An impertinent affair

14. The maid

"May I have a word please?" Elizabeth asked the crown prince as soon as the curtain fell on the stage, heralding the end of the baile. It had been a whirlwind of red, black and golden frilly figures depicting the very famous legend of Warnia.

The legend of the first emperor of Warnia having being handed down the kingdom by God Plutus himself. The fairies that had come witness the 'blessed event', all dressed in bright colours of red and gold, different from their usual attires just to pay homage to the newly built kingdom.

The baile had been an ostentatious affair, and she would have loved to admire it in its true sense, but her mind was elsewhere. Or rather, busy in deciding all the possibilities of her next move.

The prince turned to her amidst the clattering applause that followed the end of the performance, his own hands pausing to listen to her. Elizabeth took a breath in, steeling herself for all kinds of bizarre reactions from him.

"Yes?" The prince encouraged, cocking an eyebrow.

"I want to propose a pact," she said, her face a picture of neutrality she had been taught since she were a child.

The prince's eyebrows hopped upwards in surprise. He shifted in his seat to fully face her, but the timing wasn't the ideal one. The King and Queen had risen from their seats, and so had the entire crowd to pay their reverences to the monarchs. Them being the only pupils sitting didn't pose a promising picture as such.

It was akin to scandalous. Elizabeth hopped from her seat, sweeping a swift curtsy to save face. The prince bowed to his parents, aware of the keen, wide eyes in the hall burning holes in his stature. But while a bashful red heat had risen to Elizabeth's face, the prince remained resolutely impassive.

She had caught the attention of the crowd. With the prince. Again.

The prospect didn't settle well with her. But she would think about that later. The candle of hope had lit after days. She wouldn't let it burn out. As she resumed her regular posture, she risked a look at the monarchs' faces. The Queen was making a show of not having caught the faux pas, the ice in her eyes the only evidence of her displeasure. But the King was an entire different tale. He was directly looking at her with a calculated look on his face, as if trying to glean her worth in just one look.

But contrary to what she had expected, the King did not look offended. If anything, there was an almost serene shade on his face. If serenity ever dawned on kings, that is.

"You were saying?" The prince started beside her, making her jump at the sudden invasion of her thoughts. She whirled around to face him, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were at the departing crowd, adopting a kingly demeanor as opposed to the earlier vocal prince. Elizabeth looked down to find the prince's arm held out for her, and she took it almost instantaneously.

They followed the King and Queen out of the theatre, the prince's eyes fixed straight ahead. But Elizabeth's traitorous eyes roamed about, watching the crowd watch her walk behind the monarchs, on the arm of the future monarch.

The though did little to comfort her. She watched all the eyes, the jealous ones, the spiteful ones, the curious ones, the analysing ones, and the worried ones. Elizabeth craned her neck to see her aunt, along with Catherine, standing in front of the crowd. A knot formed in her stomach at the look her cousin was giving her. It tightened even more as she went on to see her aunt's worry-etched face. She swallowed. It didn't look promising at all.

But this won't last long, she explained herself. She wouldn't be the center of a game she had no qualms to play. She wanted her lands. Nothing more, nothing less.