Fine damsels crowded the
floor, draped luxuriously in their partners’ arms. Bejeweled heels clacked
against gilded tile, buffed to a shine and streaked with marble. Chatter and
chortle buzzed in the air. The foyer was swelling with the joy of its guests,
hundreds of them in masks and dresses, dancing in sync to a gentle string tune.
The night was alive and young, and outside the indigenous trees were stretched toward the star-studded
sky to welcome springtime. There could not have been a better time for the
Land of Everlasting Sunset’s annual masquerade.
This was not Mairtholem’s
party, but he observed the couples as though it was, poised on the balcony with
a smirk on his face. Several glances floated his way from below, questioning
why he, the most infamous man in the country, stood in the spot where their
queen should have been. On the landing between two magnificent staircases, he
watched them over a wood banister, eyes piercing. Behind him, the queen’s servants
weaseled through throngs of aristocrats, pouring wine into crystal goblets. As the ball began escalating into full swing,
they, too, stared in suspicion. What in stars’ name was he looking at?
The foyer door was
opening slowly, unleashing a breeze upon the guests, who paid it little notice
but sighed with relief. A tall blonde woman in a ruffled gold gown slipped
away from their masses and into the cool night without a trace. Mairtholem’s
smirk vanished as a guard in a blood-red uniform pushed the door closed behind
her, erasing her presence from the room automatically.
Had any of the other shimmying
ladies pushed through the crowd and disappeared like that, the Crimson Prince
would not have cared. They were all dreadfully ordinary and obnoxiously loud;
to be frank, their departure would elate him! It was the stealth with which
the blonde had escaped that drew him to her. She slinked about with purpose,
swept through her subjects like a force of nature--without a word! No, it hadn’t
been just any woman; it had been the queen herself, the party’s hostess, beloved
autocrat Lady Florance! This was a fact he could not excuse. What kind
of ruler walked out on her people?
He could not help but
follow her, if only to demand the cause of her behavior. Descending the
carpeted stairs, his pompous stride generated a myriad of whispers from the
disguised attendees. Mairtholem was, if nothing else, a misanthrope, a rather
bitter critic of everyone except himself; what a surprise he’d decided to join
them!
At first, the grounds
seemed devoid of life. Winter had not yet released its hold on the world (it
wouldn’t for a few more hours), and the cobblestone path surrounding the Castle
of Sunset glittered under a thin veil of frost. Ice crackled beneath Mairtholem’s
boots from the door to the courtyard, alerting anyone within a ten-foot radius
of his approach. Even so, he made as little noise as possible while navigating
the swirls of budding bushes which decorated the yard. The bare-branched shrubs encircled him,
and further ahead, standing in front of a large marble fountain, he spotted
Florance in moonlit glory.
She sensed him before he
could speak. She turned to meet his level gaze, and her eyes positively dazzled
him, such a rich shade of violet, like two amethyst gems. The trait congenital and very rare, she’d
inherited it from her father, King Rubin Elexis. The Crimson Prince bowed
before his fellow monarch, crossing his heart with his right thumb, fore, and
middle fingers held in the shape of L; it was not his patron sign, and had
anyone seen him flashing the expression of the light-bloods, they would have
smote him, but it was respectful to honor the queen’s Alliance on her own soil,
and he did so as though it did not chafe his nerves.
Florance returned the
gesture with her own L and gave him her most kindred, honest, and authentic smile. “Prince Winchester,”
she said as their hands fell, “I was wondering when we’d meet.”
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