My shoes clack elegantly onto the perfectly polished marble floor as I step out onto it.
On the other side of the ballroom, I can see Prince Rogers do the same.
I grit my teeth.
The orchestra blares off to the side with trumpets and strings and drums, treating the event more like a party than it really is.
His black suit would blend in with the crowd if it weren’t for his golden blond hair. The audacity.
I slip through the ocean of drunken men and women to the bar. The bartender is too preoccupied to notice me.
He slithers over and sits a couple of chairs away from me. I roll my eyes.
“Care to dance?” He side glances me.
“Not with you,” I say. The music swells and makes the offer seem more tempting than I would have liked.
“Oh, come on, they’re too wasted to even recognize you.”
“What do you want?” I ask as he slides a little closer.
“What gives you the idea I have any sort of ulterior motives, My Dear?”
“You just called me My Dear.”
He just chuckles and grabs me by the waist, pulling me closer to the center of the room.
We easily slide into a waltz, his hand in mine. Our black and white suits contrast each other. He smirks and I feel the intense urge to sock him square in the nose. But that would cause a scene, and I’ve seen enough embarrassment tonight to last a lifetime.
The punch will have to find his face another day.
A new song begins, and we quickly find our footing, fixing our pace to match it.
Speaking of footing, I make it a point to step on his boot. He winces only slightly and I plaster an innocent smile to my face. He pulls me closer and the height difference becomes more apparent. He’s almost inhumanly tall, at least compared to me (who’s almost inhumanly short).
As the tempo speeds up, he, in turn, dips me down gently. So gently, I almost feel bad for ruining his shoe, until I get another look at his smug face. Maybe he should wear more makeup. Then, at least, women might find him more appealing than I do.
Then again, it’s not like the opinion of a nobleman like myself should matter to a prince. It’s almost laughable, how entitled I think I am to this man’s attention.
Him and I have gotten quite close, almost intimately so. If it weren’t for my exquisite wit, we might have even brushed noses.
“So, Your Prestige, why have you invited me to dance this fine evening?”
He pulls my hand up and places a kiss to my knuckles. “Why, only to see your gorgeousness up close,”
I furrow my eyebrows, what on Earth was this man after? He seems to find it amusing. Through a false smile and a dip of my head, I somehow manage, “Surely, any of the women at this ball would be more enticing than the son of a general?”
“Surely, you’re not denying a dance with the prince?” He smiles, salt in his words as he speaks.
“I would rather nothing in the world than waltz with you, Your Highness,” My back is pushed against someone I didn’t recognize, and I see that everyone is pushing closer together. Just marvelous.
As I expected, the two of us were forced chest-to-chest against each other. My chin fit perfectly in the crook of his shoulder. He smelled like honey.
Like I care. I step on his foot again to make sure he knows I wish only pain and suffering upon him and his brother, the slimy cowards.
He tightens his grip on my waist past my liking. I squeeze his hand to a painful extent. He recoils.
I hate him and he hates me. Two men, destined to haunt each other for eternity.