In a far off land, a young prince sat upon his throne before a vast multitude of servants. Lords, ladies, gentry and nobility of every sort had gathered in the grand ballroom, meshing together in whirls of color and fabric as they danced across the floor. The room was alight with laughter and song, complimented by the softest oboe playing over a group of small but beautiful violins. It was wonderful.

The prince did not see any of it.

Idly he sat on his throne, his foot tapping away impatiently. Though this would earn him reproving looks from the King and his advisors, the young man paid them little mind, looking out over the room with a barely hidden leer of disdain.

'They should be here by now. What could be taking them so long?'

A serving girl approached from his right, offering a small, golden apple. He promptly took it, acknowledging her with a swift nod, but did not immediately bite. Instead, he ran his fingers over the smooth, albeit hard surface. As his taste dictated, it was beautiful; the perfect size, shape, and color. It was hard, but not unyielding; smooth and free of any external bruise. Perhaps beneath the skin there were bruises, things unseen at which the prince could never guess. It intrigued him to think of such things, however trivial, and he regarded the apple with a more focused eye. The party would not consume one drop of his attention until-

"Presenting Princess Namine, White Lady of Wilkshore."

Instantly, green eyes drew up, widening. A broad smirk transformed his face as the doors opened at the far end of the room. In stepped a young woman, years younger than himself, dressed in the softest whites and blues. Her dress was different than all the ladies presently gathered; it held no eastern influence in its design. The skirt flowed out from her hips, appearing to make them very large and wide, and the whole gown was held up by a series of padded sleeves that ran down and flared out a bit at each wrist.

A whole party of men and women followed her into the room, causing quite a stir as everyone turned to look and admire. Though his father shot him a look, the prince was uncaring, already on his feet, shoulders straight and back, grinning widely as the noble lady separated from her attendants, moving to the throne to greet him.

"Dear Axel, it is so wonderful to see you again," she said with a soft smile, extending a pale hand. Indeed, her gown almost perfectly matched her pale skin but for the blues, and the gold trim that lined the hems.

He accepted the hand, and kissed it, eyes warm and even a bit mischievous. Such was not his country's customary greeting, and he heard a faint startled chuckle from a nearby server. She must have been new to the palace.

"As always, a pleasure to see you, my lady. This night has been frightfully dull without you."

His old friend chuckled, ignoring the indignant grunt from the king. "So rude, Axel. Was this whole evening not arranged for your twenty-fifth birthday?"

A crimson eyebrow raised. "And if it is? Have you brought something for this occasion?"

She laughed again. "Yes, but you will know in good time." The room was slowly falling back into its rhythm, the musicians striking up the tempo once more as men and women sought out their dance partners. "Why don't you go and dance? I know how much you love it."

A snort. "No one here could satisfy me. Unless of course, you've brought him along with you..."

"My, you really are taken with him, aren't you?" The blonde looked at the golden apple sitting forgotten on Axel's throne and smiled. "Yes, I knew you would be terribly cross with me if he did not come. Rest assured, he will be here, and he promises this showcase to be the best yet; the main course for your glorious feast."

"So sure, is he?" Green eyes glimmered with delight. He laughed. "I shall expect nothing less."

The lady moved on to greet the king, as Axel resumed his seat. Holding the delicate fruit in his hand, he could not stifle the rush of anticipation inside him. He quickly bit into the skin, savoring the sweet juices and the soft crunch as the apple gave way to his teeth.

It did not disappoint.

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As promised, before supper was to start, everyone cleared off the floor. Through the crowd came a few new musicians, and as Axel watched, he thought he recognized a pan flute and a harp of some kind. He wasn't as knowledgeable about instruments, but he remembered the sounds that he liked and tried to at least know their names. A tambourine player was summoned from the crowd as well, taking his place on the floor comfortably beside his fellow artists.

Lights were dimmed all around, save for a few candles scattered in a circular pattern in the center of the floor. The candles were close to a lump of cloth sitting idly on the ground, but not close enough to burn it.

Namine stood from her chair then, clearing her throat once. Any murmurs in the court dimmed to silence immediately.

She smiled.

"Thank you all for attending this grand ball in honor of Prince Axel's twentieth year celebration." Applause echoed from the surrounding walls, but the redhead paid no mind to it. He was far past impatient by this point. "For your pleasure, Majesties, and that of your illustrious guests, I present the best dancer Wilkshore has to offer. Roxas iel Jagada."

In the next few seconds, a gust of wind blew through the hall, rumpling the bundle of cloth in the circle. A few ladies clutched at their caps, and others looked around a moment, confused. Whether by magic or some other force, the breeze then swirled around the candles, passing them gently so they would not flicker out. The cloth in the center began to billow upward in a spiral pattern, and as the wind settled again, there was a flash of light and a whip-like crack.

The audience gasped. A boy stood in the center of the candles, holding the cloth in both hands. With a flowing sweep of his hand, he cast it aside, and the crowd began to applaud again.

Axel's eyes glowed with approval, raking over that body he recognized so well. As promised, his obsession stood before him now, winking at him with a delicate tilt of wheat-blonde hair.

Roxas was a slave in Namine's palace. The gold cuffs on his wrists and ankles marked his position clearly for all to see, but unlike other slaves, the boy was a piece that Namine valued greatly, and she lavished upon him.

His skin was pale like ivory; a trait of noble royalty from her side of the world, and yet his hair was an array of soft, flaxen spikes, fashioned after the royal style of Axel's country. Indeed, the redhead once wondered if Roxas had once been a prince like himself, somewhere here in the east; a prince whose kingdom was conquered and enslaved by another.

In many ways, it was a shame.

But there was nothing shameful in Roxas's posture. Neither his stance nor in his face showed any hint of anguish. Not even disdain. Instead, the boy narrowed his dazzling eyes and smirked, making a light bow before Axel and the king, as the music began to play.

Every other beat was accented by the tambourine, and a soft melody rose into the air. As naturally as the flow of water, Roxas moved his body in time, hips swaying this way and that, bare feet sliding effortlessly across the ground. As he passed, each candle would flicker and move with him, and in the dim, it seemed as though he commanded them to dance. As he turned in a graceful spin, Roxas made every little light in the gathering sway, almost to the point that they blew out.

It was neither happy nor sad, this dance, but it cast a spell over the room, drawing the eyes of every man and woman, lustful and not, to the form of this beautiful boy. The prince himself fought the urge to pounce, to run out into the circle of candles and sweep him off in a furious dance of his own. But even without the restraints of propriety, such a move would not fit this music at all. It would force this already beautiful show to come to an end far too soon. Axel wouldn't dream of halting it, not for all the world.

But his desire grew with every move and twist, every rumple of flowing silky fabric.

Blue eyes fell upon him, slightly hidden beneath pale, thick, lowered lashes. Pink lips parted, as if singing silently along with the harp and flute, but Axel saw. He saw the corners turn up into another smirk, as those eyes beckoned him hazily, tantalizingly.

Axel gripped the sides of his throne, clenching his fists against the armrests hard.

Roxas continued to glide through the dance, his blue and gold robes rippling in motion. As eyes trailed down that smooth torso, falling to thin, supple legs, Axel wished he could see the boy clad in the reds, blacks, and golds of his kingdom. The clothes would be tighter and more revealing, as his own were. Many of Namine's culture would no doubt squawk at the leniency eastern fashion allowed.

But the idea was still enthralling. Roxas, dressed in his colors, belonging to him and him alone. Then he could truly inspire passion, melt that delicate face with desire and longing...

The music drifted slowly into silence, and the blonde slid down to the floor on his knees, head bowed and listening. As much as he hypnotized the masses, the boy seemed to be slowly awaking from a trance of his own. This happened whenever Roxas danced, and Axel thrilled to see it each time. As if motion and music were more dear, more important to him than life itself.

No one moved or spoke, fearful that the spell was already breaking...

The prince stood quickly, clapping loudly in approval. And that golden head lifted to meet his gaze, more than a simple passion flickering through those eyes.

And everyone followed, clapping and cheering and smiling in approval. Namine stood and took a bow for her servant, thanking all for their time. The feast was to begin in mere moments, but two pairs of eyes never left each other. Even as the crowds rose and parted for the dining hall, they stood still, like statutes frozen in time.

"Join us in the hall, my son. This is a feast in your honor," the king remarked jovially, patting Axel on the arm. "Or must I escort Namine on my own, and sit at your place instead?"

Axel chuckled. "Go on, Father. I will be there soon. I'll apologize to Namine formally after the feast."

The older man shrugged, turning to speak with a few of his guests. Axel looked back to the center of the floor, but the boy was gone. Only the servants clearing away cloth and candle.

No matter. The prince mused that he had a very good idea of where to find him...

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Lips met in fierce war with one another, clashing with teeth and tongues as each man pulled closer to the other. Axel's heart thrilled every time they met like this. Always in secret, in his chambers, where no one would see. But the secrecy, the fear that any moment, they would be discovered, only set his blood burning hotter.

Roxas drew back with a gasp, smirking wildly. "I see I have yet more fire to tame this night."

The prince growled back, letting his hand caress lean muscles, gripping them possessively.

"Tame me if you can, little dancer. You'll find that I scorch much more easily than your silly candles. And my burns are far worse."

"Perhaps." Axel shuddered and roughly pulled him closer, burning with every sucking kiss that attacked his neck.

This needed to stop soon. The court could not be kept waiting long.

"Find me again after supper," Axel said firmly, stepping back with a groan of frustration. Why did this young man always have this effect on him?

His lover snarled at the delay, a sight that made the redhead almost laugh. But the front was back up before he could say a word, and the blonde was pressing close, that seductive smirk back in place. Roxas clutched his arms with a grip that seemed too strong for such a small, almost frail-looking boy.

"Don't eat your fill, Axel." His name rolled from that tongue in a rough purr, barely above a whisper. Followed by an almost tender nip at his ear. "Or taming you will be too easy."

"Oh?" Crimson brows raised, a perfect mask of unconvinced.

The blonde cocked his head proudly, turning to stroll out the door as naturally as he had come.

"Have no fear." The prince smirked wickedly, speaking low as his beauty, his obsession, disappeared from sight. "Fire is never sated."