Summary: The Crown Princes Dean and Sam throw a masquerade. Sneaking his way into the crowd, Castiel meets a masked Meg once again. Neither are prepared for the tumultuous emotions that are exposed when they finally come together.

Chapter 4

The Royal ballroom was the largest of its kind in the kingdom and led to the most massive gardens in all of the capital. Decorated with magical white lights hung from the ceiling in delicate streams, the glow about the room gave it a dreamy feel. Even with the traditional black, silver and green of Elysium colours, there was the white furniture, the white flowing draperies that floated down from the ceiling, and the smell of roses to give the ballroom an ethereal impression.

Castiel saw none of it, with his back to the wall and his posture so erect that it was as if a sword had been struck down his spine. He'd been told to guard the doors by Lucifer and he would do it. Even though he suspected that it was only because he'd been promoted that Lucifer was treating him so badly. The ArchAngel had seemed jealous of Castiel's burgeoning friendship with Sam, let alone Dean, and that the Princes had included him in everything they had done recently had made him a target for Lucifer's jealousy.

He'd been included in everything except for the ball. He was stuck here at the balcony, dressed in all black and silver with a traditional simple black eyemask, and feeling next to out of place.

"She could show up" a seductive voice wheedled in his mind and he snorted. There was no question who 'she' was and he didn't doubt that she would have the nerve to show up here. He wasn't sure what he would do if they did meet again. Likely fight her again, he figured.

Only the entourage for Abaddon was just arriving down the steps and he didn't recognize any of them. Not that he was supposed to. They all wore intricate masks, some frightening, some comical, and covering enough that he couldn't see who anyone was beyond the two leaders of the pack. Cain stuck out of course, dressed all in grey with bird-like Medico plague mask decorated plainly, and at his side was the Royal Advisor Crowley, dressed in blood red with a horned mask and bauta costume. They were the only ones Castiel recognized.

He wondered which of them Dean was looking at taking hostage.

"You look like you aren't having any fun, Cassie, and the ball is just beginning," Balthazar's voice rang in his ear suddenly. He was leaning so close, too close really, and Castiel twisted on his heel. His post at the entrance to the ballroom had been a quiet one that the rest of the people were ignoring. Everyone except his fellow guard apparently. Balthazar was dressed in black as well but had stolen a ladies' peacock mask to wear. He looked absurd but then again, Balthazar never did care what others thought of him.

"We're here to guard the Royals, not attend the ball."

"Oh, where is your sense of fun?" his cousin asked. "I think a good turn on the dance floor is nearly in order. After all, who is going to attack us tonight?"

"Anyone could attack. Abaddon. Their allies. Their…"

"Yes, yes, of course they can but they won't." Balthazar slung his arm across Castiel's shoulders. "Why? Because we have their emissary and seven nobles with him. They fear him too much to risk losing him."

"We should fear him too, if you want to know the truth," Castiel muttered as he was squeezed tight.

"So let loose. Dodge the ArchAngels and have some fun. Dance with some girls… hell, dance with some girls and boys, and enjoy yourself. That stick up your bloody arse has to loosen at some point," Balthazar cajoled and Castiel removed his arm forcefully.

"I do just fine as I am."

The other guard put his hands in the air. "If you say so, Cassie, if you say so. Just think on it a while, won't you?"

Then, as if he hadn't been posted to guard duty, Balthazar swung into step beside a young woman dressed in royal blue and began to chatter to her about her costume. All the while he winked at Castiel and mimed dancing at him.

Castiel lasted a matter of minutes before what had been said touched a raw nerve he had thought to ignore. He took several steps away from his post, glanced around to see if anyone was about to jump down his throat for leaving. No one had noticed him before and no one noticed him now. Maybe he was safe.

He was forbidden from doing more than standing guard but his curiosity and Balthazar's laughter had touched a sore spot he was trying to ignore. The others' opinions of him shouldn't have mattered so much but they did, especially with this new rank. He wanted to be respected but he also needed more allies. Making friends had never been his strongest suit, Uriel and Balthazar withstanding. Maybe this was a chance to show that he could be just like the other Angels: mischievous and fun-loving despite their call to duty.

Castiel looked around, knowing he needed a better disguise than the simple mask he wore. Then he spied a man, already drunk and sleeping at a table. As subtly as possible, Castiel reached out and slipped the mask off of his face and replaced his plain mask with the more intricate silver and grey mask. It would make his plain black and silver long jacket and black trousers look more suitable, he hoped. As he tied the knot at the back of his head he wandered towards the bottom of the stairs.

Several people nodded at him, as if he belonged, and Castiel was quick to nod back and carry himself more regally than before. He belonged, he repeated to himself over and over again. This one rebellious mood of his couldn't do any real harm.

Coming down to the end of his circle of the room, Castiel took a place beside the fountain by the stairs and crossed his arms behind himself. The dancing and the bright colours made the room seem brighter than before and the press of bodies in the enclosed room made it incredibly warm. Behind his mask he could feel sweat gathering and he longed badly for a blast of cold air.

He turned at the sound of laughter from above. The entire room swam around him in a swirl of colour and luxury, a dizzying array that made him reach up to brace his hand on the closest pillar. It took him a moment to steady himself and vaguely he wondered what it was he was looking for. Who could he be looking for?

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wisp of black silk pass above him. The railing obscured his view enough that he had to lean far back to look up.

A woman was staring out over the crowd. At first he looked away, as he had for many of the women tonight, but something drew his eye back and he took her in with an increasing interest when he saw what she wore. In a room of frothy colours and patterns, she wore stark black and it made her stand out like a dark beacon to him.

Beneath the black lace mask that ran like uneven wings on her cheeks and forehead, her lips were blood red and pouting. The black gown spilled to the sides and her full skirt peeked through the iron railing. Wearing a boned corset that was decorated with black jewels that twinkled like onyx, she barely seemed to breathe. His eyes kept wandering over her and he glanced at her pale shoulders. Above the black, her shoulders were bare to the night air and kissed by soft tendrils escaping the elegant knot that trapped her long dark hair. Her bare skin was accented by thick lacing that formed wings to cradle the tops of her breasts and shoulders, with long wisps of lace trailing down her arms. It was a gown made to allure and made to draw the eye with how simple it truly was.

It was a stunning sight and Castiel knew that he was staring, though no one else seemed to notice her.

Despite the hum of the crowd, he heard her sigh and watched her her head tilt downward as she ran her fingers over the railing with soft curiosity. Watching her red nails tap an impatient rhythm, he stepped further out from the shadows of the overhang to try to see who it was. No noblewoman in her right mind would wear such black to a ball.

Then her head lowered even more, her small chin coming down first, followed by the edges of her mask and then her dark eyes, and Castiel felt hot and cold all at once. The eyes passed over him without care, dismissing him from thought, but he was riveted where he stood.

Meg. The masked woman was part of the Abaddon entourage but she was Meg.

A thrill he tried to dismiss as survival instinct flared up his body and settled low in the pit of his stomach. With a grimace, he turned away and focussed on the dance floor again. Dean was leading a princess named Joanna from a neighbouring country in a reel, but he looked bored out of his mind. As he watched them move, Castiel fought to ignore the woman he knew was behind him. He heard a slithering sound, one that reminded him of dragons and fire, of smoke and darkness and he shuddered behind his own half-mask. Suddenly the covering felt suffocating and he desperately wanted to leave for air.

Then the slithering sound stopped and he resisted the urge to turn to see where she had gone.

The music turned to another sedate reel and Dean left the dance floor. Castiel kept his eyes on the floor to avoid being noticed as Michael passed, as always just behind Dean. He only lifted his head when he felt someone standing just beside him.

"Why do you look so bored or is that how you always look?" a husky voice whispered beside him. An arm slipped into the crook of his elbow and a curved hip pressed into his leg. Castiel closed his eyes and then opened them to meet Meg's gaze. She was smiling though it looked forced.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked. Her dark eyes seemed to dance in the firelight.

"Why….you're supposed to be with the guard, aren't you? How'd you escape?" she asked in return and he shrugged.

"Answer the question."

"Your eyes, handsome. I'd recognize them anywhere." With an insistent tug that would draw attention if he fought back, Meg pulled him after her towards the wine table. "How'd you know it was me?"

"I just… did." Castiel cleared his throat and straightened his back until he was stiff and formal as possible. "You're not easy to forget."

She paused in a step then shrugged. "I guess."

"You're here with the emissary."

"Mm…but that's our secret," she whispered, leaning conspiratorially towards his ear. Castiel turned his head, his hair brushing her forehead, and blinked in surprise at how close she was. Meg's eyes were on his and she tilted her head slightly. "Do we understand each other?"

Castiel nodded. She wouldn't out him to the others if he didn't out her.

"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" she asked.

"I was curious, that's all," he said defensively as they both accepted glasses of wine. He watched her toy with the crystal stem of her glass instead of drinking. "Why are you here?"

"Me?" She grinned, white teeth flashing between the full red lips. "I was curious."

"I think being curious would be dangerous for someone like you," he pointed out and she tilted her head back to look up at him. With a flick of her hand, she made an ebony fan appear and she wafted hot air at him. Her lips pursed a little in thought

"Someone like me?"

"A demon soldier."

"Oh Clarence, you wound me," she teased but she lacked any amusement in her voice. "That's all I am to you? I am so much more than a soldier you fought on the field."

"And defeated."

The smile fled her face. "I owe you for that."

The corner of his eyes crinkled a little in thought. "Do you?"

Suddenly she took his hand and brought it to press on her stomach. The stiff fabric and silk of her corset bit at his hands. He wasn't sure what he was feeling beneath the layers but it was clearly something that wounded her. Meg held him still and just beneath the layer of her mask her mouth parted in a snarl. "I do."

"You'd do the same to me."

She let his hand go and smiled. "Only if you ask me nicely, Clarence."

Meg turned away from him in a swirl of silk and Castiel huffed as he followed her. "That's not my name."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Tell me your name then."

"Demon soldiers aren't worth hearing angels' names," he said. The stuffy way he spoke made her wrinkle her nose as she headed for a window close to the dance floor. The draft brought in fresh air and she eagerly shoved her way past several women to suck in a lungful of the biting cold.

Castiel stood beside her and despite how erect he stood, she could see the sweat beading his upper lip from the heat in the room. He subtly leaned forward and inhaled as well. It relaxed him enough that she saw the tense lines around his rough lips disappear and his eyes brighten just a little behind the mask.

"Tell me your name," she said, pitching her voice low and seductive. Castiel turned towards her and squinted a little through the mask, as if trying to see under hers. She raised her hand, saw him flinch as if expecting a strike, and let it fall to his wrist. She smoothed her fingers across the back of his hand, skimming skin and hair as she went from wrist to the tip of his fingers.

She felt him stiffen again. Yet somehow she could sense how much he wanted her. There was something dark and hot inside him, she knew it. Maybe all he needed was for it to come out.

Bending her neck, she looked down at their hands, at how small her fingers looked between his as she interweaved their fingers together. She stroked his hand, the small webbing between his fingers, the cusp of his nails, the rough calluses that showed he carried a sword. It was a warrior's hand, she mused, and she wondered, for a fleeting second, how it would feel on her naked flesh.

Shivering, both from the thought of it and from the cool draft, Meg looked up and knew that he was thinking the same thing. She let out a low sigh and turned her hand so that they were palm to palm again. Behind their masks, their expressions matched. Startled and wary of one another, but also wanting so much more.

"Tell me your name," she whispered, the hand on his toying with his fingers. Castiel felt the constant touch of skin on skin, a slow sensuous caress that set every nerve-ending on fire. Whether she was using magic or not wasn't something he cared about. He flexed his fingers under hers, turned his hand over, and began to rub his thumb over the creases in her palm. Her eyes trailed down his face to look at their joined hands, the moonlight from the window giving her face a gentle glow. Searing sensation diagonalled from his palm to hers, until it seemed that the heat cooled and numbed to a pleasant ache.

Each slow pass of their fingers against one another's skin felt like something more than just a caress. It felt felt like a prelude to something, something intangible yet foreshadowed as a moment he might not be ready for. A moment he suddenly wanted. His body went from pleasantly buzzed from the wine to tightly drawn and anticipating her next move.

But Meg drew her hand back from him and backed up a step. There was something hunted in her expression, as if she'd been just as struck by the electricity in that touch as he had been, but she was more masterful at hiding it. Castiel searched her masked face for a sign but she suddenly painted on a sly grin.

"Tell me your name," she repeated.

As if pulling it from deep recess within him, Castiel sighed and looked away from her before muttering, "Castiel."

She frowned. "Caseel?"

"Castiel," he said louder.

"Cast-tell?" Meg parroted, speaking slowly.

Frustrated by both her mangling of his name and the fiery emotions she'd brought to him, Castiel nearly exploded out with "I said Castiel!"

It was loud enough that people looked over and began to whisper to one another. Flushing red, Castiel looked away and down at Meg. She was hiding her face behind her ebony fan but he saw her bare shoulders shaking hard. She was making strange sounds that were both endearing and annoying all at once. A mixture of a hiccup, a giggle and an obnoxious laugh.

"That wasn't funny."

"Oh it was to me." Her eyes brightened. "Lighten up, Castiel."

He continued to grumble that it wasn't dignified.

But she turned and saw something that made her pale behind her mask. The dance floor was slowly filling up and she recognized the postures of the dancers. The entourage was moving; she knew that most of them were just waiting to leave at midnight. But what caught her attention was how close Crowley and Cain were to her.

She needed somewhere to hide and the dance floor was her best option.

Fixing her skirts, she took Castiel's hand again and despite his resistance dragged him towards the floor.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, tugging back hard on his hand. Meg looked over her shoulder at him and plastered a coy smile to her lips.

"Do you dance?" she asked and he shrugged.

"I am aware of how to do that. When the occasion calls for it."

Her eyes were on Cain's striding figure headed straight for them. "Trust me, it calls for it." Her head crooked to the side. "Or do you want them to know you're out here with me?" Her fingers interlaced with his in a teasing caress and then she was turning around him, headed for the crowded floor where they would be missed.

Castiel heard the violin's tune playing and exhaled. He didn't like to dance in such a crowd but Meg was clearly threatening to expose him if she was exposed. Gently nudging another man out of his way, he followed Meg to the floor. She positioned him roughly where she wanted him in line with the other men, and then retreated back to the women.

It made him nervous to feels the eyes of others on him but he focussed hard on Meg and where she stood just across from him. She curtseyed so deeply he was able to see the hollow between her breasts and he caught his breath. A low whistle from the man beside him made him turn his head and glare, but the other men were already bowing. He hurriedly made the same salute and stood to see Meg hiding her laughter behind a hand. She was laughing too much at him, Castiel thought, but even he had to smile when she was late to keep in step with the other women.

It was a dance he knew, having danced it several times before when his sister had forced him to take her to the floor, but there was something more charged about it when dancing with his enemy. Meg stepped in towards him, swaying with each step, and made a pass around him, one hand taking his arm and lifting it before dropping it away. He remembered to catch her hand in his and follow her, though she didn't make it easy.

She spun on her heel and dropped into a second curtsey before rising and holding out her arm. Castiel took it and spun her outward. He drew her close again and tucked one arm behind his back as they followed another couple in a circle.

"So you can dance," Meg whispered so that even with the hum of the crowd he could hear her. They pirouetted a step together.

"Like I said. When the occasion calls for it, I can dance." He looked down between them at his feet as if expecting them to misbehave. Then the hand on her waist curved slightly to draw her closer as they passed another couple.

She swayed left to his right feint and he caught her by the waist, mimicking the actions of the other men. Meg's hand came up to cradle his cheek, edging just beneath his mask, and her lips just brushed his before she spun away, her skirts a black flame around her. The women on the left of the room, men on the right, she stuck out amongst the butterfly-like colours of their costumes and he knew that his own dark clothing mimicked hers perfectly.

They came together again and he raised his thigh beneath her to bounce her in the air and then bring her down in a swirl against him. They did it three times more and through the fabric of her corset he thought he could feel her exhilaration when he lifted her again. She swivelled in his arms when he set her down, her body dragging against his sensually, and both arms lifted before she clapped once.

Then her arms fell to his shoulders and she dragged the rest of her way down his body. He felt both her hands this time, cupping his face and her face loomed in his vision as warm and moist air wafted over his mouth. Then she took his hands in hers and let him twist her about. Castiel checked to see what the others were doing before he grasped her beneath the edge of her corset and pulled her back into him forcefully. His nose buried in the tendrils just hanging from her ebony comb, he inhaled a scent of smoke and roses so sharp that it stunned his senses. Her head turned slightly to the side and he caught her gaze. The heat in it was enough to make him let her go, only to catch her wrist and twirl her back into his arms.

Arms raising above her head, Meg copied the motions of the other women, clapped her hands together, and raised a knee to swirl her skirts as she dropped beneath his arm. Her body brushed up against his and Castiel rocked into her, arm wrapping around her waist to hold her. The other hand pulled her arm towards her opposite shoulder, and his palm rested on the damp bare skin. They both paused for a moment, his nose just brushing her ear as his lips touched her cheek. Meg closed her eyes, found herself again, and turned in his arms. Copying the quick movements of the others, she snapped her fan open. Shielding her face, she leaned in and brushed her mouth against his again, hard enough that he felt the pressure. Only this time he stayed still for a moment and let the touch of her lips graze his. The music was dropping to an end and he delayed his next move for as long as he could.

Then the hand around her waist turned her outward with the other dancers and she spun towards them.

Before she could get to the line, Castiel grabbed her arm and pulled her back into him. Like the other men he bowed low over her hand and pressed a kiss to her hand. Unlike the others, he held the grip for longer than a second, let his lips linger on the silken skin.

Then he dropped her hand and turned away, back into the crowd. Meg stared after him, stunned by the abrupt end of their dance. The burning on her skin made her look down to see his scruffy chin had marked her pale hand. It made her uncomfortable just to think of it and she quickly wiped away his kiss.

Across the ballroom, Castiel came to the first table of wine that was available and quickly downed two glasses to calm his nerves and raging heartbeat. What the hell had that been about? He turned and watched as Meg made her lonely way through the crowd, going the opposite way.

He felt strange — as if feeling for the first time — and he wasn't sure which emotion it was that hurt the most. Guilt, shame, desire, need… they all jumbled within him in a confusing heap. Snagging yet another glass of wine, he leaned against the top rail to watch the dancers. He was determined to put her from his mind yet it seemed like she wouldn't leave.

Without thinking, he watched Dean dance instead, keeping a careful half-watch on where Cain and his followers stood in a sullen group. Sam was the only one of them who made an effort to talk to any from Abaddon and he appeared to be winning Cain over.

To what, Castiel couldn't be sure.

A sudden presence at his elbow made him stiffen, half-expecting Meg again. But this woman was dressed in dark green with her hair done up in elegant red coils. Her mask had been pushed back onto her forehead and she was staring at him closely.

"You're not supposed to be here, Castiel," Anna said. "Least of all dancing." She chuckled. "Though you can dance. Who knew?"

"Anna," he greeted, not wanting to be baited into confessing anything.

"Who was she?" Anna asked him and he turned to her before shrugging.

"No one. Just a noble." Technically not a lie.

"Well, you danced well for someone who isn't supposed to be here."

He looked at his feet. "Will you give me away?"

"No." She laughed. "You deserve to have some fun, Castiel. A ball is the best way to."

"She said the same thing," he muttered.

"So she's very smart if we agree," Anna teased. "But don't worry about seeming rude by leaving her. It looks like Lord Lucifer is about to make his move," she said with a conspiratorial wink.

Castiel's head lifted and whipped to the left to see Meg moving on the dance floor with Lucifer. Cooling his temper, he shrugged and took another long drink. "People can dance with whoever they choose," he said.

Anna gave him a knowing look from behind her ivory mask. "Of course they should." She tossed back her own drink and took his hand. "Come on. You owe me and I'm going to introduce you to some diplomats. The ones who will be very interested in how you and Sam sent that dragon running with his tail between his legs."

Meg was aware that she was being watched as she let the tall blonde man lead her in the reel.

"You seem familiar," he said in a seductively soft voice.

Where Castiel thrilled her, this man frightened her and that was part of the attraction she knew. The way his hand gripped hers, with a warning in the soft squeeze, made her hesitate to let him go.

"Just a girl looking for a party," she said with a smile before dropping her hand from his and taking a turn to the left. When they re-met on the other side of Dean and his partner, the blonde man was staring down at her again.

"Have you ever been to the Borderlands?" he asked as he took her hand, stepped in, and then inappropriately slipped his hand down her bare back. Meg shivered at the cold of his hands and stepped right as he stepped left before they went palm to palm.

"Never," she lied.

He chuckled and his head ducked close to her ear. "Liar," he whispered and then spun her left so that she partnered the next man left.

Dean.

He danced in complete silence compared to the man who'd called himself Lucifer. Meg was aware of how threatening he was as he stared at her and she was sure to keep her eyes downcast.

She was treading on dangerous ground now. The deeper she went, the less likely it was that she'd escape with her throat intact.

Then she was passed back to Lucifer and listening to his murmured words of who he was and she realized he was more than a little drunk. She only half-listened, her eyes searching the crowd.

Castiel stood against the railing above with a red-headed beauty, his arms resting and leaning. He looked like he was laughing.

Meg ground her teeth together and turned to see Lucifer looking at her again. Clearly expecting to continue his dance with her. Putting her chin in the air, Meg met him at the centre, taking both his hands in hers. They did a hop-skip from side to side and he swivelled her in his arms.

"You're not like the rest of your Abaddon friends," he breathed against his ear. He held onto her, ignoring the jostling of the other raucous dancers. "You're a rebel. I think you're playing with fire."

"Getting burned is half the fun," Meg taunted and he turned her about, cupping her cheeks in his hands. He suddenly smiled, smoothing his thumbs down her cheeks.

"Must be." He rubbed just below the edge of her mask. "So dark and beautiful."

Meg felt momentarily struck by him. Few Elysium men had ever looked at her as an Abaddon woman and desired the darkness before. The darkness that was all she was. Whatever had passed between her and Castiel had fired her up and she swayed towards Lucifer unconsciously.

The music halted abruptly and he stepped backward, bowing to her. Rattled, Meg managed a curtsey in return and retreated.

That was twice that she had danced and had let others get under her carefully built armour. For different reasons. Lucifer had resonated with power and promise. He'd hurt her and capture her, the way someone would capture a wild animal for a trophy. What terrified Meg was that she had seen him moving through the crowd and realized she wasn't the only woman affected, not to mention several of the men. That she was like the others, so willing to be reduced to a trophy, was a terror she felt deep within when she'd fought for so long to be treated as different.

Then there was…him.

Castiel had been different and she still wasn't sure why. She had promised herself to bring him to heel but whatever had sparked between them had been brilliant and devastating all at once. She had felt it and he had felt it as well. Yet he didn't look at her like Lucifer had. He looked at her as if… as if ….

Meg shook her head. She'd had too much wine, she decided, ignoring the fact that she hadn't touched it since her first glass. But there was never too much when she was feeling as confused as she was. Pushing her way through the crowd she accepted a glass filled to the brim with red wine before making her careful way to the windows again.

She deflected dances after that disastrous one with Lucifer and retreated into the shadows, trying to pick up tidbits here and there. Dressed in black though she stood out and few people wanted to make conversation with someone who had bucked off the conformity of society.

What she did hear was nothing surprising. The Abaddon emissary was being ignored and treated like dirt under a heel. The women had already been investigated, the men kept under watch. It didn't surprise her that someone had been taken hostage though she wasn't sure who. It was how these angel soldiers operated; Cain would have to give them up, surrounded as he was. No wonder his entourage was full of low level nobility.

Except for her, of course. But she was doing well in dodging him. Crowley was another story. The Advisor would be on her back soon if she didn't find a distraction. She already knew he'd suspected who she was though she'd used a hefty dose of magic to hide her features from him and Cain.

"There you are," a finely accented voice purred and Meg turned abruptly to see another blonde in a peacock mask smiling down at her. "A beautiful bird like you shouldn't be hiding in the dark."

"Maybe I like the dark." She turned back to her drink and downed it.

"Then I'll stay with you," he said, leaning up on the wall bedside her. "So both of us aren't alone."

Tired of it, Meg turned to him. "If you don't leave, I'll…"

"Balthazar?" Castiel's gravelly voice made Meg stiffen up. "Enough." He passed Meg and looked at his brother-in-arms. "You're drunk."

"Just a wee…" Balthazar grinned at Meg, "bit."

"Besides. This is our dance." Castiel turned to Meg and held out his hand.

She stared at him from behind the safety of her mask. "It is?"

He gave her a meaningful scowl and a head jerk to the left. Cain and the others were moving through the crowd.

"Lucifer is going to have your ass when he finds out you're dancing like nobility like this," Balthazar said cheerfully and Castiel took Meg's hand in his, gently laying it on his forearm.

"Not if you don't tell him. It was your idea, remember?"

"And why won't I tell him?"

"Because if you don't, I won't tell him you disappeared with Lady Jodilyn." Castiel jerked his chin to where a lone woman was swaying to her own beat in her head. The pretty brunette did look lonely. Instantly distracted, not just by her face but by the diamond she wore at her throat, Balthazar left them alone.

Meg removed her hand from Castiel's arm. "You're free to go."

"Go where?" he asked, sounding more amused than relieved.

"Wherever it is you come from."

"But we haven't had our dance yet."

"Yes we did and it…it…." Meg tried to think of a descriptive word for it. "I don't want to dance with you."

"I thought you didn't want to make a…scene…." Castiel threatened his eyes on the crowd. Crowley was making his way towards them, searching for something, and Meg stepped back to hide around him.

"What do you need to be distracted for?" she demanded and Castiel shrugged.

"Maybe I just want to dance with you."

She tossed her head. "One wasn't enough?"

He took her hand and placed it back on his forearm. "You're not scared you'll be found dancing with an Angel soldier, are you?"

When he looked down at her, her eyes were sparkling with barely concealed anger at his challenge. But her fingers tightened on his arm and she let him lead her onto the dance floor. This time he set them up for the dance, positioning her arm just so on his shoulder, aligning their bodies perfectly before clasping her right hand in his left. He executed it all so formally that Meg was startled into simply following his lead.

His hand slid to the small of her back first, then to the cusp of her waist. Meg stepped into him and let him lead her through the slow methodical steps of the waltz. While around them couples spun and laughed, she was only aware of how intently he was staring at her from behind the impassive shadow of his own mask.

Meg tightened her fingers about his and let him turn her with him.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked when the silence between their turns became too much. He said nothing to her, just led her around the floor in silence. The hand on the small of her back brought her in closer to avoid another couple dancing too close and Meg slid her arm higher on his shoulder, until they were pressed body to body.

"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" she asked suddenly.

He paused mid-step, then resumed following her around the floor in the slow sway of the dance. "I don't know."

"Everyone else avoids us. But you? You keep dancing with a demon soldier." Meg let him pirouette her to the left again and then draw her close.

"Maybe I find you interesting." He shrugged a shoulders. "When you're not trying to kill me."

His words brought a flush of something unstable and raw down her body and it made her draw back a step. Castiel's grip tightened to hold her steady but Meg kept herself at as much distance as she could get. He tilted his head absurdly at her and she was aware of the strength of his hand holding hers.

"Maybe things are just easier if we keep them how they should be," Meg said.

"Should be?"

"Should be." She removed her hand from his and this time took several steps backward. "We're enemies. I'm bad, you are on the side of good. How it should be."

Castiel stared at her. "You felt it too..." he whispered and she smirked.

"I felt a sad excuse for an Angel soldier getting all hard and soft on me. That's all." She gathered her skirts in her hand. "Thanks for the dance, Clarence. Now leave me alone."

In a swirl of black silk and lace, she picked up her skirts and fled the dance floor. She disappeared into the crowd, headed for the massive glass doors leading out into the gardens. The other dancers, startled by how fast she had moved, parted in a group around her partner. All Castiel could do was stare after her, while he stood alone on the dance floor long after the music stopped.