The ball was tomorrow, and you had been pacing nervously all day - the thought of dancing in front of nobles made your stomach twist. Tristan found you in the practice hall, fidgeting and muttering about embarrassment.

"Come on," he said gently, offering his hand. "I'll teach you." You hesitated, but he stepped closer, guiding your hand to his shoulder, his to your waist. "Just follow my lead."

At first, you stumbled, your feet brushing his. But Tristan only chuckled softly, moving slower, eyes never leaving yours. The world faded - only the soft rhythm of movement and his hand steady against your back.