The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 49: Laelia - Desire

"Dear friends, it is an honour to welcome you at this feast! This is the first gathering in many years with so many elves and humans together. We are indebted to your hospitality, Prince Pa'Drig. Thank you for allowing us to host our Recruitment in your fine city. We are honoured to welcome our Lord Protector at the festivities."

The hall bustles with excitement. Pa'Drig gives an interesting enough speech, and then announces the commencement of the festivities. Throughout the speech I feel eyes burning into me, but whenever I look towards the source, Khairrim Cadeyrn glances in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to get us something to drink," Aedan whispers, but I barely hear him.

My eyes have once again locked with the eyes of the Second One, and this time I can't help but be drowned. He starts to make his way towards me without ever breaking eye contact. His golden curls are slightly damp, as if he swam in the ocean just prior to coming here.

My heart beats faster with every step he takes towards me. He is clean-shaven. Somehow, I know that I won't like it if a beard obscures his strong jaw - clenched, as if he is fighting an inner demon for control. Miraculously my heart doesn't hammer out of my chest when he stops just a pace from me. The silence stretches on.

I try to pry into his soul while drowning in the hurricane of unfamiliar emotions raging against each other in his azure eyes. A shiver runs down my spine as he looks into my being - my emotions hopefully hidden behind my feathered mask.

A slight smile reaches the corner of his mouth, but it is immediately replaced by a harsh, set look. "You aren't dressed in white," he says without a hint of accusation in his voice, yet the stony look he gives me makes me cringe.

"Everyone else is."

I study him silently. He is also dressed in white. His clothes aren't outrageously expensive. They are of quality, but definitely worth less than Faolan's clothes. Unlike us, he has no cultural obligation to wear white , but he chose to wear the same clothes as those who serve him.

A slight smile breaks through the stone, but it quickly withers as he continues to drown me. I wish I knew what else to tell him, but my mind is as white as the clothes he is wearing. Suddenly I can't handle the suffocating intensity of his stare. So, of course I do what I am good at: I walk away and mix with the crowd.

Aedan finds me some time later with a drink: "Where did you disappear to? I told you to wait there for me. "

"Sorry, I was trying to escape an inevitable conversation." The relief from the enchantment of a golden-haired man is short-lived as my gaze continues to wander towards him.

"Would you care for a dance, Princess?"

"I don't care much for dancing." The astonishment he exhibits is mirrored by my own. Where does that passive aggressiveness stem from?

He touches the small of my back and steers me to the dancefloor. "I care for dancing. I think that apart from being a socially binding factor it can actually be quite enjoyable - if you have the right partner. Darkwood, just relax and allow me to take control and steer you."

I honestly don't know what to say to his arrogance.

"I don't care for the elves' dancing too much. It is dead. I like the more lively dances of humans more, like the music that is playing." As if in response to his praise, the flutes and drums flare up, giving chase to an exotic melody. He takes my hand and spins me twice then pulls me in close to his body. "Princess, don't resist. Let me lead and do the work for you."

A hundred replies, all supressed by the knowledge that I cannot make a scene and disgrace the fine families of Darkwood and Elderlight, whirl in my head. Instead of voicing them, and to distract me from his muscles so close to mine, I focus on the other occupants of the dance floor.