17. And for the Lady, Perhaps An Aphrodisiac #2
Torren raised his hands between them. “Honest, Lass. How was I to know you’d care? You haven’t shown much interest in our customs on the roads.”
Cypress opened her mouth to retort, but snapped her teeth shut when she noticed the rakish smile on Torren’s face, the humor in his eyes.
“You’re insufferable,” She said instead. Then she grabbed her nearly empty goblet of wine and reclined in her chair.
“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that,” Torren implored and took a long drought from his wine.
“When does the fun begin?” Cypress asked, redirecting the conversation. If this was her one chance to enjoy herself, to let loose, she didn’t want to spend it arguing with him.
“Are you not having fun yet?”
“Do you think I would have asked if that were the case?” Cypress shot back, draining the rest of her wine.
Surprisingly, she could feel the barest hint of the effects of the wine, her cheeks flushed and her body feeling loose. Normally, it would take several glasses– sometimes a small barrel–for Cypress to feel anything.
“What do you consider fun?” Torren asked, leaning on his elbow.
Cypress shrugged. “Do people dance here?”
“Do we dance?” Torren laughed, throwing his head back with it. Cypress watched the muscles of his throat work, his skin glistening. “Of course we dance, Lass!”
She stood, then, looking down at him, she said, “Show me. Human dances are boring.”
Torren slowly rose from his chair, and the silent challenge.
At his full height, their chests nearly brushed, and Cypress had to tilt her head back a bit to keep her eyes on his.
“Alright, Lass. Let's see if you can keep up,” he said and held his hand out for her to place her palm in.
“Go easy on me,” Cypress laughed and slid her palm into his.
Then, Torren led her by the hand into the center of the throne room and whirled to a stop.
He grabbed Cypress by the waist firmly, though not painfully. Torren’s hands felt like fire against her body, and made her heartbeat echo in her ears.
“Follow my lead,” Torren said, then began twirling them around the room.
The skirts of Cypress’s dress flared around her legs as she tried to match his footwork, barely able to contain the smile on her face, the joyous laughter that tumbled out of her lips.
She had no idea how he moved the pair of them so gracefully when Cypress could barely move her feet fast enough, her heart in her throat.
Cypress erupted with laughter again when Torren leaped, carrying her with him effortlessly.
Then he spun her, keeping hold of one of her arms while Cypress twirled for what seemed like an eternity.
Then, they were dancing once more, Torren’s bare chest pressed to hers, his hand on her back while the other clasped hers in a firm grip. Her skin felt like it was on fire, molten heat spreading throughout her body.
“Not bad, Lass,” He said, smiling down at her as he spun them once more with a leap.
Everyone around them seemed to know the dance that Torren led Cypress in, the room a twirling mass of skirts and bodies. Gold shimmered down from above where the smallest of the Fair Folk danced, stepping on air.
Cypress couldn’t get a full breath, her mind racing, a smile splitting her face in two. The musicians played impossibly faster, the notes of the song propelling the dance. She almost felt as if her toes barely met the ground with how effortlessly Torren led them through the steps.
And then, when she felt as if the dance couldn’t go any faster, the music swelled and Torren lept, catching Cypress in the most dramatic dip with her leg hooked around his waist, hand on the underside of her thigh when the music halted.
She couldn’t see straight, her grip around his shoulders tighter than proper, with their bodies pressed so tight together.
Eyes locked together, they shared every heaving breath until Torren blinked, sending his storm grey eyes over Cypress’s face, the line of her neck.
Where they were pressed together, Cypress felt her pulse echoing through her center. Though Torren’s tight grip around her bare thigh was what was truly driving Cypress to insanity.
Torren held her there in that low dip, looking at her through thick lashes for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them moving, just sharing breath.
Then, whatever spell the dance had placed upon Cypress was broken when the audience she’d forgotten about clapped, wine glasses tinkling with cheers of excitement echoing in the grand room.
Delicately, Cypress tried to extricate herself from the Prince’s grip, her heart still in her throat, confusion overtaking her senses.
“With some practice, you probably wouldn’t break any toes,” Torren joked when they separated, a wry smile plastered on his face.
Cypress’s mouth dropped open. “I did not break your toes!” She whispered in a shriek.
Her body, once flush and pulsing, was now like the frozen capped mountains.
Torren raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, fire igniting in her belly. “It’s no wonder you lack a companion; you have no manners,” Cypress hissed.
“Now who’s being rude?”
“You!” Cypress said, taking a step toward him. It was almost as if she had no control over her body; there was this tension rippling in her core, an undiluted heat in her thighs that hadn’t been there moments before.
“It’s okay that you don’t know how to dance, Lass,” Torren said, smirking down at her.
“Give me a sword, and I’ll show you who doesn’t know how to dance,” Cypress hissed, pressing her finger into his bare chest.
“You want my sword, Lass?” Torren asked, licking his lips.
An undignified squawk left her lips, her fist tightening in the lapels of his jacket. “You,” she growled.
“Me,” Torren said, his smile unbroken by the snarl on her lips or her tight grip on his clothes.
Cypress’s face felt hot, her chest heaving with uneven breaths. And then, something changed in Torren’s expression. Something that looked like pity. Cypress reared back as if slapped, dropping her grip on him.
“Lass, I think…” he said, giving her entire body a look.
“I don’t want to hear it, Thief,” She retorted, and spun on her heel. Where she was going, she didn’t really care; she just couldn’t keep looking at him, or else she might do something truly foolish, like smack him in front of the entire court.
Cypress supposed, though, that it was naive of her to think that she and Torren would be able to get along for any amount of time, let alone an entire dance number, without throwing insults back and forth. Still, her pride was wounded.
Taking a deep breath, Cypress straightened her spine and selected another goblet of the Pixie wine from a passing servant. Without pausing,she took a deep gulp.
The Old One could take Torren, for all she cared. Cypress would have fun without him, one way or another.
The notes of another song crested, filling the throne room with a slower, jauntier tune.
Those dancing looked as if everyone had been choreographed down to the most minute movements. Ladies would gracefully extend their necks and arms back for the dip, while the men artfully tossed them into the air or leaped over the floor with them.
At Caelith’s Keep, dancing was a relatively slow affair. Distance was maintained between bodies, hands never moving beyond shoulders.
Cypress had never seen such… revelry.
Walking through one of the large archways to a balcony, Cypress pressed the remarkably cold goblet to her forehead in an effort to cool her skin. The dance had left her with a flush, one likely not helped by the goblet of wine in her hand. It tasted sweet, but left Cypress feeling warm and fuzzy.
Several guests nodded to Cypress on her way out of the throne room, and soon enough, she was alone. Leaning against the outer balcony rail, she looked out toward the rest of the seat of the Wylds.
Even at this time of night, the entire ring was illuminated with life.
Bioluminescent creatures of every size walked and flew about the clearing.
Most gave off a bluish hue, though some glowed in a veritable rainbow of color.
Mushrooms pulsed with glowing light at the very edge of the circle, and on the steps leading into A’aravos Paravale.
The wind whispered through the leaves, flitting through the ends of her hair.
This place was gorgeous, but she couldn’t rid the heat from her skin, the undulating ferocity running rampant in her veins. Torren had well and truly riled her up, but Cypress couldn’t understand why or where this energy was coming from.
Cypress took another deep breath, savoring the cool night air, then finished her goblet of Pixie wine.
She would forget what Torren said, forget about the anger he’d inspired, and enjoy the rest of the evening. Maybe find someone who didn’t mind her clumsy footwork.
With her composure retained, Cypress moved once more into the throne room. Spotting a servant carrying a tray laden with her new favorite wine, Cypress traded her empty goblet for a full one. Then, she quietly gave her thanks before moving on.
Guests still moved in a remarkably synchronized dance, gliding around the space with absurd grace.
Cypress was determined to try the dance again, to prove to herself that Torren was wrong and she had definitely not broken any of his toes.
She couldn’t have lightly trodden on his toes more than once or twice.
Cypress pulled herself to her full height and looked around the edges of the room.
She was searching for an eligible companion for the evening. Her gaze was often met with a smile in return, though Cypress did not find what she was looking for.
There was this… heat in her veins that felt as if it were calling, echoing.
Cypress felt half-crazed, but tried to keep her composure as she wandered around the room, taking in the sights and committing everything to memory.
By the time the goblet of Pixie wine was empty, it occurred to Cypress that perhaps the last had been a mistake.