Why the hell am I here?
That was the only thought Alex had in his head as he stood in the corner of the room, drinking golden cider and stuffing his face with fancy cheese as he stared longingly at the dancers. Scratch that, he wasn't staring at the dancers, he was staring at the women. No, scratch that as well. He was staring at their gowns. He stared at the way they twirled, like a tornado of fine silk, intricate lace and chiffon. He wanted to be engulfed by it. He wanted so desperately to be the eye of that beautiful, luxurious storm.
Yet despite his desire to be adorned in these fabrics, he's stood here in an ivory tailcoat likely made of satin, because his father couldn't care less about his personal requests. Probably asked for something along the lines of: dashing, princely, handsome, three words that were all synonymous but his father insisted were different.
He clenched his jaw when he remembered the scene from earlier that day.
"Alexander Gabriel Han! Are you out of your mind? Never over my dead body are you to be seen like that in public, let alone at the ball we arranged to find you a bloody wife!"
Alex felt his blood boil at the thought of an arranged marriage. "Father, I'm barely eighteen, I don't need a wife right now! I swear no one will even know it's me!"
"Go upstairs and change into your coat! And don't ever let me see you in that ever again!"
He couldn't deny that his plan was futile. Of course his father, a king, would never allow his son, a damn prince, to be seen a gown. Personally, Alex believed his step-sister deserved more scorn than himself. After all, Anastasia was the one who introduced him to the world of couture and used him as a human doll to be dressed and accessorized.
It was her fault he fell in love with the feeling of silk against his twig legs in the first place. It got to the point where no bedding arrangement could satisfy his cravings. He needed more, and he wanted to be swung around on the dance floor in a silk and chiffon gown. He wanted the material to lightly brush his skin in a swirl as he waltzed about. He didn't want to be in control, stomping around in a stiff tux and heavy dress shoes. He wanted to be treated like a princess, like something delicate, floating through the air, for just one night.
He just wanted to see what it was like. So what if he's the Prince of Aurum?
He jammed another cracker into his mouth and continued to gloat at the dancers. It was then he saw in the corner of his eye, draped in blush pink chiffon, his sister heading his way, her golden locks bouncing in curls.
"Alex! Guess what! Father has just entered a room with some military general." He stared at her completely blank faced, bit comprehending anything. "Now's your chance!"
"Chance for what?" he asked, a bit frightened by her enthusiasm.
"You know..." she shrugged as if he was supposed to understand. She then leaned in like she was about to tell a big secret. "...the dress. You wanted to wear it tonight."
"I did. Before he got on my case about it."
"Pretty please! I'll do your makeup and hair. Oh! you'll be even prettier than me," she gushed. "Come on."
"What if I get caught? Won't anyone notice that I'm gone?"
She stared at him. "You really think anyone's going to notice you're gone when they haven't even noticed that you're here? Let's go."
YOU ARE READING
Satin is Not SilkGeneral Fiction
Let's get one thing straight: satin is NOT silk. Don't be fooled by its flimsy ability to reflect light, so glossy that it's blinding and migraine inducing. If there's one thing Alex Han knows, it's that satin is made up of 100% polyester, lies, and...