Stasia
But alas, the prime issue in storming out of a ball with a dramatic flair is having someone follow you. This ultimately destroys one's innocent efforts in trying to regroup. And that follower just inevitably had to be the ever-loving Prince of Archone.
"Stasia!" He called behind me and I could hear him trailing closely. As a last-ditch effort in losing him, I kicked off my gold, silk heels and shoveled my dress up in my arms to head towards the rose gardens.
My hair piece was long gone, letting the braid that was once tucked in an elegant bun to toss down my back. I fought with loose hair around my face and longer strands strayed around my shoulders in messy curls as I staggered back and forth through the thicket of rose bushes. I knew the path within the maze well enough to lose him, but only if I could run fast enough.
"Wait!" He yelled from behind me and I entered the entrance of the tall hedges. Some bushes latched onto my arms, scraping my skin and making me hiss but I continued running.
What does a girl have to do to achieve some alone time?
I turned the corner, picking up pace and finally got ahold of some words to throw over my shoulder, "I don't wait for liars!"
"Technically," He entered the maze panting. "I didn't lie to you." From the sound of his voice, he was just a corner behind me.
I scoffed, "You withheld the truth." Picking up my dress and nearly causing my face to be very well acquainted with the stone path, I saved myself from more embarrassment and hugged the fabric to my chest.
"You asked me my name," His voice was closer than before, yet he remained to shout after me, pleading for me to stop running from him. He continued with what he was trying to say before, "And I told you!"
"Your name is Nikolai, not Kol," I shouted back just to hear a heavy, tired sigh behind me.
His long steps grew closer and he responded, "It's a nickname of sorts."
I rolled my eyes and gathered the insane weight of dress some more while countering, "And that inconvenient habit of not including a last name? Or the matter of you being a Prince? Perhaps, the little detail of you being the heir to the Archonian throne?" Turning to glance in his direction over my shoulder, I panted, noticing he was on my tail, and spat, "Seems like lying comes easy to you."
His hand met my shoulder, spinning me around. As much as I tried to fight, and move past him, he had successfully cornered me. "Would you let me speak to you?" He begged, "I've chased you down for crying out loud—it's the least I deserve."
"Oh, the least—"
He cut me off, "The reason why I failed to give you my name is because I didn't want to scare you away. I have heard about you—took note from others who have met you." Should I be impressed? "They say you were unimpressed by social status and I wanted to make a good first impression." He was breathing hard, as was I. My face was flushed from slight anger, but mainly from running in such a heavy dress. One could say that I worked off the truffle from earlier.
(On a side note, I was never going to run in a corset again—no matter the consequence.)
"You ruined this," I exhaled, crossing my arms over my chest with a frown.
He narrowed his eyes at my accusation with, "I did? How?"
"You are a Prince," I grit my teeth, throwing my dress down in distraught. "Not only a Prince," I paused gesturing towards him with an exasperated huff, "But the Prince." He furrowed his thick, dark eye brows and I realized he still looked fetching in confusion. Typical. "This was not supposed to happen. I was supposed to just sit and look pretty through another ball—avoid bachelors and issues that are bound put a heavy rock on my hand. Not dance and converse with the Prince of Archone." Everything was tolerable until he came into the picture, asking me to dance and listening to my problems. "So, forgive me if I am not jumping for joy right now."
He laughed, still confused, and raised his arms in question, "What is so horrible about this?"
"You couldn't possibly understand," I countered, raising my voice.
A saddened look hollowed his blue eyes and he stepped towards me, "Stasia, we just met. From what I take of our little time together," He paused, and a warm smile started to pull at his lips, "We were moving along quite nicely. If I'm not mistaken, you were fond of my company."
His hearing must have been selective or severely damaged, because it seemed as if he was missing all of the signs.
"I can't afford to 'be fond' of someone like you," I whispered, shaking my head and turning away. I could already see the women circling him like vultures. He would not be able to resist. Give him some time and he is going to turn out just like every other Prince does when he is exposed to the lavish benefits of being King. A change in taste will replace those morals soon enough—if they have not already.
Despite what everyone may think, he was not my only choice in this.
He furrowed his eye brows and reached to touch my cheek. Rejecting his persuasive actions of affection, I turned my face away from the placement of his hand, disgusted with him. His frustration was apparent as well, but he was dismissing my rejection with, "You haven't even given me a chance yet."
Oh, pardon me. I was baffled. "You robbed yourself of that chance the second you lied to me."
He shook his head and briefly parted his eyes from mine. As much as I loved watching him piece together another argument for his case, I weaved a path around him. Though, I expected to hear his dress shoes hastily scrape against the flat stones that bit so coldly at my bare feet.
"Why can't you be fond of someone like me? What does that even mean?"
I picked up my pace.
His hand met my elbow and turned me towards him and if it weren't for my hands being full of tussled fluff, I would have happily put a crack in that sharp jawline of his. "You know," his eyes flared down to mine as he continued, "I don't do this whole 'chasing' thing very often." Oh, how flattering.
"Don't expect me to swoon anytime soon," I crossed my arms.
His lips rolled under his teeth for a moment and he parted his eyes from mine, looking at something distant. A puff of hot breath broke from his chest and he shook his head before he pinned his eyes back into mine with, "I won't."
"Now that we're both on the same page," I collected my dress and flashed a worthy smile, "Happy travels."
My eyes nearly rolled out of my head when I felt his hand shackle itself to my arm again, "Woah, wait just a minute." Patience was and never will be my virtue. "I'm not done with you."
"But, I am done with you," I spoke openly.
His rose his eye brows, a little bewildered at my comment. "That's not very fair."
"Fair seemingly left the conversation right around the time 'Nikolai' and 'Morgan' appeared," I huffed. "You've had your fun, Prince Nikolai. Run back to that shiny kingdom of yours and laugh with all of your friends about it." It seems he never appreciates my value in having the last word, because every time I tried to leave this interaction, his hand seemed to latch onto my arm.
He shook his head and came a little too close to my face for comfort, "You clearly don't know my intentions."
"You clearly don't know what 'no' means," I grunted against his grip and he dropped his hand from my arm.
A certain shame washed over his face as he spoke, "I'm sorry, Stasia. But, I—"
"Save it," I cut him off and noticed my dress had some tears and dirt stains. Add it to the list of things people were going to throw a fit about. "I know your game. I know people like you. I have danced, conversed, and forced fake smiles with dozens of you." He was silent and unmoved at my remark, but the storm in his eyes said it all as they darkened.
This time, he let me turn away from him without budging. I even took a breath between the first and the second step, expecting him to reach out and clasp his hand around my forearm again. But he didn't. The heavy momentum that had built in my chest, out of stubborn thoughts and frustration, seemed to dim as I continued towards the back entrance.
When my hand met the door handle, a subtle pull in the back of my thoughts told me to look back. I could feel a part of me give into the pull that lured my head to turn around for moment. Perhaps, to see if he was still standing there brooding away in the thicket of buds and thorns, or to see if he left.
I tugged on the handle and the door groaned just enough for me to slip inside the warmth of the hall. I didn't look back until I heard the wood echo softly against the stone. The last thing I needed was for him to know that a piece of me still expected him to be there.
As I made my way down the hallway, some voices echoed—bouncing across the stone walls and ripping through the cold air. With every step, they raised in volume and a certain tightness caught hold of my chest as I got closer and closer.
I peeked around the corner to see Father towering over Mother.
He didn't have to smile anymore.
"Are you proud of yourself, Regina?" His voice slashed at her, and I flinched.
Her scream caused me to close my eyes as something broke and clattered against the wall. Her voice shuttered, "Please—Roman, I am sorry."
"Sorry?" His voice raised, and he roared, "I thought I made myself clear—but it seemed that you are completely useless to me. You created that problem—that girl will never amount to anything. She's worthless."
I could barely hear her as she said, "She just wants—"
"It doesn't matter what she wants," he cut through her again, "It's not about her—it's about the arrangement. It's about what I need her to do. Her feelings are irrelevant to me and they need to be irrelevant to you. This is not about her. This is bigger than her. Understand?"
She didn't answer him.
"Regina," He spoke grimly, "Do you want me to take Stasia and her out of your life? One more despicable stunt like this and they are both gone."
Both? I furrowed my eyebrows, pressing my shoulders to the wall so I could hear more. Who?
"Roman," She sniffled, the tears choking her, "Please—"
He didn't allow her another syllable as Mother's scream complimented what sounded like a vase shrieking into pieces against the wall. "Don't make me do it, Regina."
"R-Ro—" My heart stilled as the chill of a smack hushed the air. A thud of Mother's body followed to the ground and the sound of her stifled sobs brought a sobering weight to the bones in my body.
With that, he said, "Either you make her realize her place or I will."
I had rushed back to my room when I thought I heard Father walking back down the hallway. Even when the door was shut, I felt my heart thumping in my chest, wondering if he would come find me to finish the punishment he started with Mother.
The impending sound of footsteps thumped in the hallway and I felt my chest rise and tighten the closer they got. All I could look at was my doorhandle—hoping with everything in me that it wouldn't move and the footsteps that pounded in the hallway would keep their course past my door.
The moment they stopped, the only thing I could hear was each breath my body forced in. It seemed my lungs weren't sufficient enough to fill—as the door handle turned, my breaths got smaller. Resting all my weight on my bare heels, I tried to swallow the lump that reached up my throat, but it clamped down, growing in size.
Mother came through the door, a few slivers of hair dangling from the once clean bun that pulled away from her features. After she quietly shut the door behind her, her beaten gaze found mine, with, "Stasia—"
Her voice fell off a cliff for a moment and I tried to wrap my head around everything she was trying to do at this moment. How she would just accept what Father did—what he was trying to do. How she could just wear the words he spat at her and put them on because that was what he expected of her. It made me angry in a way and that only made me pity her more.
Why couldn't she be brave for me? For herself?
"I know a lot was brought onto you all at once," She nodded, looking as if she was lacing together the syllables of her words as she proceeded. "But, perhaps, you should give the situation a chance."
This is what deemed possible for my circumstances—to do what I was told.
"A chance?" I furrowed my eyebrows, "I danced with him, Mother. I played nice. I wore the costume and played the part long enough—don't you think?"
She closed her eyes, bringing her hands together in front of her, looking as if she was wishing for something when she started, "Your Father—" But she stopped. Altogether, her body seemed to slump in a way, and I saw her lip tremble for a moment—but then in the same breath, it froze. She held herself together.
I wanted to say the truth for her.
He hits you with the same hands that escort you across the dancefloor. He breaks you with the same voice he polishes to please. He takes the parts of you that no one sees—again and again. He hangs a noose behind your head and tells you to decide life or death, when you know that the only side here is his.
He isn't a husband to you.
I didn't and perhaps, it made a coward out of me. But it wasn't my place. They were supposed to be my words—they were supposed to be hers.
"Stasia," She sighed, "There is more to this than you could possibly understand."
One more despicable stunt like this and they are both gone. His voice snuck into my ears again.
Perhaps, I didn't know everything—but the fear in her eyes told me something.
Cease fire.
"Your Father extended an invitation to Prince Nikolai—he is going to stay with us for a while," she explained. I had nothing in me to respond to the curse that she was obeying. So, she continued, "Get some beauty rest—tomorrow is a new day. Delight in the possibilities."
She closed the door behind her, and I stood there, looking at the small indentations her heels made on the carpet where she stood. Two little bolted holes in the ground—marking her place.
"Delight in the uncertainty," I turned away, pulling at the laces in my corset.