She let out a loud yawn as she woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. She was in her own room, on her bed. She hadn’t been changed into a nightgown like before, but she had been covered carefully with a blanket. That was a good sign, at least she wasn’t burnt to a crisp by Fireroses, so he at least had some level of gratitude for her work.

The sky outside her window told her it was morning as she sat up, but she was rested enough that she doubted it was the same morning she fell asleep.

There was, once again, a note left for her, different from her chore list. This one had clear elegant handwriting. He was feeling better.

She smiled to herself, glad it worked.

The note read, “Miss Cora, when you wake up please meet me in the atrium.”

Her chest fluttered. What did this mean? Was he mad? Well of course he was mad, but how mad? Was this him giving her chores as punishment for her deception, or him telling her that he's no longer going to teach her magic? Or was it worse than that?

They had a deal, so she supposed he couldn’t leave her in the maze indefinitely. Her Rune would teleport her when he died, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t return her to the grove until however long that was.

She slid out of the bed. If she was going to be exiled, she might as well not rush it. She took a bath after peeling off the pants the snail slime had glued to her leg. She washed the other outfit, not really knowing why. There was no point if exile awaited her. She supposed she was just stalling.

If she had to live in the grove, the gown at least had a lot of useful fabric she could re-purpose. The gown morphed into dark gray clouds with scattered heat lightning as she put it on, her nerves apparent.

She took a deep shaky breath as she opened the door and left her room. She followed the hallway with no urgency, but once reaching the atrium,s he halted in her tracks at what was before her.

In front of her was a set table filled with fruit and cooked vegetables, music played from a small windup box that was loud enough to fill the room with lively waltz music.There were polished candelabras, illuminating the perfectly arranged place settings.

Zaramir stood facing away from her, carefully studying a book as she changed the position of two spoons to the side of one place setting and straightened the poorly folded napkin on the center plate. He seemed to sense her as he hurriedly hid the book in between the piles of food.

He turned to her, he was dressed more nicely than when they’d first met. He was wearing a suit the same color scheme as the one he usually wore, but this one actually fit him. The pants were long enough to drape down to the dark leather boots he was wearing. His suit was buttoned over a black silk shirt with a nice cravat. The bandage had been removed from his face but the swelling seemed to have subsided, the bruises barely beginning to yellow. His left eye was bloodshot, but other than that he looked healthy.

“Miss Cora,” He spoke surprisingly awkwardly.

“What’s this?” She asked softly.

“A… dinner party.” He suggested it as though it were a question. He stepped aside to show her the full table. “You seemed upset when I killed that goat, so it’s only plant based dishes. I don’t really know how good they’ll be. I've never really … cooked before.” His usual eloquence was lost as he spoke.

“Why did you do this?” She questioned taking a cautious step into the room.

He looked at her confused for a moment, “To thank you… for helping.”

“You’re not mad?”

He laughed uncomfortably, “I can’t say I wasn’t furious when I’d woken up to find I’d been drugged with Mistwood of all things. I honestly didn't expect you to be smart enough to try something like that.”

Upon seeing her offended expression at his phrasing he amended, “I only meant I didn't think you were so versed in herbology, or I probably wouldn’t have given you free reign of the garden. But after realizing why you’d done it,” his fingers raised gently to his bruised cheek. “I felt the need to do something in return, so...” he gestured to the meal. “This would be a much nicer thank you if I wasn’t still cursed.”

“Cursed?” She echoed in confusion.

He chuckled, “Oh, right. I supposed I didn’t tell you. With my mistake came a small curse. I can’t cast spells for a few days. Don’t worry it will go away and none of my existing spells will be harmed by it. It’s more of an inconvenience for me than something you need to worry about.”

“When you did that cleaning spell in the bedroom, is that why you reacted like that?”

“I may have let my frustration get the better of me. I’m lucky it was my first time since the curse. It only gets worse.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But enough about curses. This is a party! Well, it’s supposed to be. It’s a meal at the very least. Please sit.” He pulled out a seat for her.

She took a seat in the offered chair, “ So you made this without magic?”

He pushed her seat in, toward the table, “As I said it would be better if that weren’t the case..”

“No, it’s really nice.” She smiled as he crossed to the other seat and sat down across from her. “Thank you.”

He concealed a proud smile, “Please, eat.”

She took a serving of the nearest vegetable dish, upon taking a bite, she had to use every ounce of willpower not to spit it across the table. It was somehow the most bitter and somehow both over and undercooked vegetable she’d ever tasted.

What she had thought was a nice char was really burnt on the outside and still raw and slimy on the inside. It unpleasantly crunched as she bit down on it, almost like she was eating a beetle.

She thought she kept a decently straight face as she chewed, but the dress betrayed her, turning into a churning bubbling swamp.

“It’s terrible.” He noted, smile disappearing as he stood up. “I’m sorry. Please do not feel the need to eat it.”

She grabbed the napkin, spitting it the mouthful, “Thank you.” she eeked. “It was probably a fluke. I’ll try something else.” She reached for a fruit dish but she knew right away from the oddly smokey smell coming off it that it would be similarly bad.

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“No, don’t. Please don’t make yourself sick. I’m sure they’re all awful.” He smiled awkwardly. “I’ve never cooked in that kitchen. My closest attempt at cooking were the spells I’d shown you. I'm not even sure what half of the seasonings I tried to add would do to the flavors you would experience. In case it wasn’t entirely obvious, you and I have very different palates,” He smiled humorously standing up. “Well, this was an awful attempt at a thank you.”

She stood up as well, “I really appreciate the thought. And I can tell you put a lot of work into this.”

“I just wish I could have done a bit better for you. I’m not used to needing skills outside of magic.” He seemed disappointed, despite keeping a smile as he began to stack the silverware on the plates. “You can go back to your room if you’d like. I’ll clean all this up. I won’t make extra work for you.”

She felt bad. He was clearly trying to do something nice and the party was ending as quickly as it began.

She had to do something to extend it, “Do you know how to dance?”

He set the glass in his hand down, “Pardon?”

“Do you know how to dance?” She repeated. “You wanted this to be a party. Even if the food didn’t work out. We can still have a party.”

He stepped out from his side of the table, “I never had the need to learn.”

“I never learned either. The town dances were for girls in my village who cared to find a husband or those who were already married.” She smiled. “I just wanted to join a House and learn magic but my mama and papa danced at every festival. Even after all these years, I still remember how their dances went; Mostly, at least” She extended her arms as her father did for her mother to invite her to dance. “Do you want to try?”

“I won’t do well.” He warned with a smile, stepping forward.

“Don’t worry, neither will I,” She smiled back, as she took his hand in her left, setting it on her shoulder. She took the other one on her own, setting her hand on his waist. “Alright if I lead?”

He laughed, “You would know better than I.”

On the beat of the waltz, she began the steps, recalling her father’s controlled movements as her mom glided elegantly through the crowds at his lead. She moved smoothly to the side but Zaramir’s movements were stiff and controlled. Not bad, but calculated. It caused him to step more quickly, crushing her toes with the soles of his boots. She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She attempted the movement more quickly but that just caused him to body slam her, almost knocking her over before he could right her.

“I told you I would be bad at this.” He said uncomfortably, putting space between their bodies.

“No, It’s alright. Come on, let’s try again.” She assured. “I’m fine, It’s a party after all. Let’s dance.”

On the next beat she pulled him back into it, him stumbling for a half moment before regaining the same stiff control over his movements. The same mistake was repeated as he crashed into her, this time, scraping the material of her gown against the Firerose burn on her ribs.The pain of the wound cause her to release a low squeak.

This time he noticed her discomfort, “Please,” He stepped away from her fully, letting go of her hand and shoulder. “Miss Cora, I’m hurting you. I don’t know the correct way to do this. Maybe I should study and we should try another time.”

At that moment she figured out what was wrong. He saw this as a task he must perfect. He had to command movements. Every movement he had ever done was controlled, precise, perfect. She'd seen it with magic. Every step to a spell is calculated and in full control. She supposed it made sense. Mistakes were not tolerated, so he had to be sure he did things correctly the first time.

However, dancing isn’t a precise, technical art in the same way as magic, at least not the dances they had in her village. When her mother and father danced, they’d miss steps and create their own. There was a sort of planned uncontrolledness of their moments. But he had to have control, he had to know exactly what the perfect movement was. He was trained to learn and perfect.

“You remember how you taught me magic?” She questioned.

Confusion swept over his face, “Yes, of course.”

“This isn’t that. This isn’t a set script, and you trying to copy something that you can’t know isn’t going to work.” She held out her arms in invitation, “You lead. You show me what to do. I’ll follow.”

“I don’t know how.” He didn’t move.

“Good. Don’t know how.” She smiled, spreading her arms wider.

He let out a slow breath, “This is going to go poorly.”

“I hope so. It’s more fun that way.” She grinned.

He stepped into her arms, taking her waist and hand cautiously, “So what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. You show me.”

Frozen, he didn’t budge for a moment and for a brief second she thought he wasn’t going to move, but suddenly the music entered a different movement and she was pulled. He awkwardly spun her, his face going red at the imperfection.

The dance was sloppy, the steps uneven, imprecise. But he didn’t step on her feet or slam into her again. He was looking down. She could see the only objective going through his mind was not to step on her feet. There was still control to his movements, deliberation. But it wasn’t to perfect the steps, it was to avoid hurting her.

Oddly enough, he kept with the tempo. He was learning more than one focus. He kept on beat, but she made sure he wasn’t mimicking the exact movement of the waltz by pushing herself closer, forcing him to step back and change his pattern. Her mother and father’s dances were never perfect, that is what gave them heart.

After a minute or two, he looked up, more sure of his steps. He looked at her, his face a picture of concentration. He wasn’t looking but he was still aware of his movements. He was getting it.

She beamed and the room suddenly filled with light. Radiating from between them. She looked down and her dress had shifted to a bright gold dazzling sun taking up nearly the whole dress. So bright it hurt to look at.

As he too noticed, his concentration broke into a smile so wide she was sure it had to hurt. Without seeming to think, he spun her rapidly, making the beam of light dance across the room.

She suddenly felt him realize her quickly and as she spun back she saw the smile was gone from his face, replaced with something she couldn’t identify. The sun on her dress darked in response.

“You’re bleeding.” He said softly, looking down.

She followed his line of sight, there was a smudge of dark blood across her ribs, staining the dress, putting a nearly black dot on the sun.

Her burn. It had torn open enough to bleed. She hadn’t really noticed that him bumping into it was severe enough to cause it to bleed more than usual.

“Oh,” She said simply. “It was an old burn; Must have opened up. It’s nothing compared to when it was fresh.” She laughed, nodding to the maze. “I’m sorry I stained the dress. I’ll just run to my room to bandage this up. I’ll be right back and we can pick right back up.”

“No. I think I should clean up the meal and get back to work.” He turned back to the table, gathering up the dishes.

The sun faded entirely, eclipsed by a cloud, “Oh. Okay. Would you like some help?”

“No, No. You take care of that and have the day off. At least try to have some fun today. Thank you for finishing the garden work so quickly and thank you for…” He didn’t look at her as he trailed off.

“If you're sure,” She started back toward her room. “Thank you for the party, sir.”

He ignored her, busying himself with utensils.