Love comes in many forms.
Speaking about it, imagining it, and melting at the mere prospect of it can leave you giddy with its richness.
But defining it, expressing or experiencing it - that's a different game.
Elijah - the heir to the throne of...
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*THE DANCER'S POV* - THE NIGHT OF THE ATTACK (BEFORE CHAPTER 1)
He looked absolutely ravishing.
I stood near the buffet of delicacies and beverages, raking my gaze from his curly brown tendrils of hair, all the way down his strikingly sharp suit - the popping veins peeking out on his wrists particularly keeping my attention.
Blue velvet ropes around those wrists, tightly holding him to the railing of his bed while he was breathlessly prisoned - how would he look then?
I guess I was going to have to find out for myself.
I placed the plate of pancakes dripping with melted dark chocolate on the table, and brushed my hands together.
I gave the palatable brown liquid edging near the plate one last look, thinking about how it would taste if it was drizzled against the Prince's neck instead of on a plain pancake.
Patience, Jena.
I tentatively licked the pieces of dried sweetness around my lips and started forward; the glassy steps of my sandals prowling towards the gliding set of females.
They smiled welcomingly as I approached their circle at the centre of the hall, clearly thinking I was a dancer just like the rest of them - here to put on a graceful show at the royal ball of the month.
In the count of three seconds, I quickly shut my eyes tightly and let myself believe that too.
"Ladies," I greeted with a smile, hiding the urge to grit my teeth and glower. "Are we prepared to wave our wands and put the walking crowns around us in a trance?"
Apparently, royal dancers at Yandestine made it a point to speak like that - powdered sugar spiked within their pretty words.
"We have finished warming up with the final instructions, we're getting started in thirty seconds." A red-haired dancer announced with glee.
The other females giggled with excited nods, as twenty of them split to my right, five stayed in the middle with me, and the remaining ten cornered themselves to the left.
The music was going to begin.
I remembered his words.
"Do not speak to the Prince before he does and do not let him know your eyes are seeking him out before he finds out for himself."
Remaining at the centre with the small group of five females, I reigned in those words in my head and slowly unclenched my palm. I was positioned at the front of the line, with similar but longer lines of dancers on my either side, prepared to begin the piece once the tune rose.
A torpid melody glissaded towards us, and once my ears caught onto the rise in pitch before it happened, my feet hesitantly began to move.
Every dignified head immediately turned in my direction.
