#first draft.

Her fingers curled a little under the weight of her own anxiety.  The music picked up and his steps matched the tempo with practiced ease. On the farmlands, Sabina had no want nor need to dance like this -- to be pressed close to another living person. She would have blushed with the indecency of it but she knew this was Prince Nikita; he perhaps had the least decency in all of Tovjland, if she was to be honest. Though he had no charm of his own accord she could sense how much of a scoundrel he was, if only using his title as a means to win the hearts of so many pretty women. Just looking around at those hungry eyes of potential matches in the room made Sabina’s stomach turn on itself. Instead of giving into it, she heard her mother chide her to stand up straighter.

So she did. She straightened her back and listened to the tapping of her own heels in almost perfect synchronization with her partner’s own. 

The prince managed to huff out a little laugh as if he just remembered she was attached to him. “I should thank you for saving my sister.”

Sabina turned away from Nikita and looked off to see Ivanna standing there, a small smile on her face as she watched the two dance. Her blue eyes seemed to almost say something, to bid her good luck on this game that she had no real choice in playing. Sabina couldn’t help but smile at the way Ivanna moved a little to the music, her gaze travelling from Sabina and her younger brother to Svetlana, to Vasily, to the orchestra.

 Not that Sabina had any belief that Ivanna wanted her to win this competition; this was to see who was the best for the throne, after all.

And Sabina didn’t want to win. No, no. She just wanted recognition for her talents, right? So she just smiled at him, resisting the urge to blow a piece of her hair out of her eyes.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

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