He struggles to understand how she can spin like that without dizzying and losing her balance; it's plenty to watch her go around and around with precision and grace.

When the music ends and she drops to her knee, Sweeney waits half a breath more before placing his hands on his chair and pushing to rise. He just prays it won't be too painful of an endeavor. Blessedly, nothing gets pinched or twisted uncomfortably as he closes the distance between them.

With the weight of formality, Sweeney takes both hands and guides her to her feet. When their eyes finally meet, the faint crack of a smile tucks in one corner of his lips, betraying the serious tone of the thing. Then he releases her before his hands drop promptly to her waist, and he lifts her in a turn, as close as he can manage to the ones he'd just seen her ladies perform.

When she's safely returned to the ground, he bends to kiss her. Perhaps it's a little too quickly, but there's nothing overtly lewd. Not a chaste peck, but brief and honest. As he straightens, his smile widens.

No further warning given, Sweeney takes her hand and spins her towards the assembled, lifting it as he does so, making a neat presentation of his pride when he announces her.

"Her Highness, Gilia, Princess of Ériu."

She's not forced to stand there, stared at, for he immediately turns her back to him so he can offer a courtly bow. It may be intended for the audience, but his words drop more private for her.

"My beautiful wife."