Take my hand. (Cesare @ his virago)
It is a scandal of significant proportions. To so invite her, bear her away from her bonds, in sight of all. Not least of which was his own patriarch, put upon and puffing in near uproar, that his black sheep firebrand should so insult the visiting dignitaries from France by fraternizing instead with a traitor to the Holy Crown. It is a tasty morsel she has no intention of refusing, or releasing with any promptness. Long tapered fingers are placed in his protection, as she rises, delicate and deadly as a swarming storm cloud in her refined and dignified black. For all their similarities, one to the other, seeming more sibling than those they were birthed to. It is a treat to tear apart the proceedings thus, and for this, he has earned the sharpness of her razor grin, the tightened trip of her eyes as she steps into the modes of the mosaic-like dance. “Just one hand? Do you imagine I could not find some ready employment for both?” Around his well-defined neck for example.
