AYLETH
They circled each other on the dancefloor countless times, Ayleth struggling to concentrate on the conversation of the lords and Heirs who held her tightly because she was working so hard not to look at Etan—or the women he was touching and smiling at and… But she could feel him, sense where he passed, as if she were a compass, and he was north.
Her skin prickled every time his eyes fell on her, as if his fingers had traced her nape, or his breath was in her hair.
Then, during one waltz, they passed within inches of each other and she felt it like a stroke up her spine. She shivered, and her breath quickened until she threatened to burst out of the top of her dress. She was forced to snap at the Heir whose arms she was in, and whose name she couldn't remember, because he kept staring at her chest.
