The alarm clock siren in the temple went off at exactly 6 a.m. I half-opened my eyes, then closed them again, then opened and closed them once more. The very first battle I had to fight as a soldier was the first hour of the morning—against my own eyelids.
I heard Mel grunting from the bed above me on our metal-gray bunk bed. He turned and tossed. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was burying himself under the blankets and pressing a pillow to his face, trying to muffle the sound. We had an arrangement: I always woke him up fifteen minutes before breakfast, which was why the alarm did absolutely nothing to him.
I sat up on my bed. I had won the fiercest battle against drowsiness, but I still hadn't managed to wake up completely. So I stayed there for a minute, my eyes lost in the void. I tried to swallow, but my throat and lips were dry as a desert. The second battle every morning was against my wobbly head.
In front of me and beside me, dozens of angels were climbing out of bed—yawning, stretching, rubbing their eyes. I wished I were already at that stage of the process. Where I was now, I felt far more likely to slip backward than to move forward.
A woman approached our bed. I hadn't noticed her until she stopped in front of it, scanned the name tag, and lingered. That was when my eyes finally focused on her. It was the nurse. She was carrying a wide white box tied with a red ribbon and a large red bow.
"May I help you?" I asked—or half asked. I'm not even sure. I might have dreamt it.
She eyed me condescendingly, chin lifted, then placed the box on my bed.
"He'll be waiting for you at seven a.m. in his office," she spat, before turning and leaving.
Wait—who?
Half-asleep, my mind took longer than usual to connect the pieces.
"Seems like your long-awaited dance classes have arrived," I heard Mel murmur from the bed above. "What's in the box?"
"I thought you were asleep," I replied.
"Hard to miss that. Look around—people are staring. They want you to open the box. Hurry up already, I want to go back to sleep."
I wondered how he could manage a mouthful of words while barely awake. At 6:10 in the morning, I felt like the only words I could summon were yes and no.
I did as he advised and looked around. Indeed, angels all around me had stopped to stare. Angels carrying towels and uniforms moved toward the showers as slowly as they could, their eyes never straying from the box. Others dressed right where they stood, with utmost tranquility, their gazes fixed just the same.
Still half-covered by my blanket, I slid the box closer and undid the puffy bow with a small tug. The ribbon slid free like butter. Inside, I saw white fabric and a small card resting on top.
I tilted my head to the side, intrigued.
I picked up the card. The first thing I noticed was Alphonse's elegant signature in the bottom-right corner. Of course—Alphonse. The dance lessons. The queen's ball. I had been so happy these past few days that I had completely forgotten about it.
I read the card.
I can't wait to see you, it read, written in beautiful cursive. Will you please wear this for me?
"It's a dress," I told Mel—loud enough for everyone else to hear.
Satisfied with the answer, everyone resumed their routines. Footsteps quickened, and suddenly the room was ready to spill outside. But the staring didn't entirely stop. The air filled with faint murmurs and whispers.
Mel grumbled, and I heard him turning violently on his bed.
***
I had done my best to look presentable, despite my ignorance when it came to beauty. The dress was a lovely flared piece, with a fluffy skirt that reached my calves. The bodice was square-cut, allowing just a hint of cleavage to show. The best part, however, was the open back just above my wings, so I didn't have to struggle to force them through awkward slits. And the sleeves—the sleeves were absolutely beautiful: puffy, elegantly curved, and fitted snugly at my elbows.
I didn't have any shoes to match, so I slipped on my white uniform boots instead. Even so, I felt like a princess.
My hair was a mess, as always. The most I could manage was wringing it upward while towel-drying it and coaxing my curls into shape with my fingers. It looked better than usual when I finished, though still untamed. I had no makeup to put on, but thankfully my lips were still moist from the shower. Somehow, despite my tousled hair and bare face, the dress made me feel beautiful. The white fabric highlighted my naturally bronzed skin, making it glow, and the light color brought out the yellow of my eyes.
Everywhere I went—in the shower room and the dormitory—I met judging gazes and intent stares. I had a very good idea of what they were thinking or saying, given my last conversation with Tori and Herbert. I imagined it sounded much the same today. This time, though, I refused to let it get to me. I was a princess, and I felt too alive with happiness to care.
At 6:40, I returned to the bunk bed. Mel was already sitting up, his eyes fixed on the white wall across from him. I skipped to the side of the bed, lifted the skirt slightly, and swayed my body first to the left, then to the right, so he could see.
He turned his head slowly. He stared, then—clearly doubting his own eyes—rubbed them and looked again, from head to toe. I grinned at his reaction, baring both my canines.
"You look…" he said, pausing to search for the right word.
I held his gaze, waiting.
"Adorable."
I grinned even wider; my eyes narrowed into happy slits. I clasped my hands together and gave a small, excited hop.
He still looked stern, though—probably stuck in that half-awake state where everything feels automatic.
"You look really eager for your dance lessons," he said, pulling the blanket back over his face as he lay down again and turned his back to me.
"I'm happy to be wearing a dress," I replied, "and I'm extremely happy that you got to see me in it. And I'm excited because today we'll be having our dance lessons too."
Mel grunted.
I grunted back.
***
I made my way up the stairs of the main building. With each step, I exaggeratedly flung my skirt around. Every step I took, I lifted it slightly between my thumb and middle finger and giggled like a little girl. I had never owned a dress—especially one so beautiful—and as I walked toward the captain's office, I hoped no one was watching me behave this foolishly, because I was enjoying myself far too much.
I stopped at the end of the second staircase and pretended I had run into someone incredibly important. I gave her my best imitation of a curtsy, and when the fantasy ended, I brought my hands to my mouth and giggled joyously.
When I finally reached the captain's office—quarters, perhaps? I wasn't sure what to call it, given how enormous it was and how crowded it felt with furniture—I paused to steady myself before entering. I stopped grinning and smoothed my fluffy skirt with a few gentle pats. I pulled my shoulders back and took a long breath.
The curtain that usually covered the archway had been pulled aside and secured with a tieback. I took a small peek inside, hoping he might have given me the wrong time and gone to breakfast instead. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to dance without a single ounce of food in my body.
He was there, though—pacing around the room, looking worried. He wasn't wearing his uniform, but a white linen shirt and black trousers. His blond hair was tightly combed back and tied into a bun at the nape of his neck with a ribbon.
I wondered whether he was as nervous as I was, or if something else troubled him.
He stopped pacing and glanced toward the entrance. Our eyes met, and I darted back, pressing my back against the wall. All my earlier joy vanished, replaced by tension and a sudden jitteriness.
"Nadine," I heard him call. "Come in. I was just waiting for you."
I closed my eyes and shook out my shoulders and arms. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the archway, feigning serenity. I am a princess, I reminded myself—poised and elegant.
As I entered, he appeared calm once more, his shoulders relaxed, with no trace of the worry I had sensed moments before. He smiled when he saw me and hurried to my side. His gaze dropped—to my dress—and just as it had earlier, my excitement surged. I couldn't help but swish my skirt again, grinning.
He grinned in return. Taking my hand, he lifted it gently, inviting me to turn. I spun so quickly in delight that my skirt bloomed outward like a flower, and I giggled when our eyes met again. He looked utterly pleased, his expression lit with genuine joy. He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss against it, never once breaking eye contact.
"You look stunning, my dear," he said.
"You look quite handsome yourself," I replied—and he truly did. I couldn't deny that the captain was an attractive angel, with his long blond hair, dark brows, and eyes the color of a spring sky. His features were soft, more delicate than Mel's. He was slightly taller and more slender, though still well built.
And that was when my thoughts, inevitably, drifted back to Mel.
Alphonse hooked his arm through mine and escorted me to his desk. With his chivalrous manners, I felt like the princess from the stories our governess used to tell us at the orphanage. If you behave well and keep your heart pure, she would say, one day your prince will come and you'll have your happy ending.
The captain pulled out the chair for me and slid it toward the desk as I sat. As his fingers left the chair, he brushed my wings ever so slightly. With his refined behavior, I felt once more like the princess of the story—the one who had already found her prince and now had nothing left to do but enjoy her happy ending.
Except it wasn't truly a happy ending, because my real prince was somewhere else, pretending we were nothing more than family.
The desk had been arranged like a dining table: a red tablecloth, a candle, and two plates of food. Everything looked incredibly appetizing. Just the sight of it made my stomach growl audibly.
The captain chuckled at the sound. "I'm sorry to call you in so early," he said as he took his seat at the opposite end of the desk. "But I arrived from Cutia late last night, and I couldn't wait to see you."
He began eating from his plate, then gestured toward mine, encouraging me to do the same. I picked up my fork and scanned the food, unsure where to begin. There was fruit and yogurt, a hotcake, two fried eggs, ham, and bacon—an enormous upgrade from the cafeteria meals. I wished Mel were here, sharing this with me.
I started with the yogurt, spearing a cube of melon and dipping it into the creamy surface before bringing it to my mouth. The captain watched the entire process intently. I bit into it and let out a small sound of delight—it was delicious. The yogurt was sweet, the melon impossibly juicy. It made me wonder whether the finest food was reserved for high-ranking angels while soldiers were left with scraps.
The captain looked pleased.
"Was the mission successful?" I asked, attempting conversation as I brought a slice of strawberry to my mouth. So good.
"Oh yes—easily manageable. Promptly successful," he replied, biting into a piece of bacon. "You'll be glad to hear I also took the time to purchase you a dress for the ball."
"Oh—this isn't the dress?" I asked, puzzled.
He laughed softly. "No, this one wouldn't do. It's too casual. Besides, only the Queen may wear white—she's declared it her color."
"I appreciate your kindness," I said politely.
He smiled in response.
We continued eating in silence for a while, the only sound in the room the soft clinking of cutlery. The quiet felt uncomfortable. I had expected to be dancing by now, but instead it felt more like a date. Breakfast together. I glanced at the captain as he sliced his ham. He looked uncomfortable too.
"So, sir—"
"Alphonse, please," he corrected gently.
I snorted. "Sorry, it's hard to break the habit," I said. "So, Alphonse… what exactly is the plan for today?"
He lifted a glass of fresh milk and took a few sips. "We have breakfast, of course. Then we take a moment to digest, and afterward we begin your dance lessons."
"And how long do you think they'll take?" I asked.
"A few hours, let's see…"
He raised his eyes toward the ceiling, lost in thought, and began counting on his fingers. The more fingers he lifted, the more panicked I became—but I completely lost it when he started counting again with his other hand.
"So, it's seven in the morning," he said at last. "I believe we should be finished by lunchtime. Around three."
Halfway through my plate, I suddenly felt as though I'd lost my appetite.
"Absolutely not!" I snapped, catching him off guard. Perhaps I had overdone it.
"I—I do not intend to take away your precious time," I added more calmly, trying to excuse my outburst. "You've just returned after being away for so long. I assume you must have many responsibilities to fulfill."
"There are duties I need to attend to," he replied, setting his silverware down and reaching for my hand. He looked at me intently. "Urgent matters, of course. But I postponed all of them to spend today with you. I won't be able to see you for the next few days—that is precisely why I wished to make the most of our time today. Your instructors are already aware of your absence."
The way he spoke made it sound as though we were a married couple. What a disaster.
"But I must still object," I pleaded. "I mean… a man and a woman alone together for so long—"
He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. Perhaps I had implied the wrong thing.
"I assure you there is nothing to worry about," he said calmly. "Nadine, I am a gentleman. I have no intention of taking these lessons anywhere improper. You have my word."
He paused, then gestured toward my plate as he resumed eating.
"Is there any other concern you would like to voice before we proceed?"
"Yes," I said decisively. "I would like more of the wine from the other day, please."
***
The meal was delicious indeed. I cleared my plate, except for the bacon and the ham, which I gladly surrendered to him. I tried to keep the conversation flowing so the atmosphere wouldn't feel heavy or uncomfortable, and he did his best as well.
I asked him about his trip to Cutia and what the urgency had been. He told me that demons had been rioting a lot lately, but he never went into detail as to why. He evaded every question I asked about it, so I supposed the only possible answer was that we were the bad ones.
After the meal, we moved to the couch set and sat there. He made a point of sitting very close to me. Five glasses of wine later, I really didn't mind the proximity. I just wanted to hear more about demons—and I wanted to ask about humans too.
The wine kept coming.
I asked about demons. I asked whether the stories about them were true—if they were heinous, ugly creatures, and if they were as deceitful and treacherous as angels claimed. I learned from him that they could look like ordinary people, but that they were indeed deceitful and shouldn't be trusted. Funny—that was exactly what I thought about angels.
We talked about wings, and he told me that in Cutia demons had black wings, black as igneous rock, though there were also red, gray, and yellow ones. Some demons even had colorful wings, like a parrot's. I wondered how anyone could deem them ugly if they carried rainbows on their backs.
He told me that humans were confusing creatures and that their realm was enormous. Each city looked vastly different from the others, but what they all had in common was how terrifying they were the first time you encountered them. He said humans had complicated politics and were devious little beings hungry for money—but their art and culture were magical.
Thinking back to the snowballs, I believed they truly were magical creatures.
He spoke of places called France, Mexico, Tokyo, and Beijing, and many others whose names I couldn't quite remember. I thought being a Captain sounded like a great deal of fun.
Time flew by unnoticed, and when I finally glanced at the large clock on the wall near the library shelves, it was already ten. I was glad we had taken the time to talk—not only because I had learned so much, but also because I had been so bloated after breakfast that I was certain I wouldn't have been able to dance earlier.
I had to admit it: I was having a good time. Alphonse seemed to be enjoying himself quite a lot too.
Beside me, he looked so warm and attentive that I began to wonder whether the cold, unapproachable Alphonse I saw every day in combat class was nothing more than a façade. I hoped this was the real Alphonse.
When he noticed me looking at the clock, he glanced at it as well. He looked surprised.
"It seems we're running out of time. We'll have to begin now," he said, standing slowly from the couch.
He stopped me when I tried to stand, gesturing for me to remain seated.
"Before we begin, I have another surprise for you," he said, walking to his desk and retrieving another box tied with a red ribbon. He handed it to me and stood there, watching expectantly.
I slid the bow loose and opened the box slowly. Inside was a pair of shoes.
I brought a hand to my mouth and gasped.
They were lovely. I took one in my hand and examined it. They were silver, with a T-strap and a pointed, closed toe. The entire heel was covered in glitter. I turned it to inspect the heel—it was thin and tall. I wondered how I would ever manage to walk in them, but they were undeniably stunning.
"They're so very beautiful," I said, looking up at him.
He looked so satisfied with my reaction.
"They're yours. They'll go with your ball dress."
"I've never had pretty shoes before," I said, holding them to my chest in a hug. I heard him giggle.
"Allow me." He knelt right beside me. The scene felt oddly familiar.
I slipped my old uniform boots off, and he fitted each heel onto my feet, fastening them carefully.
"Stand now—let's see how you handle them."
He rose, and I followed. The heels fit perfectly. I managed to take two steps before my ankle twisted. Instinctively, I extended my wings and flapped hard to steady myself. I succeeded easily—but the gust sent both wine glasses and the box on the coffee table flying. They shattered on the floor.
"I'm so sorry," I said apologetically as I crouched to clean up the mess. His Persian rug had been soaked with wine. I felt awful. I waited for his anger, unable to look him in the eye.
He took me by the arm and stopped me.
"Don't worry. Leave it as it is. Come—take my hand," he said, sliding his hand into mine. "We'll dance with them on so you can get used to them."
He guided me to the center of the room, where there was a wide open space. Walking in heels wasn't so bad with him there to steady me. He had me walk around first, so I could get used to them.
Heel. Toe.
When he was sure I had the hang of it, he stopped.
"The first thing," he said, "is that you must sheath your wings."
"Nobody in the ballroom is allowed to have their wings out, out of respect for the other angels present. It's easy to forget where one's wings are, and some bumping may happen. Only the queen is allowed to display hers. That way, she appears as magnificent and superior as she should."
"Alright," I said, motioning for him to look away. He did.
We both began the uncomfortable process of drawing our wings back into our bodies, starting at the scapulars and pulling them in little by little until the primary feathers vanished. When I was finished, I shook my shoulders slightly—my back felt tense. There was no sign of my wings, nor of the slits they had retracted into. My back felt naked, exposed to a cool breeze.
He peeked to see if I was done. I peeked back.
I caught a glimpse of his back—the shirt he wore had two cuts for his wings, but inside them his skin looked smooth and unbroken. We turned to each other, ready to begin.
"I'll teach you the basic steps that make up the most important ballroom dances," he said, stepping closer and positioning my arms. He guided me carefully.
"My right hand will rest on your shoulder blade. Your arm should fall on mine."
He took my other hand and raised it to the left.
"Don't be nervous. In this dance, there is always the distance of our joined hands between us, so we won't be too close."
I realized then that he had noticed my tension.
"Remember," he added softly, "always keep your arms up."
I did feel uncomfortable—arm's length or not, I was still close to him. One of his hands was touching my bare back, and without my wings I felt exposed. But at the same time, wearing the heels meant our eyes were almost level, which led to a lot of staring. I tried my best to concentrate on our feet.
"The first one is the box step. Watch my feet," he said, guiding me forward as he moved backward, then to the side, shifting the weight of the foot, moving backward and sideways again, creating a square. It was easy to see why it was called the box step. He guided me through it several times, always going extra slowly whenever I had to switch my weight from one foot to the other. That was the part I struggled with the most.
I had never been coordinated, nor particularly good at physical activities. I was beginning to realize that dancing was just another one of them. While making the steps, he made it look effortless. Maybe it was simple, but my feet wouldn't keep up with the switching pattern—until I finally did the unthinkable.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry," I apologized, quickly moving my foot off his. I had left a shoe print on his perfect black leather shoes.
"I'm actually expecting more of that," he said with a smile, dismissing it. "Let's do it one more time. Right leg forward, weight shift, sideways, backward, weight shift, sideways."
We repeated the movement several times until I finally got the hang of it. Of course, I stepped on his foot one more time. I stared at him nervously, waiting for his famous temper to surface—but it never did. Instead, he giggled. Once again, I found myself wondering if the captain we knew was merely a pretense.
When I had perfected the steps, he guided me into lowering my body slightly when moving forward and backward, and dipping it gently when stepping sideways. With the added movements, I kept forgetting to keep my arms up, and he kept reminding me.
We repeated the steps for a while, until he deemed I had mastered them. He stopped. I finally allowed myself to look up at his face. He wore the same pleased smile he'd had all day.
"These are the main steps of the waltz," he explained. "We'll learn more later, but first I need you to learn other steps."
Without ever breaking position, he guided me into another dance. "Now we'll learn the three-step." I redirected my gaze to the floor again, watching his feet as he explained the dynamics. "Take a step to the right, slide and set your left foot, shift your weight, and take another step to the right."
We repeated the step from right to left again and again. Sometimes I moved too fast and pulled him off balance. He giggled every time. He was smiling and laughing at all my mistakes. I wished he could be like this during combat practice, where he was usually far more explosive. Which one was the real Alphonse? I found myself hoping it was this one.
Every time he smiled at my mistakes, I felt a flare of heat rise to my cheeks. I wondered if I was blushing.
After a while, we stopped again. "You've just learned the basics of the polka."
He guided me through the final step, which he called "the rock step." He showed me how to move one leg back and rock my body gently back and forth. As simple as it seemed, it was the most complicated step of all. It required smooth leg movement and fluid hips, moving to a beat—but there was no music to follow, and my movements were anything but elegant. Most of the time, I felt silly performing it.
I didn't think I had fully caught on when he decided to stop. I wanted to believe he had noticed my frustration and embarrassment. Every time we paused, I would look up, and every time, he was beaming at me. This time, he let go and gave me a brief break.
I was surprised by how well I had managed in the high heels, and that realization made me genuinely happy.
"You have the basics now," he said.
I hoped it meant I could leave. I glanced at the clock—it was only 11 a.m.
"Now we need to learn the choreography," he said.
I should have known there would be choreography, I thought. In all the princess stories our governess used to teach us back at the orphanage, there were never any specifics about how the prince and the princess danced. It was only mentioned that they were magnificent dancers. That didn't sound like me at all.
"You look terrified," he said with a teasing smile, "but I promise you that dancing on the dance floor is very romantic."
"Let me teach you the cordialities."
He grabbed my hand and walked me in circles around his office. "When we walk toward the dance floor with the intention of dancing, the man must escort the woman like this," he explained, keeping my hand raised as he guided me.
We stopped, and he let go of my arm. We stood facing each other, one long step apart. "Women and men form two lines. I will bow, and in return you must curtsy. Try it now."
I dipped down in my best attempt at a curtsy. I liked this princess game. It seemed he thought so too, because once we finished our greetings, we both laughed. Then he took my hand and pulled me closer, my arms sliding naturally into the dancing position.
After that, the real fun finally began.
The dance was far more complex than the three steps he had taught me earlier. He instructed me on the proper posture—arms raised, head turned slightly away from him, not looking directly into his eyes. It was a convenient excuse not to meet his gaze, but the position was stiff, and my neck quickly began to ache.
He guided me through every step of the routine. We spun and spun as he taught me how to elongate each movement gracefully, telling me the dance should feel as if we were gliding across the floor. He swayed me here and there, turning and hairpinning me with practiced ease.
I didn't really know what I was doing, so I stepped on his feet repeatedly, each mistake met with a warm smile.
"It's a complex dance," he reassured me again and again. "I don't expect you to become a professional overnight."
In ballroom dancing, even if faces and arms remain apart, bodies move as one. I could feel us brushing against each other despite my efforts to keep my distance, sometimes colliding due to my inexperience. But he asked me to stay close so I could feel the cues.
"If you lean your body against mine, it will feel like I'm carrying you. It'll be easier," he said.
The way his body moved against mine made me uneasy—though I wasn't sure in what way.
As we spun, he suddenly grabbed me by the waist and lifted me, catching me completely off guard. I shrieked, then immediately burst into laughter. I was having a blast. I felt like I was flying as he spun me through the air. He was laughing just as hard.
"That's part of the choreography," he said as he set me down.
"It's my favorite part," I replied, wiping tears from my eyes.
The first time we went through the choreography, we did it slowly. But as we progressed, each repetition grew faster. I bumped into him, stepped on his feet, and pulled at him constantly, and he always answered with that pleased smile of his.
An hour passed, and I had memorized most of the steps. The dance became easier once I stopped fighting him and began to merge into his lead—learning to follow his cues, allowing myself to be guided. Still, although I had memorized the choreography, my dancing felt flat and ungraceful after that hour of practice, despite the proficiency of my partner.
Once the steps were etched into my mind, I could finally focus on my body's movements—and on the joy the dance brought me. With every turn, my skirt flared, and when he lifted me, it puffed around me. I loved the elegance of my new dress.
After a while, my time with the Captain felt more like a princess-and-prince tale, and less like an anxiety attack. I grew accustomed to his touch on my bare back. And when we finally stopped—after what must have been two hours of dancing that had rushed by as if they were only fifteen minutes—I had to admit I was having a wonderful time.
But my feet hurt, and I had to stop.
So when he approached me again to repeat the choreography, I stopped him.
"If you'll excuse me, I need a break from the shoes. My feet are tired."
He nodded in understanding. "Of course. Let's take a break," he said, motioning toward the couch. "Let's sit. I'll be right behind you."
I rolled my ankles slightly before walking toward the couch. I could only dream of sinking into the comfortable leather and slipping the shoes off. My feet hurt so badly it felt as if I would have to peel them out.
I started walking toward it. One step. Two steps. Three steps.
But—oops. My ankle twisted again, and I suddenly lost my balance. I tried to flap wings that were no longer there. I attempted to steady myself, but my legs were exhausted from all the dancing.
Alphonse, being so close, rushed to my aid. He slid his arm around my stomach and pulled me upright. With his help, I regained my balance and stood straight again.
In the rush of the near fall, I hadn't paid much attention to the way he was holding me—his body pressed against my back, his arm wrapped around my belly. But once the moment passed, I noticed.
It felt wrong—especially when, after a moment, he didn't let go.
I placed my arm over his, hoping to hint that he should loosen his hold. Instead, he tightened it, pressing his body closer against mine.
What is he doing? I wondered, unease creeping in.
Then I felt him struggling to move my hair aside—and suddenly, his face was at my neck.
I panicked. Though I wasn't sure whether the panic came from fear… or from the fact that this was the first time a man had ever been so close to me.
A flutter stirred in my stomach. My heart began to pound violently in my chest—so hard I could have sworn it might shatter my ribs at any moment. My breathing grew uneven.
Then I heard him take a long breath in, sliding his nose up toward my ear.
Was he smelling me?
I turned my head instinctively to look at him. Meeting his gaze only made my heart race faster. I felt as though I'd overdosed on something—my pulse frantic, my breath failing me.
He looked calm. Lost in the moment.
When our eyes met, I saw it: desire. Longing. His gaze dropped to my lips and lingered there, hesitating—considering.
Then he decided.
He leaned in closer.
Just as his nose brushed against mine in a sweet caress, I escaped his grasp.
"Sir, this is wrong," I told him, facing him.
I had come to my senses just in time to break away, yet my body still betrayed me—my heart racing wildly, my breathing erratic. Now that I was away from him, I could see he was affected as well.
From a distance, my eyes fell on his lips. The lips that had almost stolen my first kiss. They were perfect… but they were wrong. They lacked the defined cupid's bow that always drove me mad. No—these lips were softer, rounder. And they belonged to the wrong body.
"Nadine, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…" he said apologetically.
Yet the hunger lingered on his face. And before I could react, he was close to me again—cupping my chin with one hand, pleading with his eyes before letting them fall back to my lips.
He caressed my face with his thumb. I was so distracted by the sensation that I barely noticed his other arm sliding to my lower back, pulling my body closer to his.
All of this was new to me. I had never been desired like this. Never touched like this. My body's response left me mesmerized—aching to feel those lips on mine, even if they were not the right shape, not on the right man.
I caught myself staring at Alphonse's lips. They looked full, almost inviting. When I looked back at his face, I saw it clearly: he was looking at me as if I were food, and he was starving.
So close together, our hearts sounded like an orchestra—beat after beat, until I could no longer tell which ones were mine.
"I'm sorry, Nadine. You don't know how long I've dreamed of having you like this," he murmured.
His fingers moved to my lips, brushing them with rough tenderness. He parted them gently with his thumb. I offered little resistance—it felt futile. The moment he felt my lips give, he closed his eyes and—
I escaped again.
I tore myself from his grasp once more.
Terrified.
He wasn't the man I wanted touching my lips.
I wanted Mel.
I wanted all of this—the caresses, the hungry looks, the racing heart, the breathless frenzy—but only with Mel.
This time, I stepped even farther away, putting more distance between us, ready in case he tried again. The spell that had bound me to him moments before was broken.
He looked at me from where he stood—visibly shaken by my escape, utterly devastated.
"Alphonse, this is wrong," I tried to explain. "I must go. I thank you for teaching me all of this, but it isn't proper for a woman soldier to spend so much time alone with her captain."
"I agree," he murmured miserably.
I sat down on the couch and hurried to unlatch the high heels, moving as fast as I could. "Don't worry, I'll practice on my own," I said, clasping my boots between my thumb and index finger. I rushed toward the archway.
"Nadine," I heard him call.
"Yes, sir." I stopped at the arch but didn't turn around. Seeing him like that—so broken—hurt too much.
"Please," his voice cracked. "I beg you—I implore you—don't practice with him."
As much as I wanted not to, I turned. He looked utterly devastated.
"I won't," I said.
But I knew it wasn't true. And by the hopelessness on his face, I knew he did too.
I left.
As I walked toward the stairs—boots in hand, feet aching, guilt pounding in my chest for breaking a good man's heart—I heard a loud roar erupt from his office, followed by something crashing into the wall and shattering.
That was the real Alphonse, I thought.
***
At nine p.m., the alarm goes off and echoes throughout the temple, signaling that the day is over and everyone should be asleep. By ten at night, every soldier must already be in bed. All the lights go out, leaving the full moon as the only source of light.
There isn't much security around the area—only the occasional soldier assigned to night patrol. These guards are chosen at random and are usually too sleepy to pay real attention to their surroundings. Since nothing ever really happens, night guards often take fifteen-minute naps whenever they can.
Mel had been assigned night guard many times during his childhood, and that was how he figured out how to sneak out. He learned to stay away from the outer walls surrounding the temple, because that's where guards usually linger. The backyard, however, was open—no walls at all—hanging over a precipice. That was where you had to go. Ironically, it was the place they should patrol the most, because if an intruder ever came, it would be from there.
Mel took a leap of faith into the abyss and dove fast—faster and faster—his black-and-white wings ready to catch him once he neared the ground. It was so dark down there, far from civilization and shielded from the moonlight, that you had to rely on sound to know when you were about to die. Wait too long and you could end up squashed like a fried egg in a place no one would ever bother to look.
I dove down after him.
Once down below, there were always two options: you could go straight to the tarn, which would only take five minutes, or you could climb back up and cruise around the city. The city at night was usually captivating. This time, we both went straight for the tarn.
We raced aggressively toward it. His wings were long and powerful—so long that when he stood upright, his primaries would often drag across the ground. Mine weren't as long, nor a tenth as powerful. He flew like a falcon; I flew like a robin. He was fast as lightning, and I was agile—but agility wouldn't win me a race against him, so I cheated a little and tugged on his shirt whenever I could.
However dishonest I was being, we were having a blast, and our laughter carried over the rushing wind.
When he reached the tarn first, I wasn't impressed at all. He'd been going so fast that he tripped when he landed and fell face-first onto the ground. He laughed it off as he sat up. Under the moonlight, I could see a faint smear of green across his face.
He raised both arms in victory and hooted loudly, passionately.
So what? He'd beaten a woman half his size.
"Aren't you scared someone might hear you?" I snapped.
In response, he shouted at the top of his lungs—then collapsed onto the ground again.
That was my answer.
I summoned my magic to light the bonfire, which burst into flames at my command. Then I formed spheres of light and spread them around. The place brightened as if it were daytime, except that the darkness beyond sharpened in contrast. Pritia loomed above us on the mountain, almost always hidden behind fog or clouds, and in all my years of coming here, I had never feared being discovered.
I crouched beside him. He was still lying on his back, watching the stars and the moon. I poked his arm.
"Ready for dance lessons?" I asked.
He complained with a grunt. "I thought you were joking when you said you'd teach me," but he still offered his hand so I could pull him up.
"If I suffered, you'll suffer with me too," I said playfully. "That's what partners do."
After the day with the captain had come to such an abrupt end, I had been too distracted to talk to Mel. I decided not to attend my last classes, since I already had a justified absence. When Mel found me by the bandstand, he handed me a grapefruit. I ate it slowly, silently. He kept asking what was wrong, but eventually gave up when I didn't answer.
I was confused about my feelings. Alphonse had made my heart race so violently I thought it might tear through my chest, my breath turning frenzied and erratic. At the same time, I had felt a strange tingling deep in my belly, heat rising through me. Alphonse had made me feel all of that. I had wanted to be kissed too. I had felt the desire; I had nearly given in.
And that confused me.
I had spent the entire afternoon in silence, wondering whether those feelings had surfaced simply because no one had ever touched me like that before, or because I was beginning to surrender to the captain's charm. I had felt that way with Mel too. That was what unsettled me most.
Mel brushed the blades of grass clinging to his white pajama pants.
"Alright," he said, "but you will tell me everything that happened. You've been quiet all afternoon."
This time it was me who complained. I groaned.
"No, please. Don't make me relive it."
"Oh, come on," he barked. "Of course I should know. Just look at you—the story is juicy, I can tell. Besides, if you get to pull the partner card, so do I."
"There's no law that prohibits partners from keeping secrets," I smirked, walking toward a spot between the bonfire and the water. With all the light spheres around, the place looked mystical—almost romantic.
"There should be."
"No," I said, extending my hand toward him and curling my fingers in a beckoning gesture. "And come here. Class is about to start."
I began sheathing my wings, the fabric of my uniform jacket scraping softly against them as they sank back into my body. I motioned for him to do the same.
"Is that really necessary?" he complained.
"I was told only the queen is allowed to keep her wings out."
"The queen isn't here. I'm not doing it," he said decisively, crossing his arms.
Him refusing to sheath his wings—what a long road we'd traveled.
"Are you sure?" I teased. "Because that's the only way we can dance. And I get very talkative when I'm dancing."
He grunted, but complied. I nodded in satisfaction and crooked a finger for him to come closer. He did, standing tall in front of me. I wished I had been wearing my heels; keeping my gaze level meant staring straight at his neck—his Adam's apple, distractingly attractive.
Focus, I told myself.
"You place your arms like this," I said, positioning his hand correctly against my back. I wished I'd worn the dress, just so I could feel his touch directly on my skin. "We'll start with the box step."
"Look at you," he snorted. "An expert dancer already, using all the jargon."
I guided him through everything I remembered. I thought the weight shifts would trip him up, but they turned out to be effortless for him. Before long, we were gliding back and forth with ease. It had taken me far longer to learn the step.
I decided to blame my struggle on the shoes.
"So," he started, as we kept doing the step. I reminded him to keep his arms up. "You were there for a really long time."
"And he intended to keep me even longer," I groaned. "He called me so early so we could have breakfast together. I'm sorry for leaving you alone, but I have to admit it was the most delicious breakfast I had ever eaten."
"Oh, you were gone? I didn't notice the difference," he grinned.
I smiled sarcastically. "Oops," I said, pretending to be surprised as I stepped on his shoe. When he showed no reaction, I tried to squish it like an insect, but still, I suppose I didn't inflict any pain. He just laughed it off.
"Come on, stop it. You'll hurt yourself."
I glared at him, and he grinned in response.
"Then we took a break and talked about the political situation in Cutia. We also talked about humans and their cities," I continued as soon as we resumed the step.
"So you learned other things too. So when did the dancing come?"
The further into the day I had to remember, the more nervous I got. I tried to cut him off. "Seems like you got this dancing step easily. Let's move on to the other one," I said. "Let's do the three steps now."
I showed him the steps, which, again, he grasped without a single trace of difficulty. Soon, it was just us, arms up, repeating the steps. He kept waiting for his answer.
"We were seated on the couch," I said, "and he brought another gift box for me to open. Inside were the most beautiful shoes I had ever seen."
He snickered. "Why give you new shoes if you can't use them?"
"They go with the dress," I explained. "He wanted me to practice dancing with them. They are high heels, so they were quite troublesome. After I put them on, we started our dancing lessons."
It was no accident that I had left out the part where he had helped me put my shoes on.
"Let's move on to the rock step," I said. He was really good at this. "You really are catching on quickly."
He shrugged. "I suppose we soldiers are very coordinated—you know, all our physical training."
"I don't think that's the rule," I snorted. "I keep stepping on feet."
I began showing him the basics of the step, which he picked up quickly, as usual. Then I stepped on him—this time by accident.
"So I can see," he laughed, but the laughter soon faded into a somber look. "Would he lose his temper when you stepped on him, like he does in class?"
I realized that, in his mind, the captain he knew was very different. It was the captain who, for an entire year, had found every excuse possible to berate and punish him. He was also the man who had disfigured his face just the week before. To him, every time I stepped into the captain's office was like entering a dragon's lair and testing my luck at pleasing him.
He would never believe me if I told him the captain was a kind, caring, and loving man. And yet, he wanted me to marry him. I believed those were things I would never understand about him.
"No, he actually seemed very different from the cold, mean, and distant Alphonse we usually see."
I resumed dancing, but suddenly he stopped. I tried to tug him back into the movement, confused, but he was plastered to the spot like a tree. I broke our pose to see what was wrong, and the face that looked back at me scared me. He looked threatening, his jaw clenched and his body tense.
"Alphonse? So you call him by name now?" he said gravely.
"Yes… he asked me to," I gulped. He looked ferocious.
"So you say you left early. Did he dismiss you because you were too quick to learn or something?"
This felt less like a conversation and more like an interrogation. The severity in his gaze made me nervous. Again, he was a falcon, and I was a robin. The look on his face made me feel like he was preying on me.
"No," I murmured.
"No? Then what?" he snapped.
I wondered if it would be convenient to tell him. I could lie and be done with it, and we could resume our dancing and be merry. Why was he so angry? I asked myself, confused. But the look on his face made me think that even if nothing bad had happened, he would still pounce and attack.
It seemed I had taken too long to answer, because he opened his mouth again.
"Did he…?" He hesitated, unable to finish.
Again with his unfinished questions. This time, I didn't know what he meant.
"Did he what?" I murmured.
"Propose?" he barked.
"Oh," I sighed in relief at the question. I was relieved he hadn't asked if I had kissed him. "No."
He lifted my chin and inspected my face with his stern eyes. I felt like my eyes were an open book, and he was disturbingly skilled at reading every sign. I jerked my chin away from his fingers.
"Stop it," I pleaded.
"There's something you don't want to tell me. Something happened?" he snarled. "Something happened between you two, didn't it?"
"No!" I shouted.
He came at me again, aggressive, grabbing my arms. This was not the kind of touching I wanted from him today.
"Look, if you don't tell me, I'll assume the worst and go ask him directly," he growled. "As your partner, it is my responsibility to ensure you're safe at all times. I should have been there, chaperoning everything."
I shook violently to get his hands off me.
So that was it? Was he concerned about me?
I couldn't believe he had been acting like this because he thought I was in danger. Hadn't he seen me take Herbert down? I had overpowered other angels before. I had even used my magic against him when he became too exasperating. I could easily manage Alphonse, so why would he care?
"Hey, nothing happened," I tried to soothe him. I calmed myself and placed my hands on his shoulders, asking him to breathe. He did.
I supposed that if I explained everything, he would understand he had misunderstood the situation.
"Look, I was walking back to the couch because I wanted to get rid of the shoes. My feet hurt like hell."
I wasn't sure I really wanted to explain everything to him.
"But I tripped."
I realized I was speaking slowly, as if explaining it to a child.
"And he caught me and helped me regain my balance."
He still looked tense. I couldn't tell if I was helping or making things worse.
"And the way he helped me was that he put his arm like this." I placed my arm across my stomach. "But he didn't let go. Instead, he held me closer, and he—"
I paused, wondering if I should tell him about how Alphonse had almost kissed me. I decided not to.
"You just have to know that I panicked and jerked away from him."
The more I spoke, the wilder he seemed to become. Everything in him was tense—his shoulders, his jaw, his fists. He was breathing through flared nostrils, every inhale and exhale sharp, his shoulders rising and falling.
"He apologized, Mel. Nothing wrong happened," I tried to calm him.
I felt like I was dealing with a beast, and instinctively kept my hands slightly raised, ready to protect myself if he attacked. Suddenly, it felt as though Alphonse and Mel had switched personalities.
"Did he kiss you?" he barked.
"No," I whimpered. "No, Mel. I walked away before he could."
"Before he could?" he said. "So he was going to kiss you?"
The question didn't sound like a question—it sounded like a realization. I was sure he was about to attack, but instead he turned away, growling, and kicked at the ground.
"Mel, nothing happened. Why are you so upset?" My voice rose despite myself. I was bewildered by his reaction.
"Do you swear you're telling me everything?" He turned back and strode toward me aggressively.
I stood my ground.
"What if he tried to take advantage of you?"
"Mel, cool down." I reached for his arm again. "It's Alphonse we're talking about. I don't feel unsafe with him."
"Alphonse, Alphonse," he mimicked me.
"Stop calling him that. He's your captain, so you should address him as such. And how can you trust him so much all of a sudden? Don't you remember what he did to my face?"
His voice was ferocious, his body language openly aggressive.
I tried to stay calm. "I don't know. He's always treated me so well—so chivalrous. I just don't see how he could bring me any harm." I spoke softly, honestly. "He seems genuinely in love, Mel."
"Don't be so gullible, Nad," he yelled. "He may treat you well, but that doesn't mean he loves you. He may just want to bed you."
Hearing him yell at me made me furious. He was just a sleeve away from earning a well-deserved beating.
"He's taking me to the ball," I yelled back. "He's willing to be seen with me."
And he yelled louder. "Why are you defending him so much?" He pointed a finger at me. "You're falling for him, aren't you?"
I grimaced. "Oh God, Mel, no!" I snapped. "I just find it incredibly annoying that you're fretting over such small things."
"He tried to force a kiss on you! How can you see nothing wrong with that?"
I was flabbergasted. I had to stop for a second.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, more composed now. "Mel, he didn't force me."
And we stopped.
He looked perplexed, and I felt just as confounded. Had all of this been misunderstanding?
"He didn't?" he asked, no longer yelling. "Did… you…?"
I waited for him to finish the question, but it never came. Again—vague, unfinished sentences. But I understood.
"Did I want him to kiss me? I don't know," I said honestly. "For a moment, I suppose I did want him to kiss me. I gave him mixed signals, okay? That's why he tried—but he didn't force me."
I studied him, unsure what to make of him. He paced back and forth, looking terrified. His breathing was still uneven. I wished I could look inside his head.
I was also confused by his reaction to everything. He was giving me mixed signals again. Did he like Alphonse or not? Not long ago, he'd said I should marry him, and now suddenly he remembered that Alphonse was violent—that he'd broken his nose.
I wondered if he could be jealous. Could brothers be jealous of other angels courting their sisters? I supposed I'd never know. I'd never had a brother. And Mel wasn't exactly my brother.
I shook my thoughts away.
"He won't do anything without my consent. I can defend myself," I assured him. We were calmer now, but it seemed like he wasn't even listening.
When the alarm had gone off at the temple and everyone had fallen asleep, I had remained awake, eagerly looking forward to spending time with Mel and dancing with him. If I had had such an incredible time with Alphonse, then dancing with Mel would surely be ten times better. I had daydreamed about dancing close to him, about maybe tricking him into the same situation I'd been in with Alphonse. Although I was certain Mel would have let me trip, I was still hopeful.
It was ruined now.
So I turned and walked toward the boulder to sit and think again, because inside me my mind was a chaos of feelings. The way Alphonse and Mel had acted, one could think they had switched bodies. I had expected the opposite from each of them. I needed to think—really think. I needed to decipher Mel, who had never seemed so agitated before. And I needed to decipher Alphonse, the tender man hidden behind a cruel face. Or maybe it was the other way around.
As I walked away, I heard Mel calling me. Then I felt him grab my arm.
"So… we were dancing," he said apologetically.
It was ruined for me. After everything that had happened, I didn't feel like I could return to the joy I'd felt when I had first arrived. Still, I accepted his offer. I needed a distraction. So I shook my head and shoulders, hoping to scare my thoughts away, and returned with Mel to our spot.
He walked me there, guiding me by the hand, just as Alphonse had done earlier. And when we faced each other, ready for another round, we both flashed half-hearted smiles. I raised my arms and placed them in position, waiting for him to do the same.
He snorted. "Nadine, is this really how you want to dance with me?" he asked.
I looked at him, confused. Then he placed his hand on my lower back and pulled me close. I bumped into his chest, startled. My nose was so close to his neck that I could smell him—sweat and grass. I could lose myself in that scent. I rested one arm against his chest, and he took my other hand in his.
We looked at each other.
"Maybe I could teach you another kind of dance," he said, and suddenly he was hauling me around in wide circles. Being so close to his chest, it felt like he was carrying me rather than guiding me. And just like that, we were laughing, leaving our earlier discussion behind.
He placed his hands on my waist, lifted me, and spun me around.
Déjà vu.
I hadn't brought my dress to the tarn because it would be too cold, but in that moment I wished I had. I wished I could feel his hands on my bare skin, my dress flaring as I spun.
With him so close, I could feel the heat of the moment.
When he set me down, we were both chortling. I buried my face against his chest, and he caressed my hair. Then we stopped and looked at each other.
I looked straight into his eyes, longing to decipher them—whatever was happening inside his head—but I couldn't read them. They looked passionate, and then afraid. It was a struggle between those two emotions.
So I lifted my palm and brushed his face, snapping him out of his trance. He was taken aback.
Then he looked at my lips, and I looked at his. Plum, with that beautiful cupid's bow I adored, waiting for me. Those were the lips I wanted. It felt as though, at last, everything had aligned.
He swayed me backward slightly and moved his face closer. My heart began beating with the same fierce intensity, and my hand resting on his chest could feel his heart racing too. I closed my eyes and parted my lips. I waited for him—craved him. His face drew closer, slowly, but I was desperate. I needed to feel him, so I grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer. He was so near that his nose brushed mine, and I could feel the warmth of every breath.
I waited.
And waited, and waited—but nothing happened.
Until something did.
He pulled away.
He escaped, just as I had before.
He left me confused and disoriented. For a moment, I was Alphonse in his office, shocked and aching, because what I had most desired—what I had most craved—had been mine for almost a full minute, only to slip through my fingers. And I wasn't ready to let it go without a fight.
So I lunged toward him. If he wasn't going to do it, I would.
But he stopped me with his hand and shoved me back.
I focused on him. He looked wounded.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he said. Then he dropped his jacket to the ground and hastily unsheathed his wings. He didn't even bother shaking them open—he bolted straight into the sky.
My legs trembled, and my knees gave way beneath me.
I collapsed to the ground.
And my tears started flowing.