Page 23 of Claimed By Prince Daddy

I shook my head. “No. This is not an ordinary ball. It is one where all the prominent shadow fae of our court and the neighboring kingdoms will attend to celebrate our engagement. There I will have to introduce you to said guests.”

With that, I resumed walking toward the gardens; Ember hurried to join me. Her mouth hung open, her eyes roundwith disbelief. An image of a fish out of water, its mouth popping open and closed, entered my mind. I chuckled.

Ember narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m glad you find amusement in my distress,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

I smirked. “Aren’t females supposed to find balls fascinating? I thought you lived for the adoration of your subjects and the opportunity to flaunt pretty dresses.” Of course, this was all said with great amounts of sarcasm.

Ember peeled back her upper lip in a lethal smile that exposed her fangs. “I guess you don’t know me at all, then.” She said. “I cannot stand crowds and pompous assholes dying to meet me simply to garner favors.” She rolled her eyes and shuddered.

Another chuckle rumbled from my chest. We reached the twin doors that led to the gardens, and I opened one of the doors, allowing Ember to slip past. I trailed after her. She paused, waiting for me to walk beside her once more.

Crossing her arms behind her back, she hummed and looked up at the sun rising high above—the downy clouds that drifted by on the breeze. “What does one do at your balls besides what you mentioned? I cannot expect it to be the same as werewolf balls, for our customs are different.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Can’t be that different,” I countered. I listed the similarities with each finger. “Wear fancy clothes, go before royals, engage in a lot of boring talks, posturing, and empty speeches…”

Ember pressed a hand to her lips and giggled. A small snort sounded, and she clapped her hand over her mouth, her features twisted in dismay. Laughter erupted from my throat.

Ember only snorted while laughing when she found something highly amusing, and on each rare occasion, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was endearing. Cute even…

Batting at my arm, Ember growled, “Don’t laugh! It’s highly unbecoming of a lady to snort, and you’re just embarrassing me further.”

I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stifle my laughs. “Sorry,” I rasped.

A pout formed on Ember’s plump lips, and my eyes honed in on the luscious bow of her mouth. Moisture flooded my own as desire swept through me like a windswept flame. How I yearned to press my lips to hers—to thrust my tongue inside the wet heat of her mouth and show her how I would take the rest of her body if I could come inside her.

Ember’s eyes slowly widened, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of my arousal. I didn’t give a damn this time. I was too overcome with lust, bright violet light bleeding across the edges of my vision.

Shit…

My eyes were glowing, showing how close I was to saying ‘screw it’ to the reins of control I had over my body.

Ember’s chest heaved with labored breaths, her own desire wafting into the air and mingling with mine. I could scent the wet heat of her—her sex dampening, priming for my entrance. She squirmed, her thighs rubbing together. That one movement hurtled me to the edge, and I held on with just a finger over the precipice.

Back up…back the hell away from her…I growled inwardly to myself.

I was five seconds away from taking her right there in the garden, laying her down gently on the soft bed of grass—ripping at her dress’ bodice, and taking my time with her, starting with those lush breasts that called to me like a siren’s song.

Ember must have sensed how close I was to losing my shit, for she backed up and averted her gaze. “Um…,” she said, her voice breathless with want. She cleared her throat and tried again, this time her voice stronger. “I guess we’ll have to do the stuffy waltz again, too.”

I blinked forcefully, attempting to clear the lust that hazed my mind. “What?” I asked, my voice gravelly.

She shrugged a shoulder. “You know, the dance that the couples of the hour partake in at balls. Old boring ones moves with deep traditions and stemmed in history.”

I blinked again. Dread coiling inside my gut.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

I slapped a palm to my brow, running my hand down my face. “Stars damn,” I growled.

If I was this inflamed by merely looking at her full lips, how the hell would I keep from combusting dancing the Shahar with her?

“Drake?”

“It’s not a waltz,” I said slowly.

She raised a brow. I twisted my jaw. “Then what the hell is it?” She asked, folding her arms across her chest and plumping her breasts even further. I dragged my gaze to her face. It took every ounce of willpower to keep them fastened on her eyes and not her bosom peeking out at me.

I found myself squirming at the thought of explaining our dances to her. I rubbed at the nape of my neck, looking her in the eye. “It’s…,” I swallowed thickly. “It’s a more intimate dance than the waltz. We call it Shahar. Which means ‘Flow of Lovers.’”

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