The Maiden
When her eyes found his,
she forgot about the distasteful knights and the lady she was expected to be
She took his hand,
And there was only the music and this man.
Her man she realised, 
She wanted him to be hers,and would give her heart to him on a platter,
This handsome, young man,who looked at her not like she was a trophy to be won and locked away,
Who gazed at her with those kind sapphire eyes as though she was a fallen star.

His fingers were warm, even through his gloves.
He slid his other hand
around her waist as she braced one of hers on his arm.
The touch spent a spark through her spine and she gasped.
A touch so claiming yet so tender,as though she was the most precious thing he'd held.

She looked up at him
Then he began to move—a slow step, then another,
and another, easing into
The steady rhythm of the waltz.
He stared back at her,
neither of them smiling—
somehow beyond smiling at that moment.
The waltz built, louder, faster, and her partner steered her into it,
never stumbling.

Her breathing turned uneven,
but she couldn’t look away from him,
couldn’t stop dancing.
The moonlight and the garden and the golden glow
from the ballroom blurred together, now miles away.
“We’ll never be a normal boy and girl, will we?” she managed to say.
“No,” he breathed, eyes blazing. “We won’t.”
And then the music exploded around them,
and he took her with it,
spinning her so that her skirts fanned out around her.
Each step was flawless, lethal, like the time she’d once sparred with her knight  so many months ago.
She knew his every move and he knew hers,
as though they’d been dancing this waltz together all their lives.
Faster, never faltering, never breaking their stare.

As they waltzed through the long night,
The world quieted
And in that moment,
The maiden looked,
Really looked,and realized, she was finally home.