The Winter Queen by Amanda Mccabe

him to dance, when in truth she barely knew the steps herself? She was quite certain she would not be able to focus on pavanes and complicated voltas when she had to stand close to Anton Gustavson, feel his hands at her waist, see his smile up-close. She was quite confused just looking at him—how would she ever speak? Her task for the Queen would surely end in disaster.
    â€˜Your Grace,’ she finally dared to say, ‘I am sure there are far more skilled dancers who could—’
    â€˜Nonsense,’ the Queen interrupted. ‘You will do the job admirably, Lady Rosamund. You shall have your first lesson after church on Christmas morning. The Waterside Gallery will be quiet then, I think. What say you, Master Gustavson?’
    â€˜I say, Your Grace, that I wish to please you in all things,’ he answered with a bow.
    â€˜And you are also never one to back away from a challenge, eh?’ the Queen said, her dark eyes sparkling with some mischief known only to her.
    â€˜Your Grace is indeed wise,’ Anton answered.
    â€˜Then the terms are these—if I win, and you can indeed dance, you must pay me six shillings as well as a boon to be decided later to Lady Rosamund.’
    â€˜And if I win, Your Grace?’
    Elizabeth laughed. ‘I am sure we will find a suitable prize for you among our coffers, Master Gustavson. Now come, Ambassador von Zwetkovich, I crave another dance.’
    The Queen swept away once again, and Anne followed her to dance with Johan Ulfson. She tossed back a glance at Rosamund that promised a plethora of questions later.
    Rosamund turned to Anton in the sudden quiet of their little corner. It felt as if they were enclosed in their own cloud, an instant of murky, blurry silence that shut out the bustle of the rest of the room.
    â€˜I believe, Master Gustavson, that you are a sham,’ Rosamund hissed.
    â€˜My lady!’ He pressed one hand to his heart, his eyes wide with feigned hurt, but Rosamund was sure she heard laughter lurking in his voice. ‘You do wound me. What have I done to cause such accusations?’
    â€˜I saw you skating on that pond. You are no clumsy oaf .’
    â€˜Skating and dancing are two different things.’
    â€˜Not so very different, I should think. They both require balance, grace and coordination.’
    â€˜Are you a skater yourself?’
    â€˜Nay. It is not so cold here as in your homeland, except this winter. I seldom have the chance of a frozen pond or river.’
    â€˜Then you cannot know if they are the same, ja ?’ A servant passed by with a tray of wine goblets, and Anton claimed two. He handed one to Rosamund, his long fingers sliding warmly against hers as he slowly withdrew them.
    Rosamund shivered at the friction of skin against skin, feeling foolish at her girlish reaction. It was not as if she had never touched a man before. She and Richard had touched behind the hedgerows last summer. But somehow even the brush of Anton Gustavson’s hand made her utterly flustered.
    â€˜I am sure they are not dissimilar. If you can skate, you can dance,’ she said, taking a sip of wine to cover her confusion.
    â€˜And vice versa? Very well, then, Lady Rosamund, I propose a wager of my own.’
    Rosamund studied him suspiciously over the silver rim of her goblet. ‘What sort of wager, Master Gustavson?’
    â€˜They say your Thames is near frozen through,’ he answered. ‘For every dancing lesson you give me, I shall give you a skating lesson. Then we will see if they are the same or no.’
    Rosamund remembered with a pang the way he had flown over the ice. What would it be like to feel so very free, to drift like that, above all earthly bonds? She was quite tempted. But…‘I could never do what you did. I would fall right over!’
    He laughed, a deep, warm sound that rubbed against her like fine silk-velvet. She longed to hear it again, to revel in that happy