I tried to speak to fill the silence between us as we danced in perfect sequence, but all words escaped me. What could I possibly say that would make me seem poignant, confident, endearing, and above all else, in any way charming? As much as I was immersed in her company, a part of me hoped that she would step away from this dance without a single opinion of me. I'd rather have no acknowledgement than the acknowledgement that I was a fool.

"You're shaking." She observed aloud.

Panic struck me. No matter what I did then, I could not hide the fact anymore that I was a complete coward - an embarrassment to my father's name. Quick, I thought, say something to take her mind from it. Make yourself appear calm and collected, intelligent and witty.

"Oh. That's strange."

Let me die.

"Don't worry," the woman said, her voice like calm waves, "I'm nervous too."

While half of me remained cringing, the other half was somewhat relaxed by her reassurance. I stayed quiet, afraid of saying something stupider, but the silence grew longer and so did my discomfort. The woman continued,

"I'm not used to being around so many people."

With those words, it was as though she had stopped time.

"Me neither." I chuckled nervously, my face hibiscus red.

"A Prince of Mendessa? Unused to company?" She pondered over the thought. Panic struck again - did she think I was lying?

We turned in unison, stopping where our hands touched. From there, we circled each other, legs outstretched and feet pointed like vultures circling a feast. The music was slow, strangely sensual, as we circled, face to face, though hers was still an anonymous blur. The strings livened for a split second - preparing us for what was yet to come.

"I lived a sheltered life." I admitted almost too comfortably. As we stopped in place, she responded.

"As did I."

The tempo was changing, and we both knew what was next. The Dance of the Feathered Serpent - a dance that persisted since before even my grandfather's time. One person would play the part of the feathered serpent, sly yet insatiable for the kill. The other would play the prey, agile and alluring. The dance was a dynamic display of movement, often ending in the feathered serpent "capturing" their prey with...

Oh no. I forgot about that part.

The feathered serpent would end the dance capturing their prey with a kiss.

I didn't have much time to decide. On one hand, I could be the prey, at the mercy of this woman. It seemed she was more fit to lead than I was, and besides, the role of something meek and exposed reflected exactly what I was feeling in that moment.

A thousand eyes stared at me. My parents stared at me.

But if I was to be the feathered serpent, I wouldn't risk revealing myself as a pushover. I could play the part that all of these people expect of me, most of all my father. However, if I was to fail in my portrayal, it would risk lifelong embarrassment.

The music swelled to a crescendo of fast and intricate strums.

It seemed that both of us had opted for the feathered serpent.

The rhythm bounced of the walls as my heels tapped against marble, circling one way why she circled the other. Her glass shoes clattered wildly, every step somehow elegant enough to stop the glass from breaking. We opened out our arms and turned, a battle of equals playing out on the ballroom floor in front of everyone. Fully engaged, I refused to stop and look for my father, lest his expression would nerve me back into the state of the dance's prey.

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At the blare of a trumpet, we clashed into one another, our arms and hands high above us straining before lowering into an outside right position. I thought to take this opportunity to take the lead, but before I knew it, her breath was meeting mine and she unravelled herself from my arm in a series of twists. Her free arm wriggled like a smooth wave and I sought to move mine in a similar way.

A drum-like beat followed us; ongoing applause. We used it. We paced around the enlarging space we were being given, stopping each other at every turn to pose or drop or hold one another. It was fast and invigorating - the way our hands would touch so naturally yet forcefully to spin each other. As she turned again and again, seemingly unable to get dizzy, her hiked-up dress appeared like the dangerous but phenomenal whirlpools I'd read about, finally stopping once again as I grabbed her waist and outstretched hand, lunging us eastward with a perfectly-synchronised clang of our shoes hitting the ground.

For a moment, everybody around us disappeared, and in looking at the anonymous face of my dance partner, I realised that, for the first time that night, I was smiling and meant it.

I almost forgot about what was soon to come.

Our arms and legs wrapped and tangled like two battling serpents as we continued to fight over the role of the beast, neither one of us wanting to back down.

The more I led her to the left, the more she swayed me to the right. It was a nimble display of control yet chaos as we made our way from the centre at last, losing ourselves in the hundreds prompted to join in with partners of their own. From there, we held our our hands and strided to the end of the room, conveniently where doors to the courtyard had been left unguarded.

Wriggling our way out, the dance softened away. The alluring battle for power under the heat of the torches now cooled along with the night's wind.

We caught our breath, laughing at the sky with joy. For the longest time, neither of us even noticed that we were still holding hands. Once I realised, my body froze up a little, but then the realisation of how comforting her soft hand was made me thaw out completely; even melt a little.

"We escaped before the kiss." She breathed.

"I hope that doesn't offend you." My other hand was hesitant to lay itself on top of hers.

"Not at all," she patted down her dress with her free hand, refusing to let go of mine. That alone was enough to make me feel like I was made of mush. "In truth, I've never...." She stopped herself. "Nevermind."

I don't know what compelled me to admit such an unexpected thing from a Prince of Mendessa, but I felt no regret in saying it.

"I have never kissed anyone either."

The woman thought for a moment. She blushed and her blurry gaze left mine, staring up at the colossal walls blocking out most of the otherwise beautiful night sky.

"You said you had a sheltered upbringing. In such a large palace... It must have been lonely."

I sighed. All the days I'd spent aimlessly walking the hallways flooded back. All the days spent daydreaming out of the library window. All of that time resigned to my quarters, guarded in by all-seeing eyes. All those times, there were windows taunting me about what lied beyond - a glass barrier between me and the world.

A glass barrier between me and this wonderful young woman, even if I didn't know it at the time.

"It was." I lamented, "I had my tutor and my parents, and I had everything a boy could desire, but..."

"You weren't free?"

She took the words right out of my mouth.

I shook my head in response.

"And you?"

We waded towards the fountain at the centre and sat ourselves down. It was then that her hand left mine, and a slight longing sadness swept over me. She gestured to the balcony above - the balcony where I had been that night when worries of marriage were overwhelming me. How distant that now felt.

"I never lived in a home as grand as this," she breathed with wonder, "but my father's home was all I had. It was all that remained of him, other than cherished memories. I could go into the kitchen and remember him singing terribly with my mother as she cooked, or stay in the garden and think about the times he taught me the names of all the flowers and the insects. I may miss him, but his love is always there."

She fell silent for a moment. To console her, I touched her shoulder without a second thought. Instead of stiffening from the sudden touch, she softened, breathing deeply.

"I wish things had stayed the way they were sometimes."

I understood what she meant, although I could never fathom the loss.

"He sounds like a great man."

She nodded.

And then…

Then…

Her head rested on my shoulder.

I hoped deeply that she wouldn't notice how fast she had made my heart beat in doing that.

I wrapped my arm around her, and her skin was cool and smooth like pure marble. The water behind us trickled, and I thought of that one place we would someday see together.

"Lately, though, it seems my home doesn't feel like a home anymore. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it makes sense!" I said perhaps too enthusiastically. "Do you see that window on the third floor?" I pointed.

"Yes?" She nodded, considering the bars wrapped over it.

"It used to be a beautiful window of frosted glass made to look like palm trees. I opened it about ten years ago and threw out a rope of tied up bedsheets." I laughed at the ridiculous memory of myself. "I was practising an escape plan. I got caught. Obviously."

The girl couldn't contain her laughter. For once, I didn't mind being laughed at.

"And then my father had them bar up the window." My smile fell a little. "My bedroom window."

She shook her head at the rusting bars in disbelief.

"I never tried again after that." I added.

I couldn't believe how much of myself I was opening to her judgement. But she didn't seem to judge. She was still and receptive, curious as to what I was to say next. My lungs filled with anticipation.

"May I show you something?"