Deus Necros

“Take my hand, Sir Ludwig,” the princess said as she handed Ludwig her hand.

Her fingers were offered with a confidence that didn’t quite match the slight tension in her wrist, as though she was daring herself as much as she was daring the room. Ludwig hesitated for the briefest moment, not out of fear, but because he could already feel the attention turning toward them like the hall itself had leaned closer. Then he took her hand.

Once he did, she lightly grabbed and pulled him to the middle of the hall. Everyone in the ball seemed surprised, after all, it was usually the other way around. Where a knight, a gentleman, or a noble would ask for a dance form someone of her status and expectantly wait. She grabbed his and took him to the center.

The movement was quick enough to feel decisive, but not so fast that it looked clumsy. It was still a princess’s pull, practiced in poise even when it was bold. The circle of nobles parted with a delayed shuffle, some smiling too politely, others staring too openly. Ludwig caught more than one lingering glance from men who looked offended on principle and women who looked entertained by it.

She released just enough pressure to make it clear she’d brought him here, but now expected him to do his part. Her posture straightened, chin slightly lifted, and she waited with the patience of someone who had been trained not to fidget even when nervous. Ludwig could see it in her cheeks, the faint color that wasn’t only from the warmth of the hall.

Ludwig obliged. For a normal person someone from Earth, anyone else would have been stunned and unable to perform. A dance with royalty wasn’t merely a show of class. But also, of elegance.

It wasn’t simply stepping in time. It was being judged by the angle of your hand, the steadiness of your gaze, the confidence of every small motion. Ludwig knew that was what the hall would be watching for, not because he cared about their approval, but because he cared about not giving them an excuse to make this messier than it already was.

If this was anyone else, they’d be completely stunned unable to lead or move. But Ludwig had far too many lessons with his mother, and had stepped on far too many toes when he was young.

Those memories came back with annoying clarity. The old scolding, the forced repeats, the embarrassment of doing it wrong and being made to do it again until it stuck. Back then he’d hated it. Now, he was quietly grateful for every bruised toe he’d earned or caused.

He was most certainly not the best dancer in the world, but he would at least not shame himself in a formal setting.

That was enough. He didn’t need perfection. He needed control.

Ludwig held her hand slightly high and just above shoulder level and placed a hand right above her lower back.

The contact was firm but careful, guiding without squeezing. Her breath hitched anyway, subtle, and Ludwig felt it in the slight rise of her ribs when he drew her closer into position. He didn’t look at the nobles. He didn’t need to. He could feel their reaction.

The mere gesture made everyone in the hall completely stunned, this was something new, brazen even. No almost scandalous, to touch the princess that low. However, seeing Ludwig not even react to their gazes as the music resumed, they felt that they needed not to interrupt this… licentious display of affection between two who have yet to wed.

Whispers tried to form and then died as quickly as they started, drowned out by the first returning notes of the instruments. Some faces sharpened with disapproval, some with curiosity, and a few with obvious envy. Ludwig could tell which nobles were already imagining how to turn this into gossip for tomorrow morning. He didn’t care. He only cared that the princess didn’t pull away and make it look like he’d overstepped without consent.

She held her composure, but the color in her face betrayed her, and her eyes flicked up to his as if checking whether he was doing it on purpose to provoke the room. Ludwig didn’t give her a reassuring smile. That would only make it worse. He simply steadied her stance with the small pressure of his hand and prepared to move.

“I’ll lead,” Ludwig said.

The words were quiet, meant for her alone, but they carried a finality that made it clear this was not a romantic performance in his mind. It was a task. A short one. He was already thinking about what Andre wanted and how quickly he could get away from this spotlight.

The music played, and Ludwig began moving, allowing the princess to follow merely a beat later. The dance felt, rushed at first, no, fast paced. Yet Ludwig would move and allow her to follow, a step, two, back forth, he moved her and turned with her. Allowing her to fall into his pace instead of the other way around.

Her first steps were cautious, testing him, testing herself, but Ludwig didn’t let the hesitation linger. He set the rhythm with his body, guiding her with small shifts rather than force. One step, then another, then the turn, and she had no choice but to adjust. Not because he dragged her, but because he refused to slow down long enough for the room to dictate it.

Usually, the music would be the theme of the dance, and the players would dictate the pace. But here, seeing Ludwig moving a beat faster than they drummed or struck their instrument.

The musicians exchanged quick looks, startled at first, then corrected with practiced speed. The tempo tightened. The notes became cleaner, more purposeful. It was as if they’d been challenged, and rather than protesting, they accepted it. The dance floor became sharper, faster, and suddenly the whole hall was watching not a princess being courted, but a room being forced to keep up.

The hall continued watching in stunned stupor as they had first come to witness a dance of both pace and passion.

Scandalous, yet proud.

A dance that felt violent how it moved.

And envious as it wanted all eyes on it.

Then Ludwig began moving in rather rushed tempo, almost dragging the princes. Spun her around, as if saying to the world that she was mine.

Greed and gluttony, composed and imposed.

Funneling their essence in a dance that was meant to display dignity and status, it became a dance that instead displayed one’s true nature as they moved.

The princess didn’t stumble, but she did have to give herself over to the pace. Her hair shifted with each turn, catching light, and her dress flared in a way that made more than one noble’s eyes widen. Ludwig’s expression stayed focused, almost indifferent, which only made it worse. Indifference from a man holding a princess like that looked like ownership to people who lived on perception.

He spun her once, twice, and she followed, breath quickening, hands tightening slightly in his. The hall read meaning into everything, because that’s what halls like this did. Ludwig didn’t correct their interpretation

A few beats later, the rushed Ludwig and the music seemed to calm down, where he switched soon to a rather slow tempo, almost lazy sway for the final move.

The shift came like a sudden drop into stillness. The princess’s body arched back, supported by his hand, and for a moment her eyes widened at the closeness of it. Ludwig held her steady, not shaking, not wavering, as though this final motion was the easiest part.

The musicians softened their notes to match, and the room’s breath returned in a collective exhale.

He pulled her toward him, their faces close, he breath erratic. She was gasping almost.

Their closeness was enough to make the nearest nobles avert their eyes while still trying to watch through the corner of them. The princess’s lips parted as she caught her breath, and Ludwig’s own breathing seemed to have yet to even begin laboring. Exhaustion was a myth for this man.

“W…what is the name of this dance?” the princess asked.

Her voice was small compared to the music that had just ended, and there was genuine curiosity there, mixed with the aftertaste of adrenaline.

“Sin.” Ludwig replied.