"It’s only because I was so struck by you," the man replied smoothly, a smile ever on his face, "that I forgot the steps."
Indeed, the crown prince at the time had been quite nervous upon meeting the woman, finding her to be enchanting—not that he was one to show such nervousness outwardly, except, perhaps, in the form of missing a step or two while they danced their cotillions and waltzes.
He looked down at his child now, wondering what would await her future. Would there be balls? Would she dance with the grace her mother had?
"I look forward to the days our little girl will learn to dance," he murmured, "I should like to dance with her, teach her myself sometimes." He would twirl her around, listen to her giggles, lift her up like the light thing she would no doubt be.
The little bundle, of course, was too small now. And as the night would go on, she would still be just a tiny newborn babe.
Oh, but how wonderful it would be.
“Excuses, excuses,” she teased. “You always were such the flatterer.”
It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. It wasn’t often royal couples got to have that before their marriage - some learned to love each other over time, others simply put up with each other. They were one of the rare cases. His nervous face had drawn her instantly - it was quite endearing to find a prince who wasn’t completely pompous. He’d been trying to hide it, and she could tell, but she’d still seen it in his eyes.
“I’m sure she’ll love that,” the Queen murmured back, following his gaze to the small peaceful face. “I used to dance with my father when I was very small. He’d lift me or my sister onto his feet and move us around that way.”
Thinking of her husband doing the same thing was an image she couldn’t wait for. And yet she didn’t want to wish their time with Elsa away. There was plenty of time for growing and dancing and playing.