Leir was singing to her in elvish. And being a young human, she hadn’t a clue what any of the words meant. But she let him spin her around all the same right there in the middle of the wide boulevard bathed in the amber glow of lamps. The words slipped from his mouth in the odd elvish way, where sounds blended into one another slow and warm like butter down into bread. Her feet left the ground, his arms cradling her behind her knees. Her scarlet skirts twisted round as he took a knee, balancing her upon it.

I cannot take another without you
Come to the window my heart
And let me breathe again

She was laughing into her glove as the song ended, his nose pressed against her ear as he hushed the words. And then a round of applause from the glowing porch. All the women finally had something else to look at other than all the Johns and the drunks, it seemed, and one of them let out a sharp whistle from up above in the orange windows. So he kissed her on a blushed cheek and stood up once more, hand wrapped around the tips of her fingers.

(  “It’s still four crowns,” she laughed. )