The barn blazed like a beacon at the city's edge, doors thrown wide, torches crackling on either side. Fiddles screeched, a drum boomed like thunder, and smoke curled through the rafters with the sour-sweet tang of ale. The ground outside was churned to mud by boots and spilled drink.
Joseph's hand tightened on Katelijne's arm. She stood at the threshold, stiff as a statue, the patched dress Isabelle had thrown at her scratching her neck, the cap shadowing her brow. He could feel the tremor in her — not fear alone, but the kind of terror that comes when you stand on the edge of freedom.
'Here,' he murmured, leaning close so only she would hear. 'No one knows us here. No masks to wear, no names to guard. Just dance, eat, and be foolish with the rest.'
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but a pair of girls tumbled past, skirts flying, shrieking with laughter as they plunged into the crush. A man reeled out after them, shirt open, tankard high, and was swept back inside before Joseph could blink.
He bent nearer, his breath brushing her ear. 'If you want to leave, we turn back now. But if you step inside, you leave the rest behind.'
For a heartbeat he thought she would bolt. But then she lifted her chin, tugged the cap lower, and stepped forward.
Relief near split him in two. He followed her in.
Inside was bedlam. Straw scattered underfoot, barrels turned to tables, sweat and roasting meat choking the air. Dancers stamped hard enough to rattle the rafters, pipes cut sharp above the roar, mugs clattered and spilled. Joseph grinned despite himself. This was Carnival as he knew it — ragged, loud, alive.
Katelijne faltered at the press, her hand jerking as if she might turn back. Joseph caught it, steadying her, and pulled her deeper into the storm.
'Keep your feet light,' he shouted above the din. 'Let the crowd carry you. Fight it and you'll sink.'
She stared at him like he'd lost his senses, but clung tighter all the same. A girl shoved a sloshing mug of ale into Katelijne's hand and vanished again into the throng. Ale ran down her fingers, but she held it as if it tethered her.
At the far side, Rik already had his fiddle on a hay-bale, bow flashing like lightning. Joos strutted beside him, spitting rhymes that made the crowd howl. Willem beat a keg like a drum, red-faced with drink. The troupe were at home here, and the crowd leaned toward them like iron to a magnet.
And Isabelle —
Joseph's throat tightened as he spotted her spinning at the barn's centre, Bram's arms locked round her waist. Her skirts flew, her laughter rang bright, her eyes burned. She looked… alive. Too alive. The sight thrilled and unnerved him all at once.
'See?' he shouted to Katelijne, forcing his voice light. 'Even my sister lets go. Carnival isn't for steps. It's for forgetting.'
To his astonishment, Katelijne laughed. Truly laughed, her voice swallowed in the chaos. Something eased in his chest. He squeezed her hand.
The fiddles tore into a reel, sharp enough to set teeth on edge. The crowd surged, partners caught and spun like straw in the wind. Joseph tugged her with him before she could think.
She stumbled, nearly treading his boot, but the tide swept them round. Joseph shielded her shoulder with his, guided her through the heave of bodies. He caught her when a tanner with arms thick as kegs spun her too fast and shoved her back. Her hair tumbled loose under the cap, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks.
And God help him, she was beautiful. Not the fine-laced daughter merchants paraded in Antwerp's halls, but raw, laughing, flushed with life.
'You see?' he shouted into her ear as he steadied her. 'You can dance better than half of them!'
Her smile struck him harder than any jeer he'd ever endured.
The reel climbed, fiddles shrieking, the drum rolling like thunder. Joseph spun her again, her cloak flaring, boots stamping in wild time. For a heartbeat it felt like flight.
When the tune crashed to its end, the barn erupted. Cheers, steaming breath, mugs raised high. Joseph bent, gasping, sweat running down his back, curls sticking damp to his brow. Katelijne leaned against the wall, chest heaving, cheeks flaming. Their eyes locked, and the world shrank until it was just them.
The fiddles softened, slipping into a gentler tune. Couples drifted closer, swaying in smaller circles. Torchlight guttered, voices dropped. Joseph hesitated only a moment, then offered his hand. Not with jester's swagger — quietly, afraid she might refuse.
She didn't.
Her fingers slipped into his, and his chest lurched. He drew her into the slower turn, close enough to smell woodsmoke on her skin, to feel the flutter of her breath.
'You belong here,' he said, rough with wonder.
She laughed softly. 'In rags?'
'In laughter,' he murmured.
Her hand slid against his chest. His heart hammered under it. For a breath he feared she would hear how frantic it was, how undone he felt. Then her gaze lifted, torchlight catching in her eyes, and the world tilted.
He bent, she rose, and their lips met. Tentative first, then sure, the kiss tasting of ale and breath and daring.
Joseph thought his knees might give way. He clung to her, hand at her back, lips moving against hers in a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed. For one stolen moment there was no crowd, no Carnival, no Floris — only her.
When they parted, her cheeks glowed, her lips trembled in a smile that nearly undid him. He pressed his forehead to hers. 'Katelijne,' he whispered, and her name felt like a vow.
The fiddles surged, the dancers stamped again, the spell broke. Joseph laughed with her, dizzy, drunk on nothing but joy.
And then the prickle came — that instinct of being watched.
He turned.
Across the barn, Isabelle stood in the torch-glow, a cup dangling loosely from her fingers, Bram's arm heavy at her waist. Her skirts were damp with sweat, her hair clung in wild strands, but her face — God, her face was cut to stone. Not mocking, not amused. Cold, sharp, measuring.
Her eyes fixed on his hand still tangled with Katelijne's. They lingered there long enough that Joseph wanted to snatch his fingers away. Then her gaze rose, pinning him, as if she could strip him bare in front of the whole barn.
Slowly, she raised her cup. A salute — but not careless this time. A warning.
The torchlight caught the edge of her smile, thin as a blade. It was not laughter. It was promise: I will not let this pass unchallenged.
Bram leaned in, whispering something coarse, and Isabelle tipped her head back with a peal of laughter loud enough to hide the steel in her eyes. To anyone else she was careless, lost in Carnival. But Joseph knew her too well. That look would not be forgotten.
His chest burned. The taste of Katelijne's lips still lingered, sweet and terrifying, yet the shadow of his sister's gaze pressed harder than any crowd's jeers.
Isabelle had seen. And Isabelle kept her knives sharp.
Joseph dragged his gaze back from Isabelle with effort. The music surged again, faster this time, fiddles shrieking, pipes darting like sparrows through the din. Around them the crowd stamped and spun, oblivious.
Katelijne tugged his sleeve. Her eyes, bright as the torches, searched his face. 'What is it?' she shouted above the music.
'Nothing,' he lied, forcing a grin. He tightened his hold on her hand. 'Dance with me again.'
She hesitated only a heartbeat, then nodded.
The reel caught them once more, and Joseph threw himself into it, sweeping her with him — spinning her beneath his arm, catching her back, laughing as the crowd pressed close. Her laughter rang out too, unguarded, rich, a sound that seemed to banish the weight of the world.
'You're better at this than half the troupe,' he teased as he swung her wide.
'And the other half?' she shot back, cheeks flushed, breathless.
'They don't matter,' he said, pulling her close again, so close her hair brushed his chin.
Her laughter faltered into a softer smile. For a moment, though the barn still thundered around them, they swayed as if the music were theirs alone. He bent his head until his lips brushed the edge of her ear.
'No one's watching here,' he murmured.
Her hand tightened in his, as though she believed him — or wanted to.
They spun again, skirts flying, boots pounding the boards. The music roared, the torches smoked, and for those few heartbeats Joseph let himself forget the shadow in Isabelle's eyes.
Here, in the rush of sound and motion, there was only Katelijne — her smile, her warmth, the way she looked at him as if she had always known him.