Work Text:
“I don’t even want to be here, and now I have to dance with her? ” I groan, my eyes turning to my Father.
“She will be your wife, Xaden. Now go ask her for a dance,” My father ordered me as I tried to blend into the shadows along the wall. Knowing it was my duty to my country, I quickly took to the dancefloor, my steps lethal, silent. Not that I could even be heard over the chatter anyway. Hundreds of people had shown up at this ball, celebrating the union of royalty and the beginning of peace in a long war. Peace that would come with my nuptials to the young woman sitting at the table, laughing with those surrounding her.
Even if I was against this union, I would be blind to deny her beauty, from her mesmerizing eyes to her cherry wine lips. Lips so soft I normally would kill to be able to kiss, but now I feared they would taste like ash on the day of our wedding. Her dress was a traditional off-white gown, one that clung to her curves and accentuated her breasts but was still modest enough to be respectful. At least she was respecting Tyrrendor’s customs.
Approaching the group, I held my right hand out, my normally smooth voice rough as I asked for a dance. Looking up at me, I felt a shiver work down my spine as she gently placed her own hand in mine. It was bold for her to meet my eyes; not many tried, fewer succeeded.
“Of course, Your Grace,” She meekly replied, still keeping her head up as I pulled her onto the dancefloor. Feeling the song shift to something slower, deeper, I mentally prepared myself for the next few minutes of torture.
“I hope they taught you how to follow a man’s lead. Try not to embarrass us both,” I forced out, my teeth gritting as I felt the music settle into my bones, the opening notes dancing along our skin. Dancing had been a hobby of mine since I was little, from classic ballroom dances to the newer swing and line-dancing variants. It was a way for me to express myself and allow my mind to wander. To lose myself for a few minutes. This dance felt like a chore, another responsibility I would have to do just because my Father was the King. A forced responsibility to hold the brunette in my arms, guiding her through moves probably too salacious for her proper upbringing, but had become second nature for me.
Pulling her closer, I began to glide along the wooden floor, letting the lyrics wash over me, silently agreeing with the song that the woman in my arms would cost me my soul. With the way her eyes met my onyx and gold eyes, not backing down. Why would she? She was to be my wife in a week’s time, despite this being the first night we met. At this time, I couldn’t agree more with the artist; this woman, this temptress, was a false prophet at the pulpit.
As the music shifts into the chorus, the beat turning deeper, more complex, I tug her into a swift set of turns, my feet sure and confident as I expected to have to drag her behind, to cover for her lack of grace. She surprised me by not only following along but making it look as natural as breathing. Leading her more around the room, the lights dim lower, the shadows climb up the way as the chandeliers above us blur. All I can focus on is how she hasn’t broken eye contact, not even to glance at her heels, heels that should be considered a hazard to walk, let alone dance in. She fell in step with me like she had been doing it her entire life, not just for a few minutes.
Can you fall in love with someone for how they dance? Is that a thing? I felt my heart warm towards her as we slowed, the second verse echoing through the filled hall, small huffs of breath escaping her painted lips. Resting my arm along her back, I quickly support her into a simple shoulder lift, her gown cascading behind her like water, our eyes still locked as I let myself imagine our future. Hours, days, weeks spent in the ballroom at the estate, spinning, lifting, moving from dance to dance, song to song.
A small giggle escapes her, and I feel my world shift. I swore I would go into this marriage like my parents had, a contract to produce heirs, not for love. But what if I allowed myself that mercy? I would be with her for the rest of my life, her King’s order. It had been the paramount discussion for weeks, the length of their marriage contract. One country wanted the standard ten years, the other demanded life. Concession on other hot topics allowed the life-long marriage clause to be implemented, shackling us together until our last breath. Maybe with her, my salvation won’t be sacrificed.
As the song transitions into the chorus, I let her down from the lift, before spinning her out onto the floor, following her as she continues with the spins, pulling her back to me as the bridge begins. Maybe I could spend years with her, ruling together, growing as people, as a couple.
Because I don’t wanna stop, yeah, I just need to see if her love’s the truth or the spirit of deceit. I look up as our bodies are pressed together, our chests heaving as I take in the shadows flickering along the walls, our silhouettes casting the largest shadows along the crowd. Moving my hands to her knee and behind her shoulder, I lift her again, twirling us as the last of the lyrics fade.
“Wrap me in your skin and bones, yeah, you’re electrical. No, I don’t wanna talk, baby, give it all to me. Oh, I‘m going to lose control. There’s honey drippin’ from your teeth,” I sing to her, allowing my voice to return to its smokey, smooth pitch as I set her gently back on her feet, noting the blush staining her cheeks.
“Thank you for the dance, Violet.” I place a kiss on her hand before walking away, noting the smirk on my father’s face. He knew I would fall in love over a single dance, the bastard.