Shirayuki, hair coming loose from the intricate hairdo he was sure had taken her hours, was wandering delicately down the stone courtyard path. He could hear the faint whisper of her talking to herself.

“Jackets,” she was saying, her soft voice slurring on the end. “We’re running out of echinacea, and yarrow…I forgot to ask Ryuu if we needed more feverfew, I wonder if he’s still awake…”

Obi’s heart briefly leapt as her foot caught against a cobblestone, but she recovered quickly.

“I,” she said. “Am forgetting something.” She stopped halfway down the path, squaring her shoulders in concentration. “What.”

Now was probably a good time to show himself. He didn’t want to scare her. She had one hand in front of her face and was counting on each finger deliberately.

“Miss?”

Shirayuki turned bleary eyes to Obi and grinned. Her cheeks were rosy. It went very nicely with the cream-colored party gown she was wearing.

“Mr. Nanaki, good good. Hello. Maybe you can help me figure out what I am forgetting.”

“Hello. Miss, I don’t think you’re forgetting anything, but you can’t just wander away from the ball like that. Miss Seiran was worried about you. What are you doing out here.”

“Taking,” she flung her arms out and showed him her palms, “inventory. I told Ryuu. That I would do that, and so here I am. Doing that.”

“At 10 o’clock, in the middle of a ball?”

“Yes,” she pronounced. “I told him I would earlier and I forgot.”

Earlier was when Garak had given Shirayuki and Obi a hefty glass of that new liquor she’d been brewing. Earlier was when Shirayuki had turned bright red and promised to drink at least three cups of tea before the ball. Earlier, she had promised Obi she would take an afternoon nap before dressing for the evening (and yes, Mr. Nanaki, she had to go to the ball, Mr. Wistalia expected her, and she was his personal guest, it would be rude). Earlier he had seen her go for the punch, thirsty, and had been too slow to warn her it contained a hefty dose of wine.

Now, Shirayuki was staring at him in that curious way she always did, making him feel bare before her. Except now her eyes were welling up with tears. What.

“Mr. Nanaki,” she said, in such a tone that he felt his heart clench in his chest. “I’ve forgotten.”

“What? What have you forgotten?”

In one motion Shirayuki took off across the courtyard. Obi ran to catch up only to watch her abruptly stop in front of a pillar, plant her feet, and knock her head (rather hard—she’d have a headache) against the cool stone, before bursting into tears.

“I don’t—I don’t know—”

Obi felt his hands fluttering. They never did that. What was going on.

“Miss—what don’t you know—are you—”

“I DON’T KNOW,” she proclaimed, “HOW TO RIDE A HORSE.”

Oh.

“A horse,” Obi said, gently. He felt a laugh coming on. “Miss, that’s—that’s all right, that’s why we have carriages—”

“BUT I AM A FAILURE,” she wailed, “OF A PROPER LADY. MAYBE THAT IS WHY MR. WISTALIA DOESN’T LIKE ME ANYMORE.”

“Shira—Miss, of course Mr. Wistalia likes you, you’re his personal guest at the ball. Why would riding horses have anything to do with it.”

“BECAUSE. He probably lets me ride with YOU because he knows I am a FAILURE who doesn’t RIDE. He PITIES me and that is no proper way to LIKE SOMEONE.”

“Do you—” why was he asking this, he wouldn’t like the answer— “do you want him to like you?”

“YES,” she cried. “NO. I don’t know.” She turned around suddenly, sniffling. “He confuses me. He says he likes me but then I spend all my time with YOU and it’s not like I DON’T like him but I don’t really KNOW him and it’s hard to know him when I spend alllll my time.” She stumbled a bit, finally, and Obi scooped her gently into his arms. “With you.”

It was a clear night, and cool, but Shirayuki’s skin was feverishly warm, and her eyes were bright with starlight as she looked up at him. She tilted her head and moved a bit closer. Adjusting his grip, Obi slid one arm around her waist and the other behind her shoulders so that if she fell again it would be easy to catch her.

“Huh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You’re nice to look at, did you know?”

Obi did not.

“You’ve got gold in your eyes, like a dragon.” She poked his nose with the tip of one finger. “But your hair looks better when you don’t do it up like that.” Suddenly her hand was on his head and she was carelessly ruffling the short strands into something more akin to his usual style. “That is better. You look more like yourself.”

Obi was struggling to breathe.

“Maybe Mr. Wistalia doesn’t like me because he thinks I like you,” she said. “That would be awfully funny, don’t you think, Mr. Nanaki?”

“You can call me Obi, Miss. It’s been long enough.” He smiled at her and tried not to explode. “And yes, it would be funny.”

Sagging into his arms, Shirayuki rested her head against Obi’s chest. “Oh, Obi. I think. I maybe had too much to drink.”

Obi had to chuckle. “Oh Miss, do you think?”

She nodded, ruffling her bangs. “I think the punch had wine.”

“It did. I was too late to warn you.”

“You were going to warn me? That’s very kind of you.” Her words were getting quieter. She was falling asleep on him, which was adorable, except now Obi had to get her back to her room without drawing suspicion—what would Zen and his friends say to see Obi with her, alone, at night? Let alone in her room?

“Obi,” she said, and he had to strain a bit to hear it. “If Mr. Wistalia doesn’t like me—will you like me?”

“Of course, Miss. I already like you.” So much.

She hummed in satisfaction. “Will you teach me how to ride a horse?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Would you like to go to bed?”

***

It was a difficult affair, getting Shirayuki back to her room, but thankfully Obi’s job as bodyguard provided him with expert knowledge of every back passageway and close connections with servants who would only smile and ask no questions. Then there was the matter of removing her shoes, and her jewelry—and of course she could not undo her hair on her own, with her clumsy fingers. Obi had not realized how long her hair had gotten since escaping the Shenazard estate.

Shirayuki sagged against him as he worked the last pins from her hair and briefly agonized over what to do with her clothes before deciding to just let her sleep in them. He’d tell Shirayuki’s maidservant before he left for the night.

“Mmm, Obi?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“You can call me Shirayuki, please,” she said, as he set her down on the bed and drew the coverlet up to her chin, propping her head and leaving a cup of tea by her bed. It would be cold when she awoke, but it was strong and she would be thirsty.

“It is my name. And you said for me to use yours.”

“Shirayuki,” Obi said, and it tasted strange and wonderful on his tongue. “Good night, Shirayuki. I hope you sleep well.”

“Of course I will. You are here with me.” She took his hand, gently, and squeezed, before snuggling down into the covers. She was snoring within seconds.

Obi waited until her breathing evened out before letting himself out and warning the maidservant of her condition. Once he was in his room, he slumped onto the bed, holding his hand before his face and studying it in the dark.

He stayed like that until sleep took him.