Before you break away from his gaze, you see the prince’s eyes widen. A gasp escapes you as you stumble into your scant hiding place. Please don’t follow. Please don’t follow!
“Excuse me, m’lady.”
No!
“Y-Yes?” Your mouth mumbles as you freeze like a deer in headlights. Keeping your head down, you stare at the prince’s long pantlegs and impeccably shined shoes coming to a stop before you. Automatically, you dip into a deep curtsy. “Your Highness!”
When he speaks again, his warm voice contains a hint of amusement. “I believe you left something.” His white-gloved hand comes into view, presenting one of your gold slippers.
What? When did… You suddenly realize that, in your rush, you had left it behind. Glancing ruefully at where your toes poke out from beneath your skirt, you reply, “Um, thank you, y-your Highness.”
To your utter mortification, the prince kneels before you, both to assist you in reclaiming your footwear and to force you to look him in the face again. His grin is mischievous but kind, charming. You feel your heart flutter. Ugh.
Against your will, your foot lifts and slips effortlessly into the heel. For a second, both of you look down at the image, your tiny foot nestled like a bird in his gentle grasp. How did you even walk on those things!? Then, the moment passes, and he releases you. When he stands back up, your eyes remain on his masculine visage until you have to tilt your chin up to maintain the connection. There you two wait, staring openly. For the first time, the prince hesitates, obviously nervous now that his convenient excuse for this encounter has vanished.
Any hopes that he would return to his place on the dais shatters when music from somewhere overhead, one of the balconies probably, drifts down in a lilting waltz. Instantly, the prince seizes his opportunity and offers his hand. “Now that I have done you this favor, would you in return favor me with this dance?”
Not on your life! Despite your inner attempt at a rejection, your treacherous body responds, heating up and sending the clichéd butterflies in your stomach aflutter. “Of course, your Highness.”
So, without further ado, he takes your hand and sweeps you off into a glorious, fairy tale nightmare.