Alarice watched, her face a placid lake of a mask, as her cousin stepped up to speak before Licia school. Though she did not allow her eyes to drift to it, beneath her gloves she could still feel the slight roughness of her skin where Orion’s little light show had cut into her arm and left a small scar. It wasn’t the first, it wouldn’t be the last. Her last week in Celeste City’s grand palace had been brief, far too brief. Made briefer by her harried schedule: dinners with foreign dignitaries, some of the men on the now-infamous shortlist and all her free evenings were spent with the King himself. She’d hardly had a moment alone, had yet to truly get to know her newest guard and after their run-in in her greenhouse had seen neither hide nor hair of Francois Moreau or his companion. Perhaps that was for the best, Herbert had suggested with a critical brow as he pulled his charge closer in order to adjust the flyaway tendrils of her hair. He hovered over her as a mother hen would and was reluctant to give up his place by her side to Miss. Lindval. The three of her guard stood near her now, the men in their suits and Eirian in a gown of gold that she had approved to a very relieved Lician guard. The speeches had become easy, second nature to her with her practiced smile and easy tone. Once they’d been fear-inducing, nerve-wracking events with a pain that was more than imaginary for every misstep. As Prince Hayden fumbled through his own, Alarice felt a twinge of pity; a twinge she had not yet decided whether or not to fight.
“Duncan’s son…” Herbert had grumbled in his bored tone when the redheaded royal walked in. It was an unnecessary observation. There was no escaping that familiar gleam of green, the way it swirled and absorbed the light of the ballroom’s chandeliers. “My cousin…” She’d corrected sweetly, continuing going about the room and greeting the children of such and such noble, or the oft-stammering scholarship students until it was her time to speak. By then, the multitude of faces were familiar and it was as comfortable as speaking to a single person. While she would be continuing her education, this would most likely be her final year of true study at Licia school and she was a little sad to see it go. The sadder sight, however, most definitely belonged to anyone looking at the new Prince’s efforts. When he was finished, Alarice clapped politely, rose, and promptly returned to the weary task of mingling. She wanted very little more than to get away from it all, from the restricting satiny softness of her gown and the itchy sting of the pins holding her hair in its soft chignon. Robert and Herbert took their turns making introductions and to each new person she presented Eirian; whose reaction to the whirlwind of the last week was nearly inscrutable. Nearly. “Are you quite well, Miss. Lindval?” She asked during a lull in the socializing, as the music and dancing began. “I am certain that there are few dangers here tonight. Robert, perhaps Eirian would care to dance?” Neither Lician seemed keen to agree with her suggestion and Alarice shrugged off their abashment with her usual good nature, easing her way along the perimeter of the crowd. These were the best and brightest, gathered under a singular roof to propagate the idea of unifying Licia and Deamone. This was where it had all started so many years ago… A gentle elbow caught her attention just before an even gentler voice and when she turned her own eyes were staring back at her.
Herbert’s reaction belayed his talent, beating even Robert in his haste to create space between her cousin and herself. Somewhere, the string of a violin went sharp and while the music carried on she could not help but think it had quieted somewhat. The swirl of gowns too had slowed, as eyes landed heavy on her back and those of each royal’s entourage. “Prince Hayden,” Alarice began, her slender hand reaching up the muscled knots of her guard’s arm and brushing him just slightly to the side. With the slightest incline of her head she greeted his guards as well, “Masters Rubin and Odolf, I believe?” Know your enemy. Orion and Herbert had warned when they presented her with the details of her potential successor’s household and guard. Rubin was no larger than Robert, but Odolf was a mountain of a man with an expression of stone to match. Making her knowledge of that intimate detail of Hayden’s life clear, she breezed onto the next greeting as though her stomach wasn’t turning in its place. “And my Lord Uncle, how rare for you to grace us with your presence.”
“Princess…” Duncan purred, sidestepping his son and the men who watched him and holding out his hand expectantly. The serpentine motion of his hand made Robert stiffen behind her and she saw Herbert reach for his holster out of the corner of her eye. “Careful…boy.” The Deamone noble chuckled, his eyes leveling with the gun slinging guard in narrow slits. Professionalism went out the window as Herbert took a step forward, the familiar click of his glock sounding through the now silent ballroom. Alarice’s face grew pale, but if her nerves were shaking her voice did not. “Enough, Herbert.”
“Yes, quite enough, Herbert.” The deposed Deamone Prince sighed, grabbing his son’s shoulder and shoving him forward. “After all, we are all family here are we not? A ball is not a ball until her majesty has danced, perhaps you will do my son the honor?”
It was only at the mention of him that she thought to look down at the boy caught in the middle of the tense standoff. The Princess waited as he gathered his wits, offered her his arm and escorted her out onto the floor that had begun a timid imitation of the motions it had ceased at the sounds of confrontation. Waltzing required little thought and, accustomed to the schemes of Lician court, the halfbreed heir wondered if the band had chosen to play one specifically so that all those around them could best peer and try to listen in. Occupied with the task of watching her and Duncan, Alarice knew that she could trust her guards to watch over her and so she focused her attentions on her dancing partner. “The nerves pass with time.” She assured soothingly. There was not yet a reason other than the boy’s blood to distrust him; that being said, his blood was more than enough reason on its own. Still, it was (it always seemed to be) in her best interest to be amiable. “Eventually one learns what needs to be said, depending on the situation; then it does not matter if you forget the words you’ve practiced for you find the ones that are necessary on your tongue through practice.”
Licia School’s headmistress had sensed the tension in the air, as she always did, and could be seen talking calmly to Duncan Deamone. Though she wished desperately to hear what was being said, the pair were too far away and the conversation beyond brief. The next thing she knew the dance was over and Duncan Deamone was striding towards her at a pace slow enough for her guards to reach her side before he did. “Son,” He crooned, squeezing the boy’s shoulders in his grip. “I am afraid it is time for me to depart.” His hands clasping behind his back innocently, he then leaned in and planted a moist kiss on his niece’s cheek. “Until we meet again, dear Princess.” The dulcet tones of his voice, syrupy and sickening would not abandon her even after he had abandoned the ballroom. Feeling an intense need to breathe, she dismissed herself from Hayden’s company under the guise of having other people to attend to. And while she did indeed attend to a few more of the names on her list of ‘important guests’ Alarice’s true goal was to wait for the entire ordeal to liven up enough that she could get away.
“I’d like to take in the air.” She announced, not leaving room for questioning her decision. “Robert, do please dance with Miss. Lindval, she looks lovely tonight and I would hate for her to miss the chance to be shown off.”
“I’ll watch her.” Herbert grinned, shoving his partner with a good-natured little shove towards the dance floor. The grin faded, however, the second he and Alarice had crossed the threshold into the courtyard. “Are you well?” He inquired with much hesitation, as the Princess promptly began to splash cold water onto her face. The spot where Duncan had kissed her burned, a product of her mind alone and yet the heat of it spread so fast that she was tempted to rip off her bodice just to breathe. “I need a moment alone…” She begged, her eyes searching the male’s imploringly. “Herb, please.” Her uncle was gone, she assured him – and she would not wander far. “When they start the tango, you meet me back here.” He grumbled, his face even parts worried and cautioning. It was all Alarice needed to hear. Heaving a sigh of relief, she took off her shoes, picked up her skirts and wandered away from the elegantly manicured lawn and into the thick bramble of trees beyond it. Her hair snagged on a branch and she yanked the pins out one by one until it was a loose tumble down her back. By the time she made it to the clearing of Licia school’s lake, it was covered in leaves but she didn’t care. Minding the need to keep distance from the pitch-black waters at this time of night, she promptly plopped herself down on the floor and reclined backwards. Hands on her stomach, she counted breaths and stars in a single beat. In listening for the sound of the music to shift, she very quickly found instead that her eyes were growing heavier and heavier. “He’s gone…” She reminded herself, as she lay there and listened to the swish of the wind on the surface of the water; but the Princess shook with fear nonetheless.