoughts.

“I don’t like you,” she informed him, somewhat childishly, but right now, it was the best she could do.

“I don’t aim to be liked,” was his dismissive, indifferent answer.

If he aimed to drive her insane instead, he was doing a marvelous job of it.

“Are you drunk, sir?” she asked suddenly, catching a whiff of ale underneath his intoxicating musk.

That would explain the change of attitude.

The man laughed. “Not an easy feat for one of my kind. I’m quite sober. Not for lack of trying.”

“Yet you went from glaring and threatening me to forcing me to dance.”

“Forcing. Yes, I heard quite a few protests.”

She was sticking to that term, whatever he said.

“Besides,” he added, “that was hardly a threat. More of a promise.”

“So, you maintain that you shall attempt to manhandle me if I don’t stop teasing you.”

He chuckled low, vibrating against the front of her torso. “Manhandle. It’s a word for it.”

“Which one would you use,” she shot back, all the while wondering when she’d had such a playful conversation with anyone.

She wouldn’t start liking him, dammit. She just wouldn’t.

“Spanking, perhaps. Flogging, if I find myself close to adequate equipment.”

Her jaw dropped and she blushed. He either meant to shock her or check how much she knew of these things, no doubt. To an innocent, spanking and flogging might have seemed like terms of torture meant to intimidate her. Talia was very well schooled; she read every book she could get her paws on, including some that said just how and why gentlemen so inclined spanked and flogged ladies.

“You’re flirting,” she accused him.

He laughed. “Not very well, if you’re doubting it.”

“You were glaring,” she reminded him insistently, as he’d avoided answering her about his change of heart the first time. “Now you’re flirting.”

“Well, Talia Astria, I went from suspecting you may be a threat to accepting that you are.”

That made no sense whatsoever.

“I’m duty bound to come to the aid of any mortal realm in peril. If you don’t plan on attacking any human city without cause anytime soon, I’m no threat to you.”

“Ah yes. Words of your Blessing travelled through the lands. And how does one become an Enchantress, exactly?”

She turned her head, remaining silent. The man had earned the right to be ignored, after all.

“I’ve read all sorts of things about it. Drugs to travel through your subconscious, confrontation with one’s darkness, all the while being overseen by some of the Old Sorcerers. Tell me, did your handler have a great silver beard?”

Ignoring him wasn’t quite so easy now.

“How did you…”

“I have a thing for reading volumes that aren’t easily accessible. Particularly when I need to steal them from the Elders. What’s life without a challenge here and there?”

Despite herself, she chuckled. “Well, it sounds like you know more about it than I do. Older Sorcerer, you say? Our Tutor was dreadfully mysterious, and knowledgeable, too. But I thought their search was the whole point - there was no living Sorcerer or Enchantress in Eartia, and they were seeking one.”

“Hardly. There wasn’t a living Sorcerer found for a hundred years, certainly, but, to my knowledge, none of the Sorcerers or Enchantresses of old, have died yet. They all live in a hidden land, further north than your land.”

She frowned. “There’s nothing north of the Northern Var. That’s the whole point in the name.”

“Well, technically, there were five continents in our world, according to any text from the previous Era. I sincerely doubt they’ve all disappeared. Our knowledge suggests there may be wards around our land, keeping us in - or keeping some danger out. Either way, the Sorcerers are said to live in a place they call Avalon.”

Damn him, because knowledge - and even fables - was her weakness. She couldn’t even feign indifference.

“Why would they lie?” she asked.

Vincent shrugged. “Depends on whom you ask. But Avalon is said to be the most beautiful of places; no evil can reach it. It may be that they hide it because they don’t wish for the rest of us to want to pack up our bags and head there. One must deserve their admission to Avalon, I hear. That would also explain why six rival Kingdoms have somehow agreed on sharing an Enchantress. Do you really think they’d play nice, if they weren’t forced to by a higher power?”

Her mind was spinning. “And why did you ask about my Tutor’s beard? He had one, by the way. Very long, and silver white, although he didn’t seem quite old enough to have earned it.”

“There’re quite a few legends about him. I’ll have to show you the books, if I can steal them again.”

By now, they were both smiling easily. When he wanted to, Vincent was quite charming.

The song ended and he bowed. It was time to part ways now. She kept her hand on his arm and asked, “You do sound like you believe it.”

“And so I do. Particularly since we’ve encountered a force that could only be an Enchantress, just a few weeks ago, before you were ever Blessed. If what they told us had been true, no living mage should have had as much power.”

Talia frowned, concerned now. “Another Enchantress?” she asked, startled, and somewhat relieved. There was something quite daunting about being ‘the one.’

“Yes, or so I assume. But this isn’t talk for pleasant evenings. I’m sure your sister will tell you everything on the morrow.”

He moved again. She blushed, embarrassed to have held on to him when he clearly wished to be gone. The moment she moved her hand from his forearm, Vincent turned his head towards her, frowning.

“We’d better part ways if you’re to find another partner for the next dance,” she reasoned, disliking the taste of those words on her tongue.

The man stared at her for a long moment, before shaking his head in disbelief.

“Let us stop talking nonsense and hunt down some refreshments before the waltz. I don’t think you’ve stopped dancing for two hours. You must be parched.”

The man could be so dangerously charming when he wished to please that she was in danger of liking him well by the end of the evening.