“Can I ask why you asked me to dance?” Jackson inquires, bowing and taking Mark’s hand in the way custom dictates, leading him towards the ballroom floor. The fact that we barely know each other goes unsaid.

 

“You looked like you needed saving,” Mark says, gazing pointedly at the group he had just stolen Jackson from just long enough for Jackson to understand where’s he’s looking, before he focuses on straightening himself out for the dance he asked for.

 

“Thank you,” Jackson breathes, surprised but hiding it well, pulling Mark close as the dance begins.

 

They twirl silently together as the music continues, lips twitching with smirks and smiles too inelegant to be worn tonight as they avoid people looking to interrupt their dance, vying for either Jackson or Mark’s attention, or worse, their hand for a dance. The song ends and they stay together once the next one begins.

 

"You'd think they've never seen two people dancing," Mark finally speaks, smiling playfully at his dance partner as he's waltzed around the ballroom, commenting on all the stares they've drawn.

 

Jackson pulls him back -closer- and chuckles, close to his ear. "Perhaps they have never seen someone so beautiful dance."

 

Mark blinks, eyelashes fluttering in delighted surprise as his cheeks bloom a pleased pink. He smiles then, coy. “Oh do tell, how many dance partners have you used that on.”

 

Jackson smirks. He spins Mark in a series of steps, pulling them back together gracefully. Jackson steers them more into the middle of the floor, where there’s a little more room, widening his stance and stepping a little ways to the side as he bends his knee, bending to dip Mark. “Just one.”

 

Mark raises an eyebrow at him when Jackson’s straightens them out. They step around a few dancing couples, and stray as far from the edge of the floor as possible, not wanting anyone to snatch each other away.

 

The orchestral set ends as the maestro and the rest of the musicians rise and bow, taking a short break of playing their instruments. Mark and Jackson applaud with the rest of the crowd, even as their eyes don’t leave each other’s for a moment until Mark’s eyes shift to the side and then back to Jackson, quick.

 

“I’d say we have about forty-five seconds before you’re taken away,” Mark notes, gazing at one of Jackson’s entourage making their way through the crowd and to the edge of the dance floor, greeting Lords and Ladies as quick and polite as possible, not wanting to appear rude.

 

“Thirty seconds, actually,” Jackson murmurs as he spies one of Mark’s own, closer in proximity to them, also make their way over towards them.  

 

Mark smiles softly at him then, the slow unfurl of a flower under the sun. “I suppose this is goodbye then, Prince Jackson -and thank you.”

 

“Truly, I should be thanking you, Prince Mark.” Jackson bends into the customary, traditional bow that signifies the end of their dance, still holding Mark’s hand. Before he stands back up his presses a kiss on the back of Mark’s knuckles, warm. Their eyes do not stray from each other’s the entire time.

 

From his periphery, Mark spots one of his guards step onto the dance floor. Fifteen seconds.

 

Mark bows his head in response and hesitates to take his arm back when Jackson releases his hand, touch lingering a few seconds too long. Mark can hear his guard complimenting a Lady from their court, closer. Ten seconds.

 

Jackson’s eyes glance at something -someone- over Mark’s shoulder before looking at him again, his countenance cools slightly and his eyes dim. Seven seconds.

 

He looks to step back prematurely and so Mark takes the step forward that puts him back into Jackson’s space again and reaches with the hand Jackson had kissed towards his face, tilting his head up slightly so that Mark can press a kiss on his lower cheek, centimeters from his mouth.

 

He whispers something unintelligible, words for Jackson’s ears only, before he smiles again once more, drags his fingers petal soft off Jackson’s cheeks and turns around not a beat too late to greet one of his guard sent to fetch him.

 

Jackson swallows and when his own places a hand on his shoulder, he smiles at them, gracious, cordial, polite. He doesn’t look back as he’s lead away from Mark’s vicinity, doesn’t take it personally when his brother keeps him by his side for the remainder of the evening, overprotective. He even offers to his brother and his fiancee back to their rooms after walking their mother and father to their own, patient.

 

Jackson is in no hurry.

 

Jackson has Mark’s room number, after all.