Page 3 of Song of the Heart Scale
I laughed and waved to one of the guards. “Good evening, uh, shirtless guard number three! Enjoying the festivities?”
The guard sheepishly grinned and offered an awkward bow. “Very much so, my lady.”
“Excellent! Remember to flex those biceps—it’s tradition!” I called out, laughing when he blushed.
Looking far too anxious for her own good, Maeve leaned close and whispered, “My lady, perhaps we should tone it down?”
I waved off her concern. “Nonsense, Maeve! Look around you. Everyone's enjoying themselves. Relax.” I handed her another goblet of wine. “Drink up. Tonight is about living a little.”
Maeve hesitated but finally took a long sip, giggling softly as the wine warmed her. “I suppose just this once.”
“That's the spirit!” I grinned and tugged her toward the musicians. “Now, let’s dance until our feet hurt. I’ll teach you a few moves that’ll scandalize you.”
The music swirled through the cool night air and wrapped around us like an invisible cloak, heavy with notes of fiddle, lute, and drums. Maeve stumbled, her cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and wine. She clutched my arm and laughed breathlessly as I spun her around.
“See? You can dance, Maeve! And here you claimed you couldn't,” I teased, guiding her through another turn.
Maeve shyly giggled and gripped my hand tighter. “Only because you're leading, my lady. If you let go, I'm certain I'll collapse.”
“Nonsense! Confidence, Maeve! It's all about confidence!” I shouted over the lively music, dramatically spinning her outward and then quickly drawing her back in. She yelped but laughed, finally starting to relax.
Around us, the household staff cheered and clapped, forming small circles of their own dances or huddling in animated conversations over mugs brimming with ale and wine. The flickering lanterns created playful shadows that danced alongside us, enhancing the carefree magic of the night.
“My lady!” shouted Alaric, one of the younger, shirtless guards, approaching with a wide grin. “I must confess, I've never attended such a peculiar festivity.”
“You mean scandalous, don't you?” I winked playfully. “Or perhaps invigoratingly inappropriate?”
Alaric guffawed and sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “All of the above, my lady. And yet, I've never had this much fun.”
“See, Maeve? We're breaking down social barriers here,” I said with exaggerated grandeur. “We should do this more often.”
“Absolutely not,” Maeve weakly insisted, though her bright smile betrayed her enjoyment. “This is already far beyond anything remotely acceptable.”
“Acceptable is overrated,” I declared cheerfully, grabbing another goblet of wine from a nearby table. I took a generous sip, savoring the rich, fruity flavor that spread warmth down my chest. It was at that exact moment I remembered my unfortunate history with alcohol. Two Piña Coladas could knock me flat on my ass. Who knew what medieval wine would do?
Just then, a roar of laughter drew my attention. At a large table near the musicians, a group of staff members and guards had started some sort of drinking game. Curious, I tugged Maeve along and approached the circle. “What's the game, folks?”
One of the maids, a robust woman named Berta, grinned mischievously. “It's called Dragon's Breath, my lady. You must hold your breath, drink your entire mug, then roar as fiercely as possible. The weakest roar takes a penalty drink.”
I glanced at Maeve with sparkling eyes. “What do you say, Maeve? Want to see who can roar louder?”
Maeve shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide. “My lady, you can't be serious—”
“Come now, Maeve,” Berta coaxed cheerfully. “Even quiet kittens can roar like dragons with enough wine!”
Laughing, I gently pushed Maeve forward. “Give it a go. For me? Consider it your gift to the bride-to-be.”
Reluctantly, Maeve accepted a mug, her cheeks blazing as she inhaled deeply and gulped down the drink. Her eyes widened comically at the taste and she coughed before attempting a weak, tentative roar that sounded more like an anxious mewl.
The group burst into friendly laughter, and Maeve covered her face in embarrassment. I applauded anyway. “Bravo, Maeve! A ferocious effort!”
Determined to show her how it was done and forgetting entirely about my low alcohol tolerance, I grabbed my mug, took a deep breath, and chugged it. The strong liquid burnedmy throat and sent liquid heat racing through my veins. Almost immediately, the world tilted. I raised my head high, took another breath, and released a mighty, theatrical roar that echoed impressively through the garden—or at least, I hoped it did.
A deafening cheer erupted around us, and Maeve, despite herself, laughed out loud, clapping her hands. “You truly are something else, my lady.”
“Why thank you,” I said smugly, offering an exaggerated curtsy that nearly sent me toppling forward.“I’ve had years of vocal training for just such an occasion.”
“Truly?” Maeve asked earnestly, looking slightly puzzled.
