Royal Scars

Part 12

Clara Delacroix

"There are a lot of dances to learn, but we will learn the basic ones to get you through tomorrow night," Elizabeth begins my lesson, "it would be better to have your partner here, but Mrs. Beaumont has a prior engagement."

I nod, thankful that he wasn't present. After Bishop's admission to not liking him, I was uneasy spending the whole night with him tomorrow. And with Asher back, and things returning back to where we left off, I wasn't interested in dancing with Alexander.

"Arms up!" Elizabeth shouts from her chair across the ballroom, "you will make a box with your steps."

I fumble forward, my legs crossing when they should've been gliding effortlessly.

"Never cross your legs, side-step them, imagine you are as light as a feather."

I continue making boxes around the room. I could see a few maids had stopped in the hallway to watch, my head forced to look down at my stumbling feet.

"And spin!"

One foot stepped forward, the other crashing into the back of it as I fall to the floor.

"Tu n'as pas de grace (you have no grace)," Elizabeth mutters. "Head up, Clara, see where you are going."

I roll my eyes behind her back as I stand. If I can't stare at my feet and dance, surely looking up wouldn't help either. I begin at the top of my imaginary box, making the movement before twirling out. I remain standing this time, my arms spread wide to balance myself.

"Again, mon enfant."

Elizabeth had given up on me hours ago. I even missed supper to practice, but it didn't seem to help. The steps ran through my head as I sat on the stairs leading to the throne in the ballroom. I could count them out in my head, but my seemed to be disconnected from my brain. I roll up my sleeve, noticing a faint bruise forming on my elbow.

"Clara."

I glance up to see Asher, shutting the doors behind him. He looks worries as he scans me over, "what are you doing here this late?"

"Practicing," I stand to meet him in the middle. "Elizabeth wasn't impressed, she kept mumbling "at least she is beautiful" in French." Asher smirks. "I was hoping she was giving up on me, but I don't think so."

Asher grabs my hand, the other resting on my hip, "show me what you learned."

"I don't think this is a good idea--"

"Clara," he says sternly, "stop thinking and lead."

I frown, taking a deep breath and pulling Asher along. I wince every time I step on his toes, but he only smiled. The moon light began to wash through the grand windows on the one side of the ballroom. We had to have been dancing for hours before Asher pulls me closer, our bodies swaying slowly.

"How does it feel now?" he asks softly.

"Like maybe I need a new tutor," I smirk, my hand falls from his shoulder, resting above his pounding heart, "how did you learn to dance?"

Asher's face darkens for a moment, before bringing me even closer, "my mother taught me. Princes and princesses are taught at a young age to dance, as we are required to attend almost every ball and gathering at kingdoms."

"What are they like?" I couldn't remember King George ever having a ball. He had guests stay, but there was no dances or gatherings.

Asher shrugs, continuing to lead us in a wide circle around the room, "I would be happier to miss them altogether if I could. Lots of people, dancing, and music. Mainly the people are the most dreadful part."

"Will you be at the ball tomorrow night?"

We slow to a stop near the windows, Asher's eyes darkening, that familiar heated look washing over him, "I will be there."

My hand pulls on his button-down shirt, watching him lean down until our lips are inches apart.

"Tell me what you want, Clara."

Heat burns inside of me at the sound of my name through the thick desire of his voice. "Kiss me."

He doesn't hesitate, capturing my lips against his. My fingers dig into his longer hair, his body twisting so my back is pressed against the cool window. He kisses my neck, nipping my earlobe, "I couldn't stop thinking of you while we traveled here," he whispers.

I moan, as he bites me shoulder, licking it afterwards soothingly.

"I never want to leave you alone, Clara," he says.

I feel his hands bunch my dress around my waist. He picks me up, using the wall beside the window to support me as his lips kiss along the edge of my corset.

"Asher," I whisper, trying to control the heat that burned with every kiss, "someone could enter--"

His eyes meet mine, his lips parted and slightly swollen. He looked perfect. He'd shaven as well, his jaw showing a shadow of growth. I run my hand from his hair to his face, drawing our foreheads together.

"Do you trust me?" his eyes swirled with more than just desire and heat, a sadness behind them as he waited for me to respond.

"I trust you." And I did. He might be the only one besides Mary that I trusted.

He lifts me up higher. I help him with my dress, pulling it up in the middle before I feel it against me. That hard, warm flesh that made my stomach twist with excitement. He kisses me again, biting down on my lower lip as he pushes in. I bite down on the shoulder of his shirt, muffling the whimpers as he continues forward.

"Fuck," he whispers between us, his one free hand skillfully untying my corset, my breasts spilling over top. He cups them, squeezing them in rhythm with his thrusts.

I could barely keep my eyes open, unable to focus on anything other than Asher's hands and him inside of me. Mary had taught me when I was young about sex. She was more afraid the king would try and turn me into one of his mistresses. She had left out this part though, the part where you no longer had control of your body. That Asher was taking over, he controlled my body, my heart, and when it was time for us to be done. His hand left my breast, his movements becoming erratic as his hand pressed against the area that I'd rarely touched myself. In matter of seconds my blurry vision went completely blank, not a single thought running through my head as we barely stayed upright against the wall. Our bodies shaking, grabbing on to each other to ride out the waves of pleasure.

Asher's the first to speak, his hands lowering me slowly back to my feet, "you are brilliant," he mumbles into my hair, his breath still coming out short and fast.

I don't respond, I can't respond. I was trying to find the pieces of myself to put back together to make it back to my room without falling. This is the part that Mary should have told me about.

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