Cherion had imagined a lot of ways this dance lesson could go wrong.
Tripping? Likely. Stepping on his instructor's feet? Almost guaranteed.
Getting grabbed and dragged into a dance by the Crown Prince?
Not even remotely on the list.
And yet, here he was.
Cherion bit down hard on his lower lip, the sting sharp enough to make his eyes water. Maybe this was a dream. It had to be. He didn't remember falling asleep, but clearly something had gone very, very wrong.
But nothing happened. Yerel was still there. Still so close. Eww.
"Let go of me," Cherion hissed, Cherion hissed, his voice shaky with a weird mix of disgust and brand-new, North-forged irritation. He squirmed, trying to pry himself out of that grip, but Yerel was basically a brick wall in fancy clothes. The hand at the small of his back didn't feel like a dance hold—it felt like a brand stamped into his spine.
