Rosa knows she has never seen so much light in her life. She feels as if she is on the brink of a precipice, staring out into an abyss of sound and flashing jewels, barely able to keep herself from falling. Her hands sweat in her gloves, and beneath her dress, her legs tremble.
"They're all staring," she squeaks to her father. The sight of him brings her some comfort. While her mother and sisters have stayed in Covigo, her father has journeyed across the country just to stand by her side.
His weary smile grows at the sight of her. "It's because you're beautiful, mi amor."
She manages a weak grin and takes his proffered hand. The applause dwindles as people dressed in their best finery rush toward her. The Sentinels that form a semicircle around her and her father move to hold them back, shoving away their eager hands and deflecting their questions.
Out of the chaos comes a sandy-blond head of hair. Rosa can barely see who it belongs to; she's never been very tall. The owner of that head pushes his way through the crowd and in between the ranks of the Sentinels protecting her. Who would have the authority to just move a group of armed Sentinels aside?
Her surprise is momentary. The sight of him explains everything. He's a Sentinel too, dressed in cool hues of blue and silver, epaulets gleaming in the light from the chandelier overhead. The sandy-blond colour of his hair extends to his pale eyelashes and eyebrows. Freckles dot his fair face. The corners of his warm brown eyes crinkle into a polite smile.
"Doña Rosalinda de Silva," he greets, striding forward, taking one of her gloved hands and bending to press a kiss upon her knuckles. "My name is Don Eden Tudor. I've been assigned to be your escort this evening."
"Tudor," her father echoes. "You're Don Valentine's substitute, aren't you? The Wilshorian?"
Eden Tudor straightens, his cheeks growing pink. "The same. Don't worry, Don Mateo. Your daughter is completely safe in my hands."
"I have faith. The Head Sentinel spoke highly of you in his message."
This makes Eden Tudor's eyes go wide. "Really?" Then he tugs at his collar, laughing. "I didn't know I was so important to him."
"Clearly you are." Her father turns to her. "You can go on, Rosa. I'm going to catch up with a few friends."
"Are you sure?" Rosa asks.
Mateo de Silva waves a hand. "Of course, mija. Do as you like."
Her father makes his way into the ballroom, mustering up a loud hola for old acquaintances. Rosa shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She darts a nervous glance to Eden.
"I'm ready to go when you are, Doña Rosalinda."
Rosa hides her shaking hands behind her back, inching her way towards the crowd. Her gaze moves quickly over the people- all the people- taking them in all at once. While some press against the Sentinels, hoping for a peek at her, some whisper behind their hands, laughing.
"He must've been looking for someone... fertile, at the very least," a woman titters.
Rosa takes a step back. Fertile? Is that why the king looked at her in the way that he did?
Eden clears his throat. "Doña Rosalinda?"
The ceiling of this room makes her feel about a finger's length tall. She feels like one of the mice that her mother's treasured cats used to chase around the manor, caught between razor-sharp claws and dangling precariously close to a gaping mouth.
"Yes?" she squeaks.
"If I may..." he begins, reaching into his pocket with a gloved hand. From it, he pulls a rose with exquisitely red petals, glistening with dew. "I took off the thorns."
"It's lovely," she tells him.
He holds it out, looking away. "It's for you."
"For me? Really?"
He nods. She takes it in her hands. Dents line the verdant stem where the thorns must've been notched off. She holds it gingerly, afraid to bend it.
"Where did you find this?"
Eden scratches the back of his head. "Oh, you know. Just... around." He smiles at her. "I was hoping it'd make you happy."
She doesn't hide the delighted smile that spreads her lips. "It does. Thank you."
Eden offers her an arm. "Shall we?"
Rosa hesitates. Eden keeps his arm out.
"They're just vultures," he says. "Preening, posturing vultures. Besides, you won't see anything of note standing there."
"Father said I was in danger."
"Of what? Snide remarks? I'm here, Doña Rosalinda. Look at all the other Sentinels."
Rosa stares at his arm, clothed in deepest blue. She reaches for it just as gingerly as she holds the rose, wrapping her fingers around it. Eden leads her away from the doors and into the ballroom. The twinkling chandelier sprinkles its light over the glistening marble floor. Gold lines the walls in a thousand different places. The women are dressed in every colour of the rainbow, and the men have groomed and trimmed their facial hair specifically for the occasion.
"The one with the spectacles on your right," Eden begins, "is Señor Francisco Garcia. He's the king's personal doctor. And the dark, rotund one beside him- that's Don Danilo de Narro, from Rujia. His son's name is Carlos."
"Carlos," echoes Rosa.
"He's probably off talking up some girl."
"Oh."
Eden pauses by the doctor and Don Danilo, who wave frantically at them. Don Danilo hurries up to her, red cheeks spotted and pockmarked.
"Dear girl!" he exclaims, reaching for her hands. He grabs the one that holds onto the rose and presses a thin kiss to it. "I must congratulate you on your recent engagement... what luck you possess, truly. Did you know that your father and I are cousins? You and I are family!"
Rosa peers at his face. She knows her father's mother was of House Narro, but besides her father's own dark complexion, she sees nothing that could connect him to this man. Don Danilo's eyes are small and watery, his hair lank and straight. His top hat hangs awkwardly towards one ear, and little red marks upon his fat cheek show the places where his manacle has tried desperately to squeeze in.
"It's good to meet you," she manages.
"Doña Rosalinda," says the doctor, pushing his spectacles up his narrow nose. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm happy to meet you. I look forward to serving you as I've served His Majesty."
Don Danilo shoots the doctor a nasty look, but steps aside. The doctor's kiss to her knuckles is mercifully brief. He's not nearly as jarring a sight as his companion: while Don Danilo reminds Rosa of a rotting pumpkin, the doctor is as reedy and slim as a carrot, his hair curiously orange.
"Thank you, Señor Garcia."
The doctor's spectacles slip down his nose. "I didn't know you knew of me."
"His Majesty spoke favourably of you."
Eden clears his throat. "Thank you, gentlemen," he says, and squires Rosa back into the crowd. Once they're safely out of earshot, he asks, "Did His Majesty really speak well of his doctor?"
Rosa flushes. "No, but he seemed... underappreciated, somehow."
Eden gives her a curious stare. Then he laughs. "I guess I wouldn't know." He looks about the room, searching for someone else to introduce her to. He tuts under his breath. "A friend of mine was here just a second ago. I think he would've loved to meet you."
"Where did he go?"
"I'm not sure." Eden squints for a beat longer before sighing. "He probably disappeared in all that chaos."
"Chaos?"
"Oh, you know. The typical stuff. Racial prejudice and prosecution."
"In regards to... what, exactly?"
The set of Eden's jaw is grim. "Tondans."
"I don't think I've ever seen a real live Tondan before. Is it true that some of them don't wear proper clothing?"
Eden gives her a smile that's worn thin. "Maybe. It's good that you've never seen one, anyway." He looks around the room again, although Rosa's not sure he's searching for his friend anymore. "You'd just feel guilty about not being able to change anything."
"You want to change things for them?" She stops walking. "Why?"
Eden pauses too. He rakes his hair away from his face. "Would you like to dance?" he inquires.
"Oh," Rosa breathes. She fumbles with the rose, settling for tucking it behind one of her ears. "Er... yes, alright."
Eden puts a light hand on her hip. Rosa sets her left hand on his broad shoulder, gulping at the contact. She's waltzed before, sure, but only with her burly cousins and her weary-faced father. They sway together for a while in silence, unsure.
"Did I offend you?" she asks him. "About the Tondans? I didn't mean to. I've just heard that they're not quite like us..." She trails off at the look on his face.
"Have you heard that Wilshorians aren't quite like us, either?"
Her reply is immediate. "I'm sorry, Señor Tudor." His last name is heavy in her mouth. "I forgot..."
"Why?" His face twists. "Because I seem so normal? So integrated?"
"No!" she protests. "No, that's not what I meant. I didn't look at you and think about where you were from or what your name was. I saw you and I thought..." She looks up and into his eyes. She's never seen eyes so brown before, not once in her life. "I thought that you were brave and kind and selfless for volunteering to look out for me tonight."
He pauses. She steps on his foot, but he doesn't even flinch.
"Is that really what you thought?" He seems breathless. "You saw me and you thought of that?"
"I scuffed your shoe-" She cuts off at the look in his eyes. "What else am I supposed to think of someone who could save my life?"
He looks at their hands and fingers, intertwined. Then he looks to the rose behind her. She flushes under his gaze.
Someone taps Eden's shoulder.
"May I cut in?"
It's a boy with dark hair and mischievous hazel eyes.
"Don Carlos." Eden steps away, their hands slipping away from each other. "Feel free."
Don Carlos doesn't spare Eden a passing glance. He fits himself into the space Eden left behind, twining his fingers with Rosa's.
In between a twirl and a sudden pressure on her lower back from his free hand, he asks, "Where's His Majesty tonight, bella?"
She peers over Don Carlos's shoulder, searching for a sandy-blond head of hair. "Still in Covigo," she says, straining to find Eden. "He's going to meet up with the Leis king."
"For how long?"
"They're..." She thinks she spots that blond head somewhere close, but as soon as she catches it, it's gone again. "They're coming back to Migos together..."
"When, Doña Rosalinda?"
She tries to get on her tiptoes. Gods, he's completely disappeared. "In a few days, I'd expect," she gets out. "Don Carlos, you'll have to excuse me-"
"And give a beauty like you to someone else for a dance? Please, darling. Spare me a moment, won't you?"
The dancing crowd parts for just a moment. He's standing by the raised platform that houses the musicians, tall and lean, his dark eyes trained on her every movement. They lighten, somehow, when he sees her watching him.
And slowly, slowly,he gives her a smile.