No reaction to the hand language, and no reaction to the insult either. Just a calculating look, behind that mask of surly annoyance.<br/><br/>Ryland didn't bother to hide his surprise when a single hand unfolded toward him, palm up.<br/><br/><i>Very well. Bring your bird.</i><br/><br/>Ryland reached forward to, with the briefest of contact--barely fingertips--turn the king's hand over and lean down to brush his lips on knuckles.<br/><br/>"I'll be but a moment."<br/><br/>As he was leaving, he gave a brief and amused smile to the servant who had let him in, signing,<i>You could have told me he was half-dressed.</i>One didn't admonish servants where anyone could hear, using only the hand gestures when something needed to be discussed.<br/><br/>This particular servant knew Ryland well, though, and most everyone in the castle knew Ryland did not take offense to familiarity.<br/><br/><i>I thought you might enjoy the discovery.</i><br/><br/>"Such cheek," Ryland said, grinning.<br/><br/>When he returned, he was let in again, this time with the bird in his arms. It was fashioned as a starling. Ryland presented it with some aplomb, setting it on a table and then gently blowing on it for a few seconds.<br/><br/>"It's sympathetic," he said. "You give it breath, so it can sing."<br/><br/>There was a little metal click, and then a few more, as the thing came to life, and the sounds of a waltz started to play out into the room.<br/><br/>He took another moment to shove furniture out of the way and scoot aside anything else that might be blocking the floor.<br/><br/>"You'll need boots made for dancing. The floor is marble in the ballroom. Soft stuff. No tromping in metal studs allowed." He turned back to Kethaias. "Now just follow me for a moment. It's a waltz. Nothing too demanding."<br/><br/>He took them through the steps just with Kethaias by his side first, so that the king could see the footwork. Hands would come later. Basic footwork would keep people from at least being bruised.<br/><br/>When they got that down, Ryland stood in front of him. They held their forearms up, touching, for the beginning, their other held behind their backs.<br/><br/>It was simple, he explained, because the real intricacy was the movements between everyone else. Once they had the steps down, it would depend where one was on the floor where one should spin round and round to, and in what circles, diagonals, and crossings. Of course, since they were a royal pair, it was simpler to guess. They would be in the middle.<br/><br/>The beginning done, Ryland could finally lay his hands on Kethaias' frame. He was solid, lean, and the warmth that seeped up immediately through the crisp fabric of his shirt made Ryland's palms itch to sneak beneath.<br/><br/>"Once more," he said. "And over from the beginning."<br/><br/>He did smell very nice. This close--and Ryland was only a few inches shorter--he could catch the scent of Kethaias' soaps, the starch from the linen in his shirt, and the earthier smell of clean doeskin. He could feel the cords of muscle at the man's sides and back, moving with them. The fabric was thin enough.<br/><br/>Thin enough, too, that Ryland gave a quick, mischevious glance upward, then changed his grip to pinch his sides.<br/><br/>There was no laugh. Not even the ghost of a smile.<br/><br/>"You're joking!" Ryland said, stepping back. "You aren't ticklish<i>at all</i>? Or are you simply that stubborn?"