Page 27 of Myth of Dragons (Dragon Tails 4)

Those large, round eyes, small beak of a nose and almost invisible mouth reminded Brigid of an owl.

“He’s easily the tallest man in the room! A god amongst mortals, I daresay. Why, if he were to even speak to me, not that he ever would of course, not someone as beautiful as he is…I would simply dissolve into a puddle onto this very floor.”

“Can you imagine if he asked one of us to dance?” the rabbit said.

The doe gasped and held a shaking hand delicately over her modest, lace-covered bosom. Too much lace, in Brigid’s opinion.

“No indeed, I cannot even picture it,” she said. “I feel faint at the very possibility.”

After that round of nonsense, and many more, Brigid tuned her wall companions out.

If they were so keen on Lord Larkin, why didn’t they march up to him and ask forhishand in a dance? Or engage him in conversation?

Yes, the rules of society forbade such forwardness by the fairer sex. Rules that Brigid thought entirely stupid and unfair. But she knew at least that they were there, and she cared enough about her family’s reputation to abide by them.

But women had ways. They weren’t completely helpless.

If they truly wanted to, they could find ways to engineer an introduction and subsequent tête-à-tête. Just look at the Rathbourne sisters and Annie.

She supposed their beauty and charm gave them an advantage someone of her and the other Wallflowers’ ilk couldn’t command. But she liked to think that if a man truly took her fancy, she would find a way to show him.

To win him.

As to the conversation at hand, she’d had more than enough. She adopted a serene smile and an unfocused look that seemed to pay attention to the ball in motion, but didn’t take notice of anything or anyone in particular.

She was a master at losing herself in dreams while awake.

As the scene before her blurred behind the protective veil of her spectacles, she could easily imagine the twirling couples and milling crowds to be fairy folk of various sizes and shapes. The gigantic chandelier overhead became an explosion of stars in a violet sky. And the fae world she created in her imagination unfolded like the richest tapestry before her mind’s eye.

All of the mythical beings she’d described during story time were here.

The circular dance floor in the middle became the tranquil, glistening pond. And the French doors that led to the wrap-around terrace overlooking the back gardens became the silent waterfall.

Instead of a formal human affair, this was a fantastical celebration of life and joy. In addition to the piano, cornets, violins and cellos that constructed the music of the night, she also added harps, flutes and bells in her imagination, like a sprinkling of fairy dust. Ancient drums beat in the distance like the accelerating thumps of her wayward heart.

Something orsomeonewas approaching.

It was time for the Pale Prince to appear.

And then—

There he was.

Stepping through the crystal waterfall curtain, wreathed in silvery light.

All the creatures of fairyland gasped at the sight of him, so resplendent in shimmering, moon-spun robes that they blinked and squinted against his blinding magnificence.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, they hastily cleared a path around him, as he strode with supreme grace and confidence across the pool. Walking on water.

He was coming for her. Titania, Queen of the Fae.

She was waiting for him. Oh, how long she’d waited!

She watched him approach in loose, predatory strides. From the top of his platinum hair to the toes of his silver boots, he was so spellbindingly beautiful, she could not help her jaw from dropping, and her mouth from opening in an undoubtedly unflattering gape.

Everything was silver—his tailcoat, waistcoat, trousers and boots. Immaculately fitted, lovingly molded to his godly physique. The widest shoulders she’d ever laid eyes on. A broad chest, tight waist and narrow hips. Long, endlessly long legs.

Heavens, but he was exceptionallytall.

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