Page 3 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
Below, the musicians began. A lone cello at first, joined by violins, a double bass, drums, and more as the sound grew.
I kept my lashes low and hinted at a smile before tipping from the hoop. Another gasp, harder this time as I fell for a fleeting second.
One leg extended, back arched, I caught myself and held the pose as the hoop spun slowly.
The music rose and swept. I was part of it, a creature of rhythm and movement. My pulse was its tempo. The rush of my blood was its hymn.
Through the hoop, under it, over it, holding by hand, elbow, the crook of my knee, and for one move, just the nape of my neck. I pushed harder into every single move than I ever had before. I needed the prince to believe this performance, to be captivated by it—to be captivated byme.
I’d heard swallows spent their life on the wing. My performance was like that. Not once did my feet touch the floor as I spun, sometimes fast, sometimes achingly slow, letting my audience get a good view of my body posed for their pleasure.
My sister used to say it was the closest thing to flight. As she’d danced in the air like this, she’d worn a look of pure joy—eyes bright, teeth beaming in a wide smile.
I felt none of that. Not tonight, and not any other night.
But I held her face in my mind, or at least its fragile memory, as my gaze flicked back to the prince upon his throne.
The low light caught on the edge of a straight nose, the curve of a smirk, the glint of an eye.
I didn’t believe in the gods anymore. If I did, I might’ve asked them to make sure that eye was on me.
But of course it was.
That was why I’d blistered and bled on this hoop, that was why my muscles sang through each move, a sweet burn as I pushed harder and harder. It was all for this.
For him.
Forher.
Tonight, she would be avenged.
* * *
At last,my performance reached its crescendo, and I spun with dizzying speed, held in the hoop by my legs spread in the splits.
Less inhibited than humans, fae loved that pose, and I always caught many of them staring openly between my thighs.
I didn’t say performance was asubtleseduction.
I let my hoop slow as the music faded and the lads on the weights lowered me. With a flip, I landed and took a bow to rapturous applause.
Back arched, tits and arse sticking out, I turned to each side of the stage, keenly aware it washimI stood before.
He sat back, one ankle crossed over his knee, but I felt his attention. It was a weight, a subtle pressure in the air. If I’d been alone, it might’ve been a tickle at the back of my neck that said danger.
And thiswasdangerous—his claws or fangs could rip out my throat—but it was a danger I welcomed. One I sought.
At last, I turned my full attention to him and gave one final bow. Just on the edge of the light, his clawed fingers tightened on the arm of his throne.
Perfect.
The lights winked out.
In the darkness, I hurried to the wings. “You were mesmerising, Zita,” the eldest of the Lightning Siblings said, her eyes round and glinting in the low light. “What’s got into you? I think that was your best performance yet.”
“Thanks. Gotta do something special for my swan song.” I peeked out through a gap in the curtain, ignoring her confused sound.
The house lights went up. From this angle, I couldn’t see the prince’s face, only his body on its stupid throne. It was a large body, broad-shouldered, thick with muscle. His shirt hung open like he was proud of it.
