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Heinrix stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching her. Something he did so often now it had almost become a habit.
The grand, gilded chamber was filled with the noise of preparations for the upcoming ceremony, but to him, all of it faded away.
It was only Lethyan who occupied his mind.
There she was, the centre of attention, as always – standing tall, bestowing radiant smiles on the people circling around her, giving instructions for the final preparations. Yet Heinrix couldn’t shake the feeling that, in this moment, she was terribly, utterly alone. Maybe it was just his imagination, but her radiant smile never quite reached her eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but he could tell – after all, he had watched her so closely these past months, probably the most delightfully agonizing months of his life.
Finally, the swarm dissipated, leaving Lethyan standing alone in the middle of the ballroom. Heinrix felt a familiar pang in his heart – she looked so delicate, so vulnerable, yet she bore the unimaginable weight of responsibility with such dignity.
Tomorrow, Lethyan von Valancius would finally be proclaimed a Rogue Trader, the sacred bearer of the Warrant of Trade, the voice and hand of the Emperor in the Koronus Expanse. In just eight months, she had managed to achieve the impossible: uniting the scattered, impoverished protectorate, which had suffered years of neglect and mismanagement under her predecessor, Lord Captain Theodora; restoring trade routes; increasing her profit factor by 300%; repelling the fearsome Drukhari… Lethyan von Valancius was truly one of a kind. Heinrix had never met anyone like her.
By all rights, she should have been basking in her success. Heinrix wanted nothing more than to see her truly happy. Yet something was amiss. He decided to approach her.
“Heinrix.” She beamed at him, and he felt like a frozen, ugly planetoid entering the orbit of an incandescent sun.
“Lethyan.” They were on a first-name basis now, something he cherished immensely, one of the few little rewards he could allow himself in their relationship. That, and kissing her hand after each regicide game was all there would ever be. It didn’t matter, he had learnt to be content with very little.
“Is everything all right?” He asked.
She looked up at him from under her lashes and gave a small, almost intimate smile, which still didn't quite reach her eyes.
She leaned in, her voice low, almost conspiratorial, “Oh, so you noticed?”
Heinrix felt an almost irresistible urge to do something. What? Take her hand? Brush her cheek? He reprimanded himself for the foolish impulse – he was being ridiculous again. Why couldn’t he just pull himself together?
“Frankly speaking, on top of the fact that I had to choose the color for the napkins – which nearly drove me mad because I swear they were all the same shade of beige – I’ve just been informed that it would be very rude for a newly anointed Rogue Trader not to open the evening portion of the ceremony with a waltz. And the best this poor old guardswoman can manage is a jig.” Lethyan sighed dramatically, the corners of her mouth dropping in such exaggerated suffering that Heinrix almost snorted.
She immediately straightened up and a mischievous spark lit up in her eyes, “What do you know about waltzes, Master van Calox?”
“Well, I was taught the basics of dancing, of course. And I had to dance during missions a couple of times…”
“Splendid. I’m ready.” Lethyan opened her arms as if expecting a hug.
“Ready for what?” Heinrix felt a sudden urge to run.
“For you to do with me as you please, Master van Calox.” At that, his breath hitched in his chest. She looked at him for a moment, the mischievous light in her eyes almost burning him. “As long as you teach me to waltz. I don’t expect any miracles, just make sure that tomorrow the von Valancius dynasty won't suffer a blow to its dancing reputation from which it will never recover.”
She held his gaze, waiting for a response. Heinrix just stared back at her dumbly.
“Well, I’m positively thrilled by the teacher’s enthusiasm,” she finally muttered. “So, where do I put my hands?”
Heinrix forced himself to breathe. This was wrong. It couldn't happen. Yet, he couldn’t just rudely refuse her request, either. He had walked into a trap of his own making, and now, all he could do was hope to escape with his dignity intact.
He bowed and took her hand in his, guiding her to the centre of the ballroom.
When they finally stood in the position, his hand reached out to settle gently at her waist. It was enough to send a jolt of heat through his veins – an impossible desire to pull her closer, to keep her within reach. His hand was steady, but his heart… His heart betrayed him.
It shouldn’t be like this. She was his charge, his duty, and yet…
“Ratby, play the music!” At her call, one of the servants rushed to the automated music system. A moment later, the waltz echoed through the ballroom.
The first few steps were awkward, Lethyan’s footfalls unsteady. She was tense in his arms, unsure. Heinrix was patient, guiding her through the motions, his own movements smooth and practiced. However, the closeness of her body, the warmth of her skin, made it hard to concentrate. She had never been this close to him. He was surrounded by her scent. He could see every fleck of green in her mostly grey eyes, the fine hairs on her cheek turning golden in the morning sunlight. Could feel a strand of her blonde hair brush against his skin each time she looked down at her feet. Could see the goose bumps on her neck as he leaned in closer to whisper an instruction. There was an intimacy in it that he could not ignore – a magnetism that pulled him closer despite every rational thought screaming at him to stop. Yet the screams came muffled, as if from under the water, and Heinrix himself was enraptured in a wonderful, sweet dream.
Gradually, she grew more comfortable, her movements more fluid, and for a moment, Heinrix almost let himself believe they were just two people, two souls connected by the dance. But when she glanced up at him, her gaze sharp, intense, something flickered between them. A spark, an ember of something far too dangerous to acknowledge.
She feels it too, he thought with a sick, desperate yearning.
Suddenly, Lethyan stumbled, and his grip tightened instinctively, steadying her.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low growl, betraying a tension he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Lethyan swallowed, her breath shallow. She didn’t pull away. There was a softness in her smile, a tenderness in her gaze that made Heinrix’s chest tighten even more. She felt it. She felt the heat, the unspoken connection.
And then, just as quickly, the music stopped.
They stood there, breathless and still, the space between them charged with something unsaid, unspoken, forbidden.
Lethyan’s chest rose and fell with the rhythm of her breath, her eyes lingering on his lips for just a moment before she whispered, “Thank you, Heinrix.”
“It was my pleasure, Lord Captain.” Hiding behind formalities didn’t help him – his voice was raspy, betraying him once more.
When she withdrew, a wave of coldness washed over him.
He took a moment to collect himself, grounding his thoughts in duty. Recalling his responsibilities helped. First, he needed to give instructions to his new informant in the palace. Then…
By the time he reached his quarters, he felt almost like himself again.
________________________________________________________________________________
Later that night, in the solitude of his quarters, Heinrix stood staring at a missive from the Lord Inquisitor.
His hands trembled as he read the words, icy fingers creeping down his spine.
The Inquisitor was in the Mundus Valancius system. He had come for the ceremony. And he wished to discuss the Rogue Trader with Heinrix beforehand.
Heinrix would have to hand in his reports.
He might be asked to leave her retinue and return to his other duties.
Maybe it would be for the best. For both their sakes.
Yet his heart ached at the thought.
He closed the letter, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He needed to sleep.
Tomorrow would be a long day.