It's an hour before the ball, and Faelion wants to have one last dress fitting. I haven't seen the finished product yet even though the material has been draped across my body at least a thousand times. With the elegance of a real queen, Faelion sweeps into the room bearing the dress carefully wrapped in blue paper. This is the moment that I half have been waiting for and dreading. Can I look like a queen? The idea that the past week had been all a dream never occurred to me. This is real. I didn't need a records book with my name written in gold lettering to tell me that. I knew deep down in my heart, and the real issue was would I look the part.
I stand up from my window seat where I had been watching the procession of carriages file into the courtyard. It's only seven, and the sky is pitch black. Lantern light bounces around the enclosed space reflecting of the shiny trappings and water fountain that dominates the center of the yard. Some of the light is flung up through the window of my chambers and lights certain dark corners like spotlights. Faelion closes the curtains. "Now is time to get you ready," she says resting her hands on her hips.
I sit at my dressing table and the fun begins. A pluck here, and wipe, a dab. Makeup is done in record time mostly since I was thoroughly scrubbed when I arrived. Next is my hair. We quibble a bit about this part of my outfit. I want my hair in a ponytail. I can't stand to have either my hair hanging like a mane making my neck hot and forever getting in my face. Faelion argues a ponytail is alright for normal daily wear, but for a social function, it just won't do.
"Braid it then!" I shriek.
"Are you nervous?" Faelion asks as she weaves my hair together tightly.
"Terrified," I answer truthfully. At least I can talk to someone.
"So was I at intro dance. My mother, the gods rest her soul," she pauses in her work to kiss the pointer and middle finger of her right hand and extend them to the ceiling, "decided to invite the whole fay council. Unfortunately, they all decided to show up," she finishes making a grimace.
"What happened?"
"I stepped on the head magister's foot, and he fell into Lady Rochester. The rest is history."
I can't suppress my loud burst of laughter.
"No literally," she says urgently. "My people still talk about it and it happened years ago. I think I'm the poster child for, "DON'T DO THIS AT YOUR INTRO BALL!"
My laugh grows louder and after a minute she joins in.
"It was quite ridiculous in the moment," she giggles wiping her eyes, and securing my braids with an elastic.
"I bet."
Since there is silence, I decide to ask about my wayward frie...erhm...demon.
"How's Avexx doing?"
Her hands still for a second before she continues adjusting a loose curl. "Fine."
"You two have an argument?" In the mirror, I see her reflection's brows scrunch together.
"You could call it that," she hedges.
"Faelion! Tell me what happened!"
Instead of answering, she ignores me completely. "Now for the dress." She says, carrying on as though nothing has happened. She opens the trunk that resides at the end of my bed and opens it pulling out a black corset.
"You can't be serious right? Just fitting for that thing hurt!"
"Corsets aren't so bad once you get used to them." I roll my eyes. I stand still while she slides it over my head. After a minute or so of straining, I can't breathe, but it's laced snuggly, and my bosom is pushed a little higher than I care for.
"Could you just make this thing a little tighter before I die of oxygen starvation," I pant gripping my waist. "I'm still going to find out what happened with you and my daemon."
"He's not yours!" she almost practically screams, her voice tense. Then, she chuckles. "It can go tighter you know that right?"
My eyes widen. "In that case I'm good, and I was just playing you know that right?"
"Of course. Now close your eyes," she instructs as she rips the pale paper.
"Why? Are you really some ax murder out to get me?" I joke.
"No, I just want it to be a surprise."
I close my eyes compliantly. "Heck With It" is my motto. I hear rustling, and quiet footsteps lead walk over to me.
"Hands up." I dutifully raise my arms. Cloth as soft as water flows down my body. My arms go through the sleeves, and Faelion laces up my stays. Taking my by the hand, she pulls me in the general direction of the mirror.
"Open your eyes." I do, and I gasp.
The dress is black as midnight and hugs my curves exactly. It trails to a point in the back leaving excess cloth for a small train. All this I see, but what catches my attention is the red and gold flames sewn into the hem of the skirt. They lick up the skirt and appear so real. The tight lace sleeves that cover my hands somewhat are dyed a brilliant shade at the shoulder that blends into black.
"How did you come up with this? I turn and Faelion looks nervous.
"I dreamed it," she responds her voice coming out as a squeak.
"It's..." no words can describe it, but I pick one close, "...stunning!" Her face lights up like a thousand watt bulb.
"You really mean it?"
"Of course!" I exclaim.
"You're not mad?"
"Why should I be?"
"It's a black and white ball. You're going to stand out like a peacock among ravens."
I pause. "This is real" the tiny voice inside my head says. "You're a queen. A leader. People look up to you, and you have to take care of them." There's no backing down now.
"Just as well," I say. I twirl and the fire looks like It's consuming the dress with all it's crackling glory. "I am a queen after all."
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The gigantic French doors to the ballroom are shut, but I can still hear the talking, laughter, and music. I wring my hands. How many people were on that invite list? 200? 300? 500? More?
'You can do this!'
My heels click in short staccato bursts as I pace, stop, and then pace some more. I hear the herald announce my name.
"HER ROYAL HIGHNESS WAVERLY ANN STANTON!"
The doors open, and I step forward trying to look like nobility. It's eerily silent, and I can practically fell the judgment. Delayed reactions happen when some people gasp. Someone swears. A thousand eyes stare at me, and I stare back and descend the stairs. The music starts up again. The buzz of voices is louder than ever. I hear snatches of talk as I weave through the crowd.
"Her dress! Isn't it..."
"Look at her hair!"
"She's awfully tiny and short."
Someone appears at my elbow. Auntie. "Remind me to fire that fay who made your dress the second the ball is over," she hisses while maintaining a constant smile. Before I can stop myself, my temper flares, and I clutch her arm, my nails digging into her skin.
"If you dare harm anyone that I care about, I will have no qualms about putting you in the dungeon," I snap. She recoils and jerks away. "Is that clear!" I raise my voice purposely and a few people look our way.
"Yes Your Highness," she grits out and speeds off to the bar. Charlotte walks up as Auntie leaves and gives me a look.
"You having trouble with Mama?" she asks like we are having casual banter.
"Nothing I can't handle," I reply smiling at her, my voice just as fake.
Our conversation is delightfully interrupted by a lean man with coat tails that reach his knees. He's tall and all sharp angles. His nose is jutting; his elbows pointy, his shoes even end in a sharp tip. His brown hair is plastered to his head, and to me, he looks eager.
"Oh Lord Rutherford," Charlotte says in her sexiest voice. I want to gag. He bows and takes her hand in his white gloved one and kisses it.
"You highness," he replies his voice terribly gravely. I mentally cringe. Then, he turns to me.
"Your royal highness," he says extending a hand, and I can do nothing but put mine in his.
"If Char thinks this is handsome, she needs a brain check."
He kisses my hand a little too long, and when he relinquishes it, I resist the urge to wipe it on my gown. Instead, I bear my discomfort with all civility.
"May I ask you for the first dance of this lovely evening?" he asks, his voice slightly monotone.
"Way to be straightforward dude."
"Certainly," I respond and smile a fake smile as he leads me onto the dance floor. The music swirls around us, and when he places his hand on my waist, I want to cringe away. One-two-three-four, One-two-three-four. I focus on the box step, and stare at his feet. I feel like crying. I don't want him.
"I want someone else."
It's the first time I've thought of Joshua since the day in the market, and as if my thoughts magicked him into existance, that's when I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a collective gasp issues from the crowd. With a touch as light as a butterfly, but powerful enough to send sparks racing through my nerve endings, he stops our dance.
"Do you mind if I cut in," he says. I could never forget that voice. I want to hear it forever -- deep, rich, and syrupy smooth, the bass plays comfortingly on my eardrums. Rutherford pulls back and fixes him with a deadly glare. Fortunately, he's dropped my hands so he can't feel the way my heart is racing, spurting, tripping over itself in excitement.
"Please," Joshua says as an afterthought. Rutherford looks at me in shock and his expression turns to disbelief as I nod. I can imagine him thinking, 'The princess would rather dress with this ruffian rather than me! He isn't even dressed in proper dinner attire!!' He doesn't say anything though, but just steps away a few paces, bows (to which Joshua lets out a light snort), and walks away. Without waiting, Joshua takes my hand, and his strong arm circles my waist branding it with its warmth. We begin to waltz. We are silent and every five minutes it seems like he stumbles. His hair is longer and ruffled like he just woke up. He hasn't shaved in few days so there's stubble. He looks heavenly. I can't take it any longer. Who is he?
"Who are you?" I ask, and he gives me an annoyed look as though I'm the one that has just turned his Intro Ball into Gossip Central.
"That's for me to know, and you to find out." He grins, and I notice his voice is thicker, and his accent is stronger. His breath smells like alcohol. He spins me around, and catches me close to his body. Closer than decorum should allow. I try to breathe, but his proximity has slammed all the air out of my lungs and left me a water-starved fish.
"How do I know you Joshua?"
"That's not my name," he replies his words slurred.
The on switch of realization flips in my brain. "Are you drunk?" I ask incredulously. He gives me an adorable lopsided smile, but his eyes are cold not warm like I hoped they'd be.
"To a certain degree."
"Why are you here? Why have you been following me?" He ignores my questions and much to my horror, drops his face to the juncture of my neck and shoulder.
"Why...," he murmurs, his voice preoccupied, "...why on earth do you smell like her, but can't remember me?" He twirls me outward, and doesn't bother holding me properly. He gathers me close to his body, palms flat on my back, pressing my chest into his. I hear the guards coming, the clank of metal armor on the tiled floor. I look up, and when our eyes connect, I see something flit in his eyes. Longing.
Before I can pull away, he leans down swiftly and fufills the wish I had the moment we first met. He presses his lips to mine. "Ah, so this is what kissing is," is all my mind can think before I'm lost to the sensations. Startling warmth creeps into me, and a tingling starts in my fingertips. Reaching up I touch the hair I've longed to touch, twining my fingers and pulling him down closer. I'm surprised when he lets out a groan, and tries pulling me closer. His head angles deeper, and then a sudden dizziness fills me. He starts to pull away, and I reach for him. Hot white pain grips my head in its vise and I'm unable to support my own weight. I feel myself falling. Everything is blurry, and I can hear people screaming.
"BEAST,BEAST!"
"GUARDS!!!!"
Hot white light floods my vision, and then I'm jerked into the past.