The flashing lights in the extravagant palace in Poromiel are nothing but a heightening of the pressed up bodies on the dance floor before you. Champagne flute in hand, because you were far classier than just white wine darling, as you eye a certain man from he safety of your sanctuary in the shadows.

He respectfully danced. With. Her. Catriona Cordella. Cat. Niece of Viscount Tecarus, or Poromiel. His hand holds her waist, while the other calloused hand holds her own, moving her arm to twirl her occasionally. She wore a yellow dress. Eurgh. Xaden didn’t like yellow. It burned beneath your eyes, the jealousy. She was physically gorgeous, flawless even. No nicks or scars, just seamless.

Un-fucking-fair.

You wore that short skirt, the one that fit you like skin. The champagne tasted a little more bitter tonight, and the alcohol wasn’t enough to dull the aggressive cocktail of anger, jealousy and lust.

Cat kisses him, and he doesn’t reciprocate. Hmph. She says something, grinning and walks away. He runs a hand through the inky waves of hair, looking around the dance floor. I look away the split second he looks at me. Pure satisfaction rolled through me in thick, heavy waves. You scoff silently and raise your glass as you shake your head. “I’ll tell you one thing, I can tell when somebody still wants me.” You murmur quietly, because he did. That one glance said everything.

He stood at the bar, was something funny? Probably. You knew he’d come over. Because you knew him. Whether you would’ve been his wife or, are going back to Basgiath and trash his room, you hadn’t decided yet. But you’re gonna get him back.

Whether you’d curse him out or, pull him into an empty room, you’d hadn’t decided yet, but you’re gonna get him back. You feel the begging of his eyes for you to look at him. He was a mess, but he’d hide it. He was never not yours, the same way you were never not his.

You look away, ‘innocently’ as he walks over. “I didn’t know you were coming.”