Cyrus' POV.
Nila.
She was a vision that had ensnared his senses from the moment she entered the room. The purple gown hugged her in a way that both respected and celebrated her curves, its silky fabric cascading to the floor in waves that seemed to ripple as she moved.
The colour suited her so much. Her curls moved and framed her face prettily, her eyes, deep pools of mystery, moved across the room, landing momentarily on him before looking away.
Cyrus's chest tightened. There was something about the way she stood, so regal yet so achingly out of reach, that made his heart pound. The memory of their time in the carriage surged within him, the heat of her skin under his touch, the breathless sound of his name on her lips.
It physically and mentally shook him, the way his name spilt out of her pretty lips like honey.
