Isla
“Would you like to dance?” the king had asked me.
I’d looked from his intoxicating eyes to his outstretched hand, and my first thoughts had been of my two left feed.
Even back home, when I was dancing at school dances with boys of little consequence, I was the most ungraceful person in the building.
He is a king and has likely danced with all sorts of beautiful, graceful women over the years.
I would make a fool of myself!
So I said, “No.”
I see his face falter slightly and inhale deeply, wishing I had the words to explain.
“I, uh… don’t know how,” I stammer.
“Oh,” he says, grinning at me. “I see. Well, that’s no problem, Isla.”
I love the way my name sounds when it rings from his lips. Like I am an unexplored territory in paradise….
“It isn’t a problem?” I ask him, feeling
