Page 11 of Caged By Dance and Desire

His attention motivated me. Not enough to throw away my strategy to dance just a little under the radar, but as the music queued and we began the choreography, I let a touch more of myself into the dance. As usual, the less throttle I used, the harder it was to remain restrained. I danced for him, a soft demand he give me his eyes. Well, his focus, because I had no use for a set of freestanding eyeballs.

Satiny energy filled my body, doubt fading.

Samuel moved in for a lift, executed flawlessly. Of the male dancers, I trusted him the most. As tall as Coralene with a wiry strength, his dark brown South African coloring complimented my golden-brown hues—and he had yet to drop me. I wasn't the most svelte of the dancers, and I'd worked on building enough muscle to support my naturally. . .uh, lusher. . .thighs and chest, which added to the weight cavaliers must shoulder during our lifts.

Vargas dismissed us back to the barre after we finished, and the Cassanians continued to observe until we broke for individual rehearsals.

Letting a little of my inner dancer out to play had me moving faster to the solo practice rooms. I needed to burn off some of the energy. I needed to truly dance.

After a grueling but joyful session I began my cool down, emerging from my head and once again taking note of my surroundings.

I halted on a dime the moment I saw I wasn't alone. I'd locked the door behind me and only Vargas had access to open it.

The Fae man who I’d glimpsed in the rehearsal room stood far enough from me for politeness, but not far enough for my own personal comfort, his gaze fixed, posture still as if he'd been watching for some time.

Which was possible. When dancing I could completely lose myself.

“Can I help you, sir?” I asked, shutting down everything. Voice flat, expression bland. This was probably my fault. I’d eye flirted. . .a little. But I hadn’t meant that as an invitation to follow me. I must have crossed some cultural wires accidentally.

He wasn't as tall as Andrei, though like most Fae he wasn't what humans would consider short. Wavy hair, soft pink threaded with dove gray, draped over one shoulder. His skin was light, his mouth only a slightly softer pink than his hair. He wore a deep rose jacket, open to reveal a cream silk shirt dripping lace at the neck, and fitted dark trousers.

Though he wasn't threatening me in any way, I didn't move closer or smile, the human social norm for inviting conversation.

My coolness didn't seem to bother him, but he wasn't unaware of the implied criticism because he asked, “May I approach? I mean you no harm.”

“I would rather you didn't.”

He took several steps forward then halted, close enough that I saw his eyes were a cornflower blue, and a charming sprinkle of freckles dusted his nose and high cheekbones. It was the first time I'd seen freckles on a Fae, and if he hadn't invaded my space and ignored my request not to come closer, I would have been off my guard, thinking him charming. If I didn't know better, I'd assume he was in his early twenties.

I knew better.

“You interest me, mortal girl,” he said, a note of whimsy in his voice accompanying the soft curve of his rosebud lips. He was trying to appear nonthreatening in a way even Andrei didn't aspire to. No man went out of his way like that unless the opposite was true. “Why do you hide yourself in this fashion?”

I couldn’t help but look at the door. If I tried to walk around him, would he block me? “I don't know what you're talking about.”

I didn't remind him that I had a name other than mortal girl because I didn't want him to know my name. Though if he wanted, he could get it. If I recognized that he certainly wasn't in his twenties, I also recognized the subtle arrogance and authority in his posture. The same aura that surrounded Andrei, a cloak of power and unconscious command as if he fully expected the world to situate itself to his preference and benefit.

He could be a Low Fae with power, wealth, and political influence, or he could be High Fae, or a High Fae Lord. I hadn'tbeen around the castes enough to tell the exact difference—but I was betting a Lord of some kind. He was too bold.

Where was Mathen?

The Rose Lord smiled a little, lowering his head, showing lashes several shades darker than the gray strands in his hair. “I understand. I applaud your strategy. Welcome it, because it means no one but I will be expecting what emerges on that stage.”

He paused, then lifted his lashes again. “You have greater talent than you know, yeralleah. When Lord Issahelle sees you, she most certainly will take you as her own. But you also have an ally, and perhaps a patron, in myself, should you find me acceptable.”

Because he was waiting for a reply, I said, “My gratitude for the offer. If there comes a time I'm in a position to consider it, I will.”

“Then I am happy.” He bowed and left without further prompting.

I hadn't asked his name, and he hadn't given it. Either he assumed I knew who he was, or he had plans to make sure we met again.

In the common lounge an hour later, I debated asking who he might be, though I’d learn more information—more truthful information—by listening rather than asking questions that might give my rivals ammunition.

Coralene entered the lounge, feline satisfaction in her icy eyes as she lowered herself gracefully onto a couch.

“I've confirmed the attendance of two more Lords at the showcase,” she said. “I'm not offering this information for free. I expect future favors in return, mortals.”

Taima abandoned the bottle of water she'd been sipping and leaned forward. “Who? And who were the Cassanians observing us earlier today?”

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