Zena looked with wonder at the dress that the seamstress had made for her. It looked right out of a fairy tale. She held it against her slender frame, twirling this way and that.
"It's too beautiful for words," Peggy sighed with envy.
"Isn't she the lucky one," Molly sniggered. "Imagine, lying with his majesty every night." Molly put a hand on her heart and twirled around the room, falling on the bed dramatically.
"It's nothing like that," Zena protested.
"Huh, you're the envy of every girl in the palace. Who wouldn't give their all to be in Prince Lucas' bed?" Peggy told her, breathlessly.
"I wouldn't, for one," Zena said firmly. "Now, stop this nonsense."
"Try telling that to Alice or Joan, and they'll scratch your eyes out," Molly told her, her manner earnest.
Zena was amazed. She had never expected that the other women in the palace were so jealous of her. She had always considered her lot as her misfortune, and lying with Luke, a punishment.
"Enough of that now, girls," she admonished, "Let me get dressed."
Peggy and Molly left, casting heartfelt glances at the dress.
While washing and dressing up, Zena's mind kept going back to her recent conversation. Little did the girls know that Luke was already tired of her. Soon, any day, her title of the Royal Mistress would be snatched away too, and then she would be left with nothing. What would her fate be then? Would she be sent back to death row or made to work as a maid in the palace? Maybe, she would be turned out in the streets, penniless, to beg and be ridiculed.
With a sigh, Zena decided to concentrate on the present and get ready for the ball.
The grand hall was festooned with flowers and decorated up to the high domed ceiling. A stage had been set on one side of the vast room, with musicians settled on it with their instruments. Soft music was already playing as guests arrived and were greeted according to their station. The grand hall was a melee of bodies, men, and women, from the high echelons of society rubbing shoulders with each other, looking for all the world like tropical birds with vivid plumage. Voluminous dresses and outlandish hats vied with each other, the men and women dapper and fashionable.
Zena looked down at her own dress, which had looked so over the top back in her room, but thank god, seemed much more sensible and plain here. Her hair had been made up into a coif, her face dusted with powder, color applied to her lips and she had been drenched with a flowery perfume. Though her father had been one of the noblemen, she had never attended such a do, for her father had always kept her away from the palace. So, it was a new experience for her, and she was wide-eyed with the wonder of it all.
Her eager eyes searched around the room and sought the one person, who was the center of attention. Luke looked every bit Prince Lucas Maximilian the Fourth in his royal military uniform adorned with stars and a band in the national colors of the Principality of Zorbia.
He was surrounded by various dignitaries and important men and women, fawning over him. Dave saw her enter the hall and beckoned her. Slowly, she made her way to the spot where Luke was standing, smiling at something someone had said. She took her place beside him. He cast an indifferent look at her, his lips curling at the corner into an enigmatic smile, then turned to greet the gorgeous woman who had just walked into the hall on the arm of an old man.
"Welcome Princess Leticia, and Grand Duke Edmund," Dave greeted them, ushering them toward Luke.
Zena glimpsed a spark of interest in Luke's eyes as he surveyed the redheaded and green-eyed voluptuous princess. She was tall, unlike Zena, and wearing a gown of emerald silk which by any stretch of the imagination could only be called risque, for it exposed a good part of her bosom.
"Ah, Princess Leticia, at last," Luke said, his voice like velvet over gravel. "I have been waiting to meet you all evening."
She held out her hand and he took it, bringing it to his lips and brushing them sensually over her gloved hand, his glance darting to meet Zena's. How chivalrous he could act when it suited him, thought Zena. Only she knew the ugly, dark side of his nature. For the rest of the world, he was no less than the proverbial Prince Charming, someone all the women gravitated to.
Just then, the master of ceremonies announced the first dance of the ball. Everyone turned to look at Luke, who would be the first to open it. They waited, eagerly, for him to pick up his partner. Zena had been told that as the Royal Mistress, she might have to take the first dance with him, but one look at his face and she knew that he wouldn't choose her.
He turned to Princess Leticia, offering his hand.
"May I have the honor of this dance, Princess," he said, with a look meant to tell the woman that he was interested in her.
She placed her hand in his, her eyes shining, and they moved to the center of the dance floor.
Zena watched them swaying to the music, Luke's arm around the other woman's waist, their steps matching each other.
Soon, other couples joined them, dancing to the waltz, whirling around the floor, trying to copy their monarch's lead.
The music changed, a lively number now, and she watched him laughing with his partner. Customarily, he should have changed partners, giving an opportunity to other ladies to dance with him, but Luke continued with Leticia, dance after dance, setting tongues wagging.
Zena felt that she attracted pitiful stares, as people whispered about the slight she had to suffer, being the Royal Mistress. Luke couldn't have chosen a better way to insult her had he tried. Zena tried to blend into the wall, drawing the least attention to herself.
"Aren't you Victor's daughter?" asked a woman, as she stood in a corner of the room.
Zena nodded, glancing at her. She was older, almost middle-aged, stylishly dressed in a blue velvet gown and an elaborate hat.
"Yes, I'm Zena Martin," she said. What was the use of hiding the fact, when she was the cynosure of all eyes, being not only the traitor's daughter but also the mistress who had been overlooked by the prince?
"Elaine Wilfred," she said, giving Zena a once over.
So, this was Lady Wilfred, the wife of Eddy Wilfred who had been her father's friend. Zena sent a hesitant smile her way, not knowing what to expect.
"It was a pity, what happened to your father, and you too, my dear. Imagine, a lady from one of the oldest aristocratic families, being reduced to a mistress. But then, one never expected Lord Martin to run away with all that money and the state secrets."
"He didn't," she said firmly, feeling rage course through her. How dare this woman suggest that her father was no better than a common thief.
"Yes, yes, dear. I understand that it's difficult for you to accept," she said, before waddling away towards a group of matriarchs.
A passing waiter stopped beside her, offering a glass of wine, and she took it from him, just so that she could bury her face in the glass. Zena took a sip of the chilled white wine, its sweetness spreading down her throat, and soothing her frayed nerves. It was an excellent wine, produced in the rich vineyards of Zorbia. She gulped down the cool liquid, feeling a fire start in the pit of her stomach, as she glimpsed Luke out on the terrace, with Leticia.
They were standing so close, almost a hair's breadth away. He bent forward, placing his lips on her, their shadows merging on the trellised wall behind.