“Essie! Essie! Did you hear? There’s going to be a ball! I’m so excited! Mommy’s actually celebrating her birthday!”
The summer had fallen more than a year and a half later, and Serapheme deigned to have a ball for her thousand and some year birthday. The palace was abuzz with servants and nobles, all preparing or helping or giving gifts for the ball. The whole mainland was invited, and the minstrels would be playing, and there would be dancing and food and people. Even the Narientels were invited, as a show of good faith.
Iressa chuckled as she rested a silver circlet over her raven hair. “I heard, Little Light. I hear there will be boys there.” She giggled knowingly with Ari. They both knew all the potential suitors would flock to Anora, as she was eldest and by far the fairest of the sisters. With Iressa’s exotic looks, the younger men came to her, but she usually flicked them away with the story that she was being courted by a faraway prince. This was all rubbish, but she said she wasn’t looking to marry any time soon. She usually just helped her younger siblings with lessons and took care of them in Serapheme’s absence.
“Oh well,” Ari said. “At least we’ll have fun together.” Iressa’s eyes glowed as she said it. Arielle knew that Iressa would rather be with her siblings than with a bunch of boring men dancing at a party that no one would pay attention to her at. She loved her siblings more than life itself. Arielle had always respected her for that.
Arielle grinned her widest and trotted off, leaving Essa to her peace. She went instead to her room to have a maid—hopefully not Helena—help her in her ball gown.
She pushed the door open and stopped, her jaw dropping. The gown was a silky deep black, darker than Iressa’s hair. Silver accented the hem and bodice. The skirt was a plush tulle, bellowing out at the waist. It had thick silver ropes for straps, and slippers and a shawl of the same material was laid next to the dress. A mask on a silver wire had slitted eyes, like Ari’s own slanted gems. It covered the top of her small nose and face, and it was black fur with dark rosettes.
Ari smiled. Everyone was dressing for the masquerade in the colors and masks of their animal form or element. She was a panther. It was only fitting.
She called for a servant, and a young girl about her own age scurried in. It was a struggle, but she finally slipped into the dress and slippers, wrapping herself in the shawl. She went to the mirror to try on the mask. The costume was perfect. She looked much older than her eleven years.
With a gulp she wondered if Germaine would be there. How would he react to seeing her dressed like that?
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She sent the girl away with a hug of appreciation, and, gathering her skirts in a silken-gloved hand, she proceeded down the hall to the ball room.
Germaine was nervous. His parents were too. He could see it. He and Hugo were clinging to each other for dear life. They had never been inside the Penthoseren household except for to argue their case of rightful heirs.
He wore black armor with scales the color of midnight, accented here and there with purple leather and metal. His cape was black with the purple head of a dragon. His mask, held in place by a strap of leather, sported slitted eyes and a dragon crest.
The sword at his side was more for show than defense, but he felt his hand itching to be around its hilt.
His mother moved off to converse with the Banvietes, his father already gone to find the champagne. Hugo was being watched by a maid of theirs, so he edged closer to the crowd and out of the pillars that led out into the sand and night.
Music began—a slow tune, sweet and high; like Serapheme’s singing voice, he guessed. He turned to the steps that dropped from behind the thrones and split into two separate paths as they reached the back of the ornate chairs. One by one, he saw the Penthoseren children float down them. Anora, looking ravishing in her gold gown, mountain lion mask in hand, looked regally over everyone before dismissing them as unimportant. She took the staircase that was to the left, and stood beside her mother’s throne still as a statue. Her golden curls bounced lightly, her elegant silver chains and circlet woven through them.
Iressa entered next in a slinky black dress. The fabric was pulled up in places, cascading down her body in elegant waves. Her mask was similar to Germaine’s, but just black. She took the left and stood next to her sister, little horns poking from beneath her circlet.
The heir to the throne was the third to enter. Jaime, with his red hair, entered in a spectacular outfit of reds and oranges and white. His trousers were white, as was his undershirt. His overcoat was scarlet red, his vest orange. His boots were black leather, and his dragon mask was red with orange accents. He took the right staircase and stood next to his father’s throne.
The second son descended, his brown curls unruly as always. His clothing was simple, black trousers and a simple white undershirt, with a green vest. His mask was white with green accents, the face of yet another fierce dragon.
Marlamen II, named for his grandfather the King Marlamen I, wore black trousers with brown boots, his coat a marvelous gold with a black vest and white undershirt. His leopard ears poked from beneath his blonde hair, his leopard tail slinking behind him. His spotted mask accented his hair and blue eyes nicely.
And who was that stranger in the black dress that entered after Marlamen? He looked closely. Her dress was black and silver, giving curves to a young body. Her shoulders were covered by a black shawl, and in her hand she held a black mask with slitted eyes, feline like Anora and Marlamen’s. She took the left to stand next to Iressa. It was then that he noticed her long hair pinned back, loose strands curled, straight bangs concealing her forehead. And her teal-grey eyes. It was Arielle.
He gasped. She was . . . beautiful. Did she know it? He bit his lip. He had kissed her before. And here she was now, tempting him to do it again.
The last to enter was the youngest—Jaryn. He was so little, with brown hair and dark blue-grey eyes. His trousers were white with black boots, his undershirt white with a brown vest and green coat. His mask was green with vines and leaves. But Germaine had eyes only for Arielle as she stood there anxious next to her sisters.
The king and queen finally stood at the top of the stairs. The king was dressed in brilliant gold and black, black trousers and boots, white undershirt, gold vest and gold coat. His crown of silver rested atop his lion ears.
Serapheme wore a silver dress that hugged her body down to her thighs and sparkled marvelously in the light of the torches and candles. Her chains of silver were woven through her platinum blonde curls, her grey eyes turned silver by her attire.
The king’s mask was of the lion, feline like his children’s. The queen’s was like Iressa’s, but silver instead of black. They contrasted each other in a beautiful way: Gold and silver, like two rare metals of earth blending into something so pure and lovely it makes your heart hurt.
The king and queen parted ways at the double staircases, descended, strode in front of their serious-faced children, and met again at their thrones. King Jhordyn extended his hand, and Queen Serapheme placed hers lightly in his palm. The crowd was silent up until then.
“Friends! Today we celebrate the birth of a queen!” Jhordyn boomed. The crowd cheered and broke apart, resuming their social talks and drinking and dancing. Germaine sought out Arielle as the children swept down to the dance floor to join their parents in the dancing. Serapheme and Jhordyn were already in each other’s arms, sweeping across the dance floor.
Arielle was sitting on the steps of the dais, chin in her hands, watching her parents dance. Anora was surrounded by boys, as usual, and Iressa was off speaking with adults. Jaime and Kalyb were dancing with girls, respectable demons. Marlamen was holding a conversation with a mysterious woman, dark haired and olive of skin. Jaryn was giggling with some youngsters in the corner.
Germaine took a deep breath, straightened his clothing, and took off. He was fourteen, and Arielle only eleven, so it was a bit of a gap in age for them to be seen together. His parents frowned upon it, but he paid the opinions of his parents little heed. As he approached, Ari looked up. Her eyes seemed so deep and fathomless and such an impossible color that he died a little inside when she looked at him. She was so breathtaking, even for a young demon.
“Germaine?” she muttered quietly. “Is that you?”
“What, didn’t think I was going to show, princess?” he asked, reverting to his old flippancy that worked to conceal his emotions.
She smiled, her slightly-longer-than-normal canines indenting on her lower lip. Her teeth were dazzlingly white, he noticed. “No, I just—You look so nice.”
“You too, Ari.” He extended his hand. “Care to dance?” She nodded and took his hand. Hers were sheathed in pitch black silken gloves, hiding her pale skin.
They glided to the dance floor, and he took her waist in a hand, holding her other hand lightly. As the minstrels played their slowest, sweetest song to honor the birthday of a queen, they whirled and flew and wove through other dancers, eyes for no one but each other.
Arielle was taken aback by how good a dancer Germaine was. In all her years of knowing him, she had never seen him dance. He was spectacular. And he was looking at her with a tenderness she’d only read about.
The song ended, and they stood apart, clapping for the minstrels. She was gasping for breath, her legs weak. She held her mask in her hand and smiled as the minstrels took up another song.
The torches dimmed, turning the powder blue of her house. She knew this song, and the dance by heart. It was the Soul Song. She backed out of the dance floor, dragging Germaine by the arm as her mother took up her position on the dais, and opened her perfect mouth to sing. Arielle took Germaine’s hands in hers and did the skipping, complicated steps that swept around in the shape of an Infinity symbol. Weave left, sweep forward, glide back, spin left. The steps were so complicated, she saw Germaine stumble. She laughed quietly as the words flowed from Serapheme’s mouth in sweet, high notes:
“Le dondei via fu
Bon le por sei knu
Bon le por sei knu
Ereste fya voux
Bor len comei coramor
Bor len comei coramor.”
Arielle knew the words were a mixture of a seafaring draconic language, paired with Lu’va. She didn’t remember what they meant. The rest of the song was lost on her as Germaine pulled her out of the circle and behind a pillar.
“Arielle, I’m bored of this. Let’s say we cause some mischief, eh?” He smiled slyly at her.
Of course, leave it to Germaine to cause trouble at her mother’s ball. She shook her head slowly, smiling back. “Let’s.”
By the end of the night they’d replaced the punch with alcohol and put fake snakes in the hair of a few prim demonesses. They then sought out their little brothers and coaxed them into dancing with a few little demon girls.
It was, all in all, a fun night. She lost her mask at some point, only to find that Germaine had plucked it from her in the process of sticking a feather in the face of a sleeping noble.
Germaine’s mother trudged up to them in the midst of their laughter, dragging Germaine away. The Narientels left early, and Arielle went back up to her room. She sighed and threw herself on her bed as her fox friend slept on the windowsill. He peeked an eye at her and moved to curl up under her arm. She welcomed his warm presence. He was a friend of hers whether he could speak to her or not.
She slipped her gloves off, tossing them and her slippers to the floor, her mask following shortly. She had the fox tug at the straps with his teeth, and together, they got her out of her dress. Soon enough, she lay in her bed in a nightgown with the fox beneath the covers with her.
“Well, Mr. Fox, I think it’s been a wild night. What about you?”
He simply snorted.