Page 63 of Enslaved

The guards exchange glances over my head. I can feel their resistance; but this is the king’s son, after all, miscreant though he may be. With a nod from one and a sigh from the other, they set me back on my feet and let me go.

I stagger a little and, out of necessity more than desire, reach out and catch the Prince’s offered hand. He smoothly guides my arm through his elbow and tucks me close to his side. “Shall we then?” he asks and proceeds smoothly down the stair between the two guardsmen, leaving them in our wake. He continues on past Danny without so much as a glance his way. I dare shoot him a quick look from under my lashes, but cannot bear the sight of his bloodless, strained face.

Hastily I look forward, heart pounding. Painfully aware of the Prince’s proximity, and suddenly unable to ignore the reality of my last glimpse of him. Gods spare me! What am I supposed to do? Is there any way to make this right or, at the very least, less excruciating?

“Would you care to take the lead, Darling?” the Prince murmurs, dropping his lips close to my ear as we move into the crowd. “I’m happy to bring up therear.”

I freeze. Fire roars up my cheeks. He knows exactly what he just said, gods blight and blast him!

The Prince chuckles and guides me deeper into the throng. We weave our way among clusters of guests who, this early in the festivities, have not yet broken from their original parties but still stick together, eyeing up their fellow guests. The Prince nods and smiles at everyone we pass just as though they’re all old friends. Some call out to him in pleasant voices. Some sneer and pointedly turn away. None of them spare a glance for me, for which I am very thankful.

“Ah!” The Prince arrests a passing server, lifting two glasses from her tray. He holds them up for my inspection. “What do you think of that, Darling? Quite pretty, yes?”

In my five years in Aurelis, I’ve never seen the like. Rather than liquid, the glasses seem to contain dancing mist and churning foam in a variety of colors which mingle but never mix. It reminds me of the light-display in the abyss of Ulakrana, captured in miniature. “It’s incredible,” I admit.

When I start to reach for the glass however, the Prince turns away,tsking and shaking his head. “No, no, Darling. You may look, but no touching.” He catches my eye and winks. “Now what is that quaint little human saying of yours? Oh, yes!Bottoms up.”

He quaffs the brew in a single gulp, even as heat roars up my neck and floods my cheeks once more. If I could strangle him then and there and get away with it, I would. Instead I spin on heel and march away without a word, determined to disappear into the crowd and never, never, never face that man again for as long as I live.

There’s a hurried, “Here, take these,” and a clatter of glasses behind me. The next moment, a hand catches my arm, whirling me in a flurry of glimmering skirts and pulling me a staggering step. I land against the Prince’s chest . . . his bare, chest, I notice with chagrin. Yet again his shirt hangs unbuttoned beneath his fine coat. He slips his other hand around my waist and smiles down at me, that dangerous, dazzling smile that never fails to steal my breath away.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” he murmurs.

The next moment, he’s swept me onto the garden dance floor beneath a ring of floating glamour-lights. He didn’t ask. He didn’t give me a chance to fight or protest. And now I am here. Dancing, with him. All around me, the Lords and Ladies of Eledria whirl in time to the romantic strains floating from an arbor where human musicians hide. I should be with the other humans—hidden from sight, ignored save for my usefulness. Not here among the majesty of the fae, shining in their glamours, radiant in their most splendid displays of wealth and near-immortal glory.

But none of that matters. Not now. Not with the Prince holding me in his arms. He guides me with gentle but irresistible purpose, whirling me into music which floods my senses, filling me up to the very deepest parts of my being. I could float away on that sound, that feeling. But his hand at my waist acts like an anchor to this world. A world made up of just the two of us. His other hand holds mine, not out and away, but pressed close to his heart.

I realize he’s spoken. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I blurt stupidly.

His smile grows, glamour-light glinting off his white teeth. “I said it was foolish of you to venture here all on your own. Don’t you know how dangerous it is for humans at fae revels?”

I find my voice with an effort. “I grew tired of waiting. I feared the whole event would be over by the time you’d finally managed to button your shirt. Which, I’ll note, you still haven’t done.”

He shrugs. “Buttons are such cumbersome things. So fiddly, and they just won’t ever stay put. But seriously, Darling.” He drops his chin, bringing his eyes closer to the level of mine, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You sprinted from the place so fast, leaving me quite abruptly in yourposteriorview, as it were. What’s a man supposed to think?”

Another wave of heat. But this time, a little smile plucks at my lips. I drop my gaze to his collarbone. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop playing the fool.”

“Why? You know you love it.”

I shake my head. “I donot. I’m here about a serious matter, and . . . and I must not . . .”

“Stop and enjoy the view along the way?”

I can’t even begin to formulate an answer to that one. The Prince guides me through a sweeping turn then contrives to pull me closer. His hand slides up from the small of my back to the bare skin of my shoulder blades, fingers splayed and hot. “Don’t worry, Darling,” he whispers close to my ear. “I fully intend to take all of this very seriously indeed.Afterwe dance.”

We speak no more then; what words could possibly be said as that river of music catches and carries us away, like two blossoms floating on the foam? I’m lost in it, lost in him. The closeness of him, the scent of him, the warmth of him. Justhim.How many times have I been warned? How many stories have I been told of mortal maidens swept up by handsome fae men, dancing under the starlight until they lose themselves entirely? I never knew how easy it would be. Or how happily I would go, ready and willing to be carried outside of myself, pulled into his atmosphere, burned in his heat.

I’m losing my head, losing all sense of self-preservation. Yet I don’t feel unsafe. Of course that’s part of the stories too, isn’t it? Part of the glamour, part of the ultimate headlong flight to destruction: that belief in one’s perfect safety.

But when I gaze into his eyes, so near to mine, so full of fire and that sweet, sweet music . . . I know he could never hurt me. Never.

When did we stop dancing? The other dancers continue to whirl around us, skirts and capes fluttering like wings, arms upraised and sleeves billowing. But the Prince and I stand in their center, gazing at one another. Lost in that world of our own. He looks hungry. Starving. As though he would devour me if given the chance. His hand lets go of mine. He slips it instead underneath my hair, gripping my neck, drawing me toward him.

So I wasn’t mistaken after all. Everything I’d thought was happening between us . . . it was real. This is real. This place, this point in time.

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