"...And Lord Garmond was very insistent that he meet his 'dear old friend'," Damian scoffed, "Friend indeed, I know for a fact that he has been in the same room as you only thrice." The man he was having the conversation with was silent as he had been for two weeks.
"Prince Damian, y-your Highness, your father," a nervous man coughed from behind them, "the King, cannot hear anything you say. Talking to him is rather futile."
"As your clever little eyes can already see that mine aren't bright blue buttons and I don't exhibit any signs of being struck by amnesia so I know the facts you speak of but what I do with my comatose father is my business," Damian replied harshly though he kept his voice low like one did instinctively when they were in a patient's room.
The healer muttered a feeble apology and tripped out. Damian sighed as he realized he needed to start looking for another healer soon. This one was proving to be as useless as all the others. Every new healer would try a different dosage of medicines and give the Royal family new hope but nothing would come out of their efforts.
His father wasn't always inert. He occasionally gained consciousness but he was never really very lucid. Sometimes he would display bouts of uncharacteristic temper; swearing and crashing into things, while at other times he would complain about feeling hot and feverish when he was clearly clammy to the touch. The illness was never fully away from his being and it was slowly corroding him away. He was half the man he used to be; literally.
The King had always kept a very healthy regime and even at his age contained more muscle in his body than some of his young soldiers. He was always an impressive man to behold and none could deny his strength of both mind and body but nowadays he looked fragile and old. His altered appearance worried Damian's mother so much that she seemed to already be contemplating widowhood. Damian had once found her perusing her collection of mourning gowns after a particularly bad day for his father.
Damian's mother too was starting to look waiflike; as dead as his father. She would sit by his father's bed day and night and this was taking a toll on her. Damian had taken to bringing all his Ball related problems to her to divert her mind but she had been unable to focus. She had also completely refused to be publically participate in the Ball hosting duties. That, Damian was sure, had much to do with her previous experience of the Ball. His mother had forgiven him after the debacle of the last Ball; eventually. It had taken time and patience for him to completely regain her trust and he had succeeded but talk of this year's Ball dug up old wounds.
Damian let out another sigh, thinking about his parents. He looked down at his father and decided that continuing his conversation with his father was the only way to improve his dwindling spirits.
"And did you know this year's crop of Debutants consists of mere children barely out of their nurse's laps. It makes me feel so old. I might as well dye my hair white and grab hold of a cane," Damian smirked at thought of trying to get a dance if he looked like that. He knew the spate of eye fluttering he received were purely because of the way he looked. If he was an unsightly creature even being the crown prince wouldn't have helped his popularity.
"I only danced with mother's friends' tonight. It seems impolite to force oneself upon an unsuspecting debutant. I think I would have made a few of them cry," Damian paused and resumed the one sided conversation, "I think I did make a few of them cry although it could have been the chilli in the soup. I must tell that foreign cook to stop trying to kill us with his damnable spices."
Damian smiled as another thought flitted in his head.
"And, father, I seem to have stumbled upon some women who don't seem to like me at all. I believe you've just won your bet father although you are unconscious and don't know any better so I shall keep this information and the winnings all to myself."
Damian wished for the fraction of a moment that his father would wake up and demand his winnings but there was only silence.
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Delilah walked back from her early morning walk unaccompanied and unnoticed. Cecilia was still in bed and with due reason. The sun hadn't even begun to rise so it still dark out. Delilah liked to have a good solitary walk and early mornings were the best time for them especially if she wanted to crawl about in the mud and still have a respectable name afterwards.
Plants fascinated her to the point where she would forget whatever she was doing and dig in straight to the mud. She could often be found sprawled in her garden trying to understand a plant's anatomy without killing it. Her mother would often be vexed by the muddied clothes Delilah would bring back but over time Delilah found herself caring less and less about what her mother wanted.
The Palace was a veritable delight for any plant lover. The gardens were plentiful with extraordinary flora only written about in books. Delilah could already see the personal benefits in accompanying Cecilia to the Palace although she had already met the disadvantage of it. Only one meeting with the Prince had left her emotions in tatters. She had never been gladder to have ventured out in the dark. A first meeting in full daylight was just unthinkable!
Her ego was hurt though that she actually fled from the Prince when she found out who he was. Such cowardly behaviour would not do. She had legions of judgemental and cruel people waiting to recognize her. How could she face them when just one man managed to scare her off? Delilah would often wonder if he would ever recognize her but she would discard those thoughts as soon as they entered her head.
Delilah vowed to herself the umpteenth time that she would ensure her façade was solid as granite as she took a vicious swipe at her hair with a hand brush. Even if the Crown Prince decided to walk in dancing with a frog, wearing only his breeches, she would not let her face show any distress although she doubted she would feel any anger with an image like that in front of her. Just imagining it made her giggle.
The inadequately stifled laugh was poorly timed because Cecilia woke up from it.
"Oh, it's you; I thought I was dreaming about the Gifford sisters again. I swear another sound from their mouths will make me do something unspeakable to them," Cecilia mumbled with her arm shielding her eyes from the light of the dawning sun.
"Then I shall make sure you avoid them at all costs," Delilah replied as she finished brushing her hair.
"Impossible, I must meet them and their wonderful array of friends in the front garden today. They're arranging an early luncheon," Cecilia mumbled, now half asleep.
"Good luck, then. I think you shall need it. Luncheons and Soirées are the perfect opportunity for women to practice the 'sounds' that come from their mouth," Delilah smirked as she tied her hair into the usual knot.
"Fear not, brave cousin. You have been invited as well. They never really understood the cousin/chaperon bit and lumped you into the invitation," Cecilia smiled vaguely as she punched into the pillow to make it more comfortable.
Delilah arched an eyebrow, "And I'm sure you had nothing to do with that."
"Nothing at all." Cecilia's smile answered the question far more accurately than her actual words.
________________________________________________________________
Delilah sat patiently as she was asked to have another one of the nibbles. Delilah awkwardly showed off the uneaten one already in her plate and begged off from any more food. The circle of ladies soon went back to their chatting and Delilah leaned back in her chair feeling woefully out of place. This whole event aped exactly what would happen in her previous stay at the Palace. Women would talk about everything and nothing at all and Delilah couldn't make head or tails of what was being said.
Delilah was not the worst talker by all means but she needed to have a friendlier setting to induce any conversation from her. Right now every sentence she spoke felt to her like it was being analyzed and misconstrued.
"And did you hear that she's back," One of the Gifford sisters urgently spoke with a lowered voice. Even Delilah was intrigued.
"Who, who?" A petite brunette urged the narrator.
"The rejected one," The Gifford whispered dramatically and Delilah paled in reaction. To her dismay Cecilia leaned forward and spoke up, also curious.
"Who are you conversing about?"
"The girl the Prince rejected three years ago." Delilah closed her eyes as her worst nightmare was confirmed. "They say the Queen found a girl that she wanted her son to marry but on the last day of the ball he came back and rejected her or so my mother says," Gifford added.
"But why?" Cecilia asked, sounding sad.
The Gifford sister shrugged uncaring, "They say she was ugly and had none of the qualities the Prince wanted in his wife. I do not think I care because of his rejection the Prince is still the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom."
The end of the sentence was punctuated by a unanimous sigh. Cecilia tried to share an amused look with her cousin but Delilah was looking at her shoes in a vacant fashion.
"Have you seen her?" Delilah asked haltingly not looking up.
"No, just heard a rumour from my aunt. Someone recognized her but they were unable to pinpoint her accurately. I cannot believe she had gall to try her luck again. I would have died of shame if I were ever rejected."
Delilah fidgeted with her plate until she finally got the nerve to speak up.
"Would you mind terribly if we could walk? I was told earlier there was a smattering of Gertrude's roses in this garden. I have heard they smell divine," Delilah asked with a hopeful expression.
The girls looked confused by the request but one by one they warmed up to the idea.
"Gertrude's are the best roses found in this part of the kingdom," the petite one piped.
"This part! I have to disagree; I think they're the best in the whole of this kingdom. Have you seen the blooms they produce," One of the Gifford sisters sneered.
The ladies made their way down a scenic path and landed right in a seating area surrounded by rose vines. There were pale pink roses dotted in the green vines that climbed all the way to the top of the white gazebo.
"Oh, what a great idea this was, Lady Delilah. The roses do smell lovely," One of the quieter girls spoke up as she touched a large bloom minding the thorns.
The ladies continued with their chatter but this time Delilah decided to immerse herself in it. She even found a kindred soul in a soft spoken girl who revealed how hard a time she was having opening her mouth. They conversed about the weather and their expectations of the Ball when suddenly the shortest one in their party sat up straighter. The ladies facing Delilah also mimicked their friend unconsciously.
"I love you, Lady Delilah," One of them squeaked looking quite demented with her small, green hair accessory almost falling off.
"Why?" Delilah laughed, amused by the pronouncement, "What have I done to gain your adoration?"
"Because you have brought us right in the path of the Crown Prince!" She muttered excitedly.
Delilah turned around, and was suddenly confronted with the sight of Prince Damian walking towards them.
"Isn't this exciting?" The quiet one, Mary, uttered to Delilah barely hiding her excitement.
"Very," Delilah murmured though only for her own ears. She didn't think showing her lack of enthusiasm was going to earn her any favours. Even Cecilia would not understand her apprehension.
A shadow fell on her and Delilah knew the Prince had reached them.
"A good day is it not, my Ladies," The Prince greeted them looking far better in spirits then he was last night.
All the ladies including Delilah stood up immediately to bow in front of the man. Delilah kept her head down even after the bow not wanting to meet the man's eyes.
Lady Gifford instantly started the introductions and ended at Delilah who was standing at the corner of the group. To Delilah's dismay Cecilia let more attention fall to Delilah when she added, "My chaperon," to the introduction. The words were said almost challengingly and it was obvious Cecilia was not going to forgive the Prince any time soon.
"A bit young isn't she. I should hope nothing tragic has befallen you," A louder companion asked curiously and Delilah looked up into her eyes avoiding the Prince's completely.
"No, no, I am not a widow if that's what you're asking. I am merely a lifelong spinster. Our families thought me responsible and respectable enough to be Cecilia's chaperon."
"You're the root worshiper aren't you?" The Prince spoke up unexpectedly rudely cutting off the loud one's reply, "I can recognize a voice anywhere."
"I beg your pardon,' Cecilia asked offended before Delilah could get a word in.
"Your chaperon here likes to worship roots or so she says. I still think the crowd in the Ball room drove her to insanity."
"I am not insane," Delilah bit out still not looking up. She didn't know if she could take the mockery in his eyes.
"It's only the rest of this lot that are insane. We are merely the sane ones wrongfully tainted," The Prince sighed philosophically, uncharacteristically subdued.
Delilah felt herself going red. She wished his attention away from her especially since she could feel some of the other women seethe because of it.
Her wish was granted as the ladies around her swooped in to dig their claws into the Prince. The incessant flirting finally got to her and she strolled off away from the gazebo to admire a red rose. She followed the beautiful hedge admiring its strength and health. Little did she know the Prince had taken his leave soon after and was on the trail right behind her. It was a coincidence he found her along his intended path but it wasn't an unwelcome one.
"It's a beautiful rose, isn't it?" Damian asked from behind the dark haired woman's shoulder deliberately trying to surprise her. He remembered her reaction from last night and a small part of him was hoping he could frighten her again though a larger one was more eager to engage her in a conversation. Damian had enough conversations since the Ball had begun to know that a conversation about roots was probably the most interesting one he could have in the current atmosphere.
"Very," She replied though he could see she stiffened immediately and Damian tried to suppress his victorious smirk as she finally turned around.
He observed her features and found her different from the season's usual offering of girls. She had black hair severely tied in a bun and an incredibly pale face that contrasted with her colouring. He had already noted those factors of her appearance from when they had first been introduced but what he hadn't noticed were her fine grey eyes. They were sharp; piercing and the prince felt as if she could look right through him.
And suddenly she looked away and that's when he realized why he hadn't noticed her eyes before. He couldn't remember a moment when she looked at him directly. It was almost like she was avoiding him and that idea sounded so absurd that the prince wanted to laugh. He bit back the laughter and instead chose to smile at her pleasantly.
"It's a ruby Gertrude from the gardens of Gertrude herself. I bought it for my mother a few years back."
"How kind of you," she replied blandly as she seemed to be busy canvassing the scene behind him. The feeling that she wanted him to go away was now very pressing but the prince was undeterred.
"Yes, and I bought some cerulean Gertrudes as well," He added trying to catch her attention. He assumed that would be a topic of interest. He knew he was successful in his endeavours as her eyes met his for a brief moment. She instantly looked away trying to look as if she was looking for the blue roses but he now knew she was being hesitant to meet his eyes.
Damian titled his head as he studied her. She didn't seem shy so it could not be her nerves that were hindering the conversation. He was baffled by what it could be.
"I could show you where they are," Damian lowered his head trying to catch her eyes but she shook her head in negation her eyes firmly everywhere but on him.
"I'm sure the royal gardener would be happy to assist me," She spoke distantly. She bowed demurely and headed off in one direction. Damian was quick to follow; his longer legs catching up instantly.
"To get to those you would need to pass through a hedge maze. I don't want you getting lost in there all alone, my dear."
The addition of the terms of endearment caused another look from her and the voice in Damian's head cheered at the small victory.
"I'm sure I can manage," The girl bit out tightly, now visibly annoyed, "with the gardener."
She looked around in search of a gardener but as fate would have it there was none in the immediate vicinity.
The Prince's smile was now more of smirk as he held out his hand so he could assist her to her destination. She looked at his hand and, after a moment's pause, completely disregarded it as she bowed again.
"Then I must go back, your Highness."
For the first time the amusement lurking in the prince's eyes and face disappeared. He had never, not once in his life, been so completely utterly ignored. The lady had completely dismissed his presence and no lady in his company had ever done that. He didn't think it was possible.
Damian made a noise at the back of his throat and made the decision that he would not be ignored; not by this simpering whiff of a girl.