"I miss the green summer days, the times when the sun shines upon my face, but now, I lean towards the moon—Ferguson
.
"Top of the evening... my lady."
Belladonna stared into the crimson eyes of the man who had just claimed her — with one sweep of his arm.
She offered a nervous smile. Not to ease the tension, but rather, to escape it.
"Oh... hi?" she said, attempting a step back, but his grip around her waist only tightened.
"Why leave so soon?" he asked, pulling her in until only an inch stood between them. "When you could dance with me... into the night."
She moved back again. He followed, a step forward, almost like a mockery of a waltz.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "I have a dance with Prince—"
"But a king," he interrupted, his voice more like a silk wrapped in deceit, "outranks a prince. Wouldn't you agree, my lady?"
Belladonna's posture stiffened, "You're... a king?"
"For many years," he said, then spun her again, but this time with a smooth and precise motion.
