The redhead wished he could have willed the date to move itself forward a few months—or a few years. He wished he could have told Rubin and Odolf and everyone else that he just wasn’t ready. And yet, when Hayden looked at their stoic faces he knew he didn’t need to. They had just as much confidence in their young charge—that was to say, none at all. He couldn’t blame them, even if it hurt. When he had looked at himself for the last time in the mirror before being hurried out of his dorm room and toward the ballroom, all he had seen was an awkward skinny redhead in clothes that were way too nice for him. His face had begun to fill out now and become healthier and less that of a scraggly, malnourished orphan, but it hardly helped. He still looked just as out of place and just as disappointing. The only piece of him that belonged to the role of the Deamone Prince was those bright green eyes, however large and full of insecurities as they were. It didn’t matter what any of them wanted, though. The start to the Licia School’s semester was upon them and they were out of time.
As Hayden braced himself and allowed the guards to nudge him gently forward, he looked down at his hands. They were cold and clammy and he wanted to wipe them down the front of his fine suit, only that would be improper behavior for a prince, and Rubin was watching him. Rubin almost always watched him. He’d make this judgmental throat-clearing noise whenever Hayden did something he had been expressly told to remember not to do. Hayden really hated that noise. It made him blush—as did most things—and feel lost. The months, weeks, days he had been training under the strict tutelage of his guards and (occasionally) his father felt like seconds now. They slipped like sand through his fingers and gathered into uselessly scattered puddles at his feet. If given the opportunity, Hayden would have stopped to try to gather them. Unfortunately, to do so would have meant to trip over himself as they walked down the stairs and into the ballroom where everyone was waiting. All the peers he had yet to meet—including his cousin, the Princess Alarice.
Blinking one, two, three times, Hayden took a deep breath and urged the anxiety inside of him to establish itself elsewhere. The princess was there already, adorned in a blooming gown that made her look for the world like a rose. Most importantly, with her professionally patient and serene smile and her hands folded delicately in front of her as she approached the microphone and give her speech, she looked like she knew exactly what she was doing. All he could think about was how he was going to have to follow her. How she was, according to his father, a scheming girl who wanted nothing more than to keep them apart. How she must have hated him before she had even met him. It tore the boy up inside—but right now he needed to make Lord Duncan Deamone proud. He needed to give a good speech and express his expectations for a good year. Having never spoken in public before—let alone to so many people and in such famous company, let alone as the only son of a notorious man, let alone as a Prince—however, left Hayden sadly…well, speechless. It was extremely inconvenient.
Silently, he tried to reconstruct the carefully-rehearsed speech he had prepared. Silently, he tried not to stare at the all-around lovely brunette as she addressed the crowd, or at any of the guards that had accompanied her or accompanied him. He tried not to think about how he couldn’t see his father anywhere, but since the man had promised to be there, he must have been there somewhere and it meant that Hayden couldn’t mess this up. Not that he was off to a very good start, mind you. His first real debut as a Prince and he was late. That, or the Princess had been early—but knowing his luck, Hayden was sure it was his own fault. Even if he hadn’t been in charge of his own schedule. Either way, Hayden was sure it wasn’t helping the Princess’ image of him (even though Duncan had told him not to worry too much about her opinions).
The room erupted in applause and Hayden nearly jumped from his chair. Even when he didn’t, his heart managed to find a new home in his throat. Right. It was his turn. Trying to appear as steady and as calm as he could manage, Hayden stood as the Princess took her own seat. He put one foot in front of the other and concentrated on breathing evenly. Whatever you do, he told himself, don’t stutter.
The first thing he noticed was the microphone situated for the Princess’ formidable height (at least compared to his five-foot-two-inches self). He reached for the lever to lower the instrument, but before he could grab the metal, Rubin was there to correct the mistake. Rubin was always there to correct the mistakes. Hayden felt himself smiling, for once thankful that he could at least do one thing right automatically—be charming in his own, pathetic right. He’d been told that before, anyway. That ‘with a face like that, nobody could say no to you’. Well, people had told him no before. But at least they tended to look a bit guilty about it.
“Good evening,” he started, then promptly forgot the rest of what he had been expected to say. Hayden smiled wider to fend off the growing sense of panic, spoke slowly to appear calm. At the very least, he could try to remember the lessons in diction (his father had seemed particularly displeased with the stammering). “It’s an honor and…a privilege…to be able to share this—experience with all of you. I fear I…surely cannot say it any better than the Princess has, before me, but I have…I have faith that this will be a great year.” Hayden paused. Hesitantly, unsure if he should say anything else, feeling guilty and awkward that his speech was so short but also afraid they could hear his heartbeat echoing out through the microphone, he took a step backward. The crowd applauded again—though this round was more polite than enthusiastic. More unsure. Hayden leaned forward again to add a mumbled “thank you”, but found the microphone had already been switched off. Maybe they had anticipated his fumbling.
And then he was seated again. Music began to play. Then he was watching as the students began to chatter and attack snack trays and sweep one another into dance. Hayden felt cold, like he was going to faint. His legs felt like they didn’t belong to him and he couldn’t control their shaking. For as hard as it had been to get through his public bumbling, it was even harder to sit up straight and face his dark, imposing father as he seemed to materialize from the shadows before beginning to approach him. So Duncan Deamone had been watching. Hayden couldn’t even fathom how disappointed the lord must have been with his squirrely son.
It wasn’t as bad as Hayden was anticipating, though. Well, it was. Just different. Duncan smiled at him—a measured you-could-have-done-better-but-I-won’t-complain-right-now-in-public smile. “Go ask the Princess for a dance?” he suggested, though it was more of an order than anything else. Hayden looked hesitantly over at his cousin, who was watching the students and seemed somewhat lost in thought. Then he looked down at his polished black shoes.
“Is it…”
He hadn’t even gotten the weak protest out of his mouth before he found himself somehow, suddenly, inexplicably, stumbling forward and toward the other noble. Hayden…honestly couldn’t remember ever having stood up. His anxiety seemed to be having some rather unfortunate side-effects on his memory. “Excuse me,” he started meekly before remembering his station as (more-or-less) the young woman’s equal. “I mean, um, hello—I was wondering, I mean hoping, I mean I’d be delighted i-if—”
Hayden didn’t even manage to make it past an uncomfortable hello before one of her guards (the scary Deamone one) had stepped in between them. The young prince would have positively fled at the way he was being glared down upon if it hadn’t been for the men behind him preventing him from running or hiding. He was trapped.