Eiravyne hated admitting not knowing how to dance to him of all people, and hated the vulnerability it revealed.
The fact that she had confessed such an intimate detail gnawed at her, a stark reminder of how out of place she was in this world of opulence and power.
Ilkar began to move slowly with her, maneuvering her body gently across the ballroom floor.
Eiravyne felt awkward and out of place, her movements stiff and hesitant compared to his practiced grace.
The sensation of being guided so effortlessly felt strange, and she found herself struggling to match his steps.
Sensing her discomfort, Ilkar leaned forward, his breath warm against her ear. "You better keep your eyes on me, Eira," he murmured, his voice a blend of command and reassurance.
She lifted her gaze, meeting his piercing eyes. There was a steady intensity in them, a silent promise that he would lead and she only needed to follow.
