Carpe Diem

Pronunciation Key:

Ecineva: (Eh-sin-ee-vah)
Niapsa: (Knee-app-sah)
Tpygea: (Teh-pie-gia)
Eceerga: (Eh- sear-gah)

Enjoy!

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The thump of the drum resonated through the room. Each deep peal of sound called for a hip sway, belly roll. Her turn was next, and as the beat rolled out from beneath the drummer's fingers, she found herself swaying further into the room. She did a quick spin, absorbing the applause as she surveyed the room. The pain of the memory that transpired a fortnight ago cut through her like a blade and once again she forced herself to listen to the beat and dance.

Layla raised her hands above her head, spreading out her gold sequined veil behind her. Her toes pointed and her hips rolled out. Her beaded top tinkled as she moved, faster and faster with the steady pounding of the drum. Her skirt, which revealed more than it hid, fanned out around her as she twirled and arched her back. The royal dancing costume left her tanned, flattened stomach bare, offering tantalizing views to the group of men that surrounded her.

Among those men was the emperor of Emora, Apollo. He wore the royal colors- red and gold- majestically, in swathes of robes. For now, he sat calmly in his seat, but the act was not to be trusted.

He was the reason she was here in the first place.

Layla danced faster, wanting the memories that were looming on the fringes of her consciousness to go away, to fade into oblivion like the faces of the people around her.

The drum beats began to soften and slow, coming sporadically and then ending. Layla ended with a pose, her veil fully extended, back deeply arched and toes cripplingly pointed. The crowd of men began their raucous applause, wolf-whistling and catcalling. Not that Layla could understand them anyway. She wasn't from Emora. She was taken from her homeland, Tpygea.

Layla tightly closed her eyes as flashes of red flooded her sight. Blood. The blood of her tribe, the blood of her friends, the blood of her mother...

Opening her eyes, she noticed the room had gone quiet, everyone watching her with apprehension, waiting for the emperor's judgment. If Emperor Apollo was pleased, she would stay on as a royal dancer, but if he was not...

The thought made her shutter. Images of a coliseum and bloodthirsty lions flittered through her mind before she could contain them.

An impatient throat cleared itself. Flickering her brown eyes upward, she met eyes with the Emperor, who had one haughty brow raised. Layla quickly waltzed forward, careful to keep the grace in her step and the fluidity in her hips. When she reached the Emperor's feet, she dropped to her knees, hands behind her back and head down.

The great bear of a man above her rumbled something to her and she jumped slightly as his deep voice resonated through her and the room. Confused, she kept her head down, horrified to hear a few male chuckles. Emperor Apollo said something again, this time louder, addressing the room. This elicited even more male laughter. Even with the foreign language barrier she could hear the smile in Apollo's voice and had an inkling that the joke had been at her expense.

"What is your name?" The beast above her boomed. Her brown eyes slowly climbed up his legs, still swarmed in yards of silken robes, and climbed and climbed, until finally she was looking into his serious green eyes. A soft gasp escaped her throat. She had heard rumors before, about his looks, and they seemed to prove true. Emperor Apollo was handsome, in every sense of the word, from his strong jaw to his sensual lips. He was the epitome of masculinity.

Those lips curved into a slight smirk and she realized she had been staring as he asked his question. "Layla," she murmured. Apollo shifted forward in his seat, his wide, muscular body casting a shadow over hers. A broad, ring adorned hand reached forward and grasped her miniscule chin. She worried a plump red bottom lip with her small, white teeth, wondering what the mammoth ruler was thinking in that beautiful head of his. His callous thumb rubbed at her lips, forcing her to quit biting them, while sending heat through her body and leaving her in a perpetual state of tension.

Apollo smiled, as if he knew exactly what was going on. He sat back in his throne, abruptly taking the heat he brought on with him. Layla had to catch herself from leaning forward, to follow that hand.

His eyes darkened and the smile dimmed until it was nothing more than a wicked smirk. "Leave," he barked.

She couldn't leave fast enough.

How she hated that man!