to the health of married women, and their lovers

• Queen of Society •

"Go now, Helene, I'll let you join your friends." said Vasily, and he walked away to give her some space, conversing with some friends of his own.

Helene found a few of her friends and acquaintances chatting with some other girls her age. Grabbing a wine glass, she went to join their group, and the girls accepted her graciously. Among her friends, there was Liliya Kirillovna Sergivenskaya, who she had known since childhood (Kirill Sergivensky was a friend of her father's, and Helene had become quite friendly with his daughters, particularly Liliya and Anya.); and Semyona Livenova, a recent, yet very close friend. Vera Rostova was also there, an acquaintance of Helene's, who was by no means a friend, but they were friendly enough that they could discuss society together. Masha Izenskova, another acquaintance, was chattering away to Semyona about something, which Helene couldn't quite understand. The rest of the group consisted of girls who Helene didn't personally know, but had heard of from Vasily's lectures. All of them were of marriageable age, though not all of them were beautiful or desirable. Helene looked around her and figured she wouldn't have much competition.

"In the name of all that is holy, would you look at Anna Pavlovna's headdress?" said Vera, who was known to be an unrelenting gossip.

Helene giggled in agreement. "Can you believe she would actually consent to wearing that in public?" she said, with a snide smile.

The other girls laughed, and the group spent quite a bit of time gossiping about what others were wearing that night. Helene did not like to be rude, but she knew a bit of gossip was, not only entertaining, but quite fashionable among society ladies, so she knew she could get away with it.

The ball droned on, and eventually the gossip came to an end, and the music and dancing begun. By this point, Helene's dance card was full, and she glanced at the names that were written on it. She recognized most of them, young officers or family friends or sons of old Petersburg bloodlines. But there was one she did not know. Fedya Dolokhov. She had heard nothing about a Dolokhov family in Petersburg, although the name 'Fedya Dolokhov' sounded vaguely familiar, as if she had heard the name somewhere and forgotten it. Was he one of Anatole's friends? Although she and her brother were close, Helene payed little attention to who Anatole surrounded himself with, so if someone had been Anatole's friend, she could not say she could remember. Whoever he was, she was excited to meet this Dolokhov, and hoped he was a handsome young officer, and not one of her father's old acquaintances.

Several hours had passed, and Helene had danced with nearly everyone on her dance card, but this Fedya Dolokhov had failed to make an appearance. Whoever he was, it was never polite to keep a lady waiting, especially not a lady of such high standing as the Princess Helene.

It had taken him a while, but Dolokhov finally showed up, and he was both exactly, and not at all, what Helene had expected. He was an officer, around her age or maybe a few years older, and he carried himself with such badassery and confidence that he seemed to be of quite a high rank. He was handsome, with dark, messy hair, and mysterious, grayish-green eyes, which seemed to know everything yet be completely oblivious at the same time. She felt like she could get lost in those eyes, as if there was an ocean waiting behind them, and Helene was ready to drown. His mouth was formed in a seemingly constant smirk, which Helene found both intimidating and arousing. She couldn't deny she was attracted to him, and she looked forward to dancing with him immensely, but she had to admit that leaving her waiting was terribly rude. Who did he think he was, abandoning her like that? Trés uncouth, she thought, though she was still quite entranced by him.

Dolokhov crossed the room, and Helene tried to look as if she had not just been checking him out. She smiled at him, warmly, albeit coquettishly, and she felt something, something warm and fluttery, when this Dolokhov returned her smile.

"My apologies, ma cher, I did not intend to arrive so late... I do know how rude it is to keep a lady waiting, but I suppose I, er, lost track of time. Do forgive me, Princess." His tone was warm, yet formal, and he bowed courteously at Helene.

She smiled, choosing to forgive him, and offered him her hand for the mazurka, unable to wipe the coquettish smile off of her face. There was something about this Dolokhov that was intoxicating, and she felt like she could just drown in those eyes and that ever-present smirk, just drown in his words and his existence.

They danced, and every moment they danced made Helene feel like she was floating. When they danced the mazurka, they were lively and flirtatious. When they waltzed, she melted in his arms, and in the ecossaise, she couldn't stop staring at him. There were several more people on her dance card, and yet, for the rest of the night, she refused to dance with anyone but him, getting lost in his eyes and wishing to never return.

That night, when the ball was long over, Helene found herself unable to sleep, as she could not stop thinking about Dolokhov. Rude, yes. Positionless, yes. And yet, he was absolutely mesmerizing.

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Notes:
So this was my first time writing anything Dolokhov x Hélène, but I love these two so much honestly ❤️