#se stuff

Amissa stared down the idiots that had decided to interrupt the royal ball. 

The Kingsglaive was right here? Why would they be so stupid? 

Amissa scanned over the fools that were pouring into the ballroom, and glanced over at her mate. This was supposed to be a chance for them to relax. They had been invited to enjoy the ball this time, instead of watch duty.

Still…

She grinned at her mate, who was watching her steadily. 

“Wanna Dance?”

She could see the words ripple through her Kingsglaive, the little pack exchanging excited glances, as they ushered the royal family closer to the center of their arrangement, the others pushing civilian nobles and such out of the ballroom all together. 

Cor didn’t smile, but his eyes lit up and he dipped his head.

Amissa smiled herself, beginning a low toned humming, stomping a foot, and clapping as she started the beat for one of Galahd’s traditional  dances. The Kingsglaive picked it up immediately, and as soon as they had continued the song, Amissa stepping into the center of the ring her pack had formed around the intruders. 

Her red dress was cut for ease of movement, no matter how dressy it appeared to be, and she didn’t struggle as she twirled into a high kick that slammed the bone of a man into his brain, killing him without pause. 

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Cor didn’t move for a moment, absorbing the image of his mate, spinning among bloodshed, a living flame trapped in human form. She was beautiful and he loved her more than life itself.

Somehow, Amissa was twirling in such a way any blood splatter missed her skin and dress, while complimenting her dance. 

And she was dancing, for all that people were dying under her hands or feet as she passed them.

Cor knew this dance too. 

His heart felt full as she stepped into the circle, trusting his wife’s pack to watch over the royal family, and listening to the deep drumming beat of the traditional dance of Amissa’s home, and timing it just in time to catch his mate as she arched her back, and dip her, spinning to miss a lunge. 

Cor lifted her effortlessly, tossing her upwards, her form spinning, and the dress flaring around her legs like a fire lily, even as he dropped his body low, lashing out with a foot and spinning tightly, to trip the man that had tried to attack them. He stood, and stepped down with his weight, crushing his windpipe, even as he caught his wife, her own momentum and weight adding to the pressure on the enemy’s throat. 

He stopped moving, and Cor stepped down, pressing a kiss to his mate’s lips, smiling against them, even as he spun her into the next crowd of attackers, and stepped back to meet his own.

They moved like a well oiled machine, sliding between enemies, leaving dead in their wake, and matching the steps to the dance his mate had taught him- the first traditional dance Cor had learned from his wife.

By the time the music stopped- low baritones from the Kingsglaive, stomping feet, and clapping hands- the invaders are dead.