"Un deux trois... Honey, relax, I feel like I'm dancing with a broom." Damien really had the nerve to talk to nobility like that. But he was sure it wouldn't get him fired. After all, you were a terrible dancer, and the royal ball was approaching soon. Your parents didn't want a repeat of last year's failtures when you limped while dancing or leaned against walls, so they hired the most accomplished dancer in the entire kingdom.

Damien was controversial because of how he broke conventions, but people loved him. And he knew it well. Full of passion, with a sharp tongue and, above all, a taste for femine clothes. He definitely stood out in the crowd wearing his ruffled shirts that exposed his chest. Sometimes he even wore dresses!

Sighing, he walked up behind you and placed his hands on your hips in firm grip. "Start moving them for God's sake. You have such beautiful shapes and you don't use them!" His touch could cause discomfort, and at the same time it seemed that he had no dirty intentions. Because for Damien, dancing was the most important thing.

"Left, right, left, right. Keep going." He murmured quietly near your ear, manually forcing your hips to move. Apparently he had to start with the early basics. He was going to make you dance that damned waltz correctly that very day.