Page 27 of Destined for the Fae King

It started as a fun hobby. My mom was a beauty pageant queen and wanted the same for me, and you can’t win the big contests without a strong talent. The beauty pageants didn’t stick. They weren’t my thing. But the dancing did, especially after my dad died. It was my sanctuary, a place I could lose myself and forget about being sad for a little while.

I probably shouldn’t have entered so many dance contests. Trying to disappear to Faery if you have any measure of fame or notoriety in the human world? Messy and complicated. It was reason I shied away from the pageants—I already knew I wanted Faery in my future.

“You must have quite the skill then.” The remaining liquid in Vasilius’s glass swirls as he rotates his wrist in little circles.

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to fae dancers,” I say in a show of modesty. Fae are naturally graceful, and with their longer lifespans, they have plenty of time to develop way more skill than me.

“Well.” He sets down the glass. “I know a way we can find out.”

The suggestion takes a moment to slip past the bit of wine still slowing my thoughts. And in that moment, I want to test it, to see if I still have any skills and if I measure up to the fae.

“You… You want me to dance? As part of a show or something?” I ask.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an audience to offer.” He sweeps an arm wide to gesture to the area around us, where only a few guards linger nearby. “I’d like you to dance for me. Consider if more of a private performance.”

“Oh!” A flush creeps of the base of my neck. He can’t have meantthatkind of performance, but leave it to my mind to slip right into the gutter. “Here?”

He arcs a brow. “Why not?”

Dancing after a full meal isn’t ideal, but I can. My clothes aren’t half bad for it, though I’ll have to lose the shoes. A smile breaks across my face as I push up from my chair.

“Why not, indeed?” At least his attention will be on me this time rather than lost in a tale. “I’ll just need a moment to stretch.”

I slip off my shoes and walk toward the open area of the pavilion so that Vasilius will have a good view. There should be enough space for me to dance without knocking into things as long as I stick to the center of the space. No long leaps for me today.

“Of course.” Vasilius slides his chair back from the table and angles it to face me. The look on his face is pure indulgence dripping with intrigue, and gosh, I hope I don’t make a fool of myself. “Please, take your time.”

Moments pass filled only by the whisper of breeze across the dunes and the heavy press of Vasilius’s regard as I move through a series of stretches. Somehow, the idea of dancing before a packed crowd feels infinitely more appealing that this solo performance for an audience of one—or a handful if I count the guards, though their attention isn’t quite so distracting as their king’s.

“Okay.” The one word sounds entirely too loud as I clasp my arms behind me in one final stretch. “A solo performance for you, my king.”

The use of his title has Vasilius’s grin stretching wider. That’s the last thing I notice before I force my focus inward and let my gaze rest on everything and nothing at once. A full orchestra begins to play in my head, the song just as moving as the last time I performed to it a few years ago. And then I’m moving, lettingmuscle memory lead me in a series of flowing steps, my toes pointed, my arms stretched out to the tips of my fingers.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my mother, but I wouldn’t call it quality time. Usually, she was busy hustling me and my brothers to school, dance lessons, a pageant, the boys’ sports matches, or some other appointment. When she wasn’t on the move out and about, she was on the move at home, convinced that the house was never quite clean enough or decorated as well as it should be. There was always something to do, a necessary task to make the house as immaculate as she could, probably to make it appear like we were better off than we were. We were never poor. Not by most people’s standards. But it always felt like she was trying to measure up to prove worthy of being part of a gifted family. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she could truly fit in among the likes of Uncle Matias and Aunt Dalia with their wealth and high-society airs

Despite Mother’s need for perfection in everything and her drive toward that, there was one thing she made time for that we both enjoyed:Dancing with the Stars. We never missed an episode. It was a ritual in our house, almost a religion. Looking back, it’s obvious why I picked dancing as my talent and threw myself into the lessons. I was always impressed with how the best performers seemed oblivious to the millions watching or the way the pros managed to move with such power and finesse.

I try to imitate that now, keeping my chin high and my expression carefully neutral. I feel the beat of the movement in my memories and let it push me along, throwing myself into the movements, keeping them crisp and powerful. After a minute, I can almost forget where I am and who I’m performing for. I’m not in some gazebo dancing for a fae king whose hand I’m desperately trying to win. I’m alone in my parent’s basement with its too-brightlighting and slight musty scent as I twirl across the laminate floor, listening to the music play on my phone where it lays on an old wooden chair. I remain there for the rest of the song, the railing of the gazebo, the table, and my audience of one a hazy presence beyond the one I’ve constructed in my mind.

The music draws near its end. I’m on my knees, head curled down, when the final note blares and I reach up for the sky, my body stretched up as far as I can from the anchor of my knees. I hold the pose, breathing heavily.

A loud, slow clap jerks me back to the moment, the scene and song vanishing almost completely from my mind as I turn my head just slightly to see Vasilius rise to his feet as he continues his applause.

Finally breaking form, I push wayward hairs out of my face and rise before giving him a sweeping, dramatic bow.

“Very good.” His deep voice makes me acutely aware of the sweat now dotting my neck and chest. “It was quite powerful. I could feel the emotion of it even without any music. Very well done indeed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” My chest swells with pride at his admiration. And it’s not false praise. It can’t be given, that fae cannot outright lie. If my performance had been horrible, he wouldn’t be able to claim it otherwise.

Vasilius holds out a hand to me, and I cross the space between us and take it. Strong fingers curl around mine before he draws it to his lips and places a kiss upon its back. That act, his warm lips on my skin, sends a jolt straight to my heart that slides downward, settling low in my abdomen.

“I may have to arrange a show after all,” he says. “Perhaps you’d enjoy performing with some of my dancers?”

“I’m not sure you’d find my skills so appealing then.” I lower my eyes. Side by side with the fae? There’s no way I’d be seen as anything but clumsy and awkward, especially since I’m sure we’d be using their music.

A soft laugh fills the air between us as he lets go of my hand. “Give me some credit, Mira. I believe I am a decent judge of skill. Besides, I wouldn’t want to see any of my potential brides, or any of our human guests, shamed before the court. What good could come of it?”

He has a point there. “Maybe some time,” I concede. “If you think you would enjoy it.”

---