“I meant whether you knew her name,” Endymion chided, because I can guess was not in the least helpful to him. Oz was always the worst person to interrogate when one wanted something particular – and he could probably also guess what she was, if he were to try and explain it. (But he wasn’t interested in trying to do anything when the admiration that had just washed over him was so delightfully effortless. He liked this feeling, being in it without a care. It was floating along fate’s stream, unresistingly letting go of all control. What did anything else in the world matter now?)
She wasn’t dancing anymore. He ought not to have asked Oz anything, because in his periphery, he could sense his brother staring too. And they weren’t the only ones: half the ballroom were letting their eyes linger as she ventured across the room to get a drink.
He felt suddenly thirsty, too, but at that moment she had looked at him – or, at least, in this vague direction – and Endymion felt that it was now or never, a chance on the cusp of slipping away. He didn’t bother looking back. “Never mind. I’m going to –” make her acquaintance, he was sure he had been going to say, not about to waste time when the loveliest woman on earth was mere feet away... “marry her,” he may have finished instead, but he shrugged it off without correcting himself because those seemed like much the same thing.
Keen as he was on this outcome, he did consider that making too quick a beeline for her might preemptively ruin his chances, so he slowed his stride – which also gave him the chance to tug his shirt collar straight before he greeted her, almost tentatively, with his most earnest smile... and nothing else, because every single idea of sane things to say had promptly vanished from his head.
She wasn’t dancing anymore. He ought not to have asked Oz anything, because in his periphery, he could sense his brother staring too. And they weren’t the only ones: half the ballroom were letting their eyes linger as she ventured across the room to get a drink.
He felt suddenly thirsty, too, but at that moment she had looked at him – or, at least, in this vague direction – and Endymion felt that it was now or never, a chance on the cusp of slipping away. He didn’t bother looking back. “Never mind. I’m going to –” make her acquaintance, he was sure he had been going to say, not about to waste time when the loveliest woman on earth was mere feet away... “marry her,” he may have finished instead, but he shrugged it off without correcting himself because those seemed like much the same thing.
Keen as he was on this outcome, he did consider that making too quick a beeline for her might preemptively ruin his chances, so he slowed his stride – which also gave him the chance to tug his shirt collar straight before he greeted her, almost tentatively, with his most earnest smile... and nothing else, because every single idea of sane things to say had promptly vanished from his head.
