Summary:
Spoiler! :
Once I’m out, it’s a frenzy. It’s only early evening and the sun is still out, but every light outside the palace is lit up, casting a florescent glow on the large stone building. I want to pause as I first see it, to remember the last time I did, but there’s no time for that. I’m made to hurry inside so that I may be put in position without notice of the hundreds of important guests. I’m rushed through the halls and rooms and before I can grasp the situation, there I am at the top of the ballroom staircase, every eye on me as planned.
Without thinking, I smile, not because I want to, but because years of etiquette lessons have told me it’s the right thing to do. I wave, not briskly or lazily, but smoothly and methodically, as a princess should. I descend the staircase into the mass of partially awestruck, partially excitedly chattering people. By the looks of their faces, it’s easy to tell that though this party was on short notice and they had to rearrange their busy schedules, it was well worth it to see if the banished princess really has returned.
It seems everyone wants to see my face; everyone wants to shake my hand, to hear my words of greeting. Most congratulate me on my return; most mean it. But beyond the smiles and laughter, some people can’t help but radiate an aura of contempt. How dare I return, out of the blue, and be welcomed so easily, so freely, after all I did? Be so loved? I wish I could tell them I’m not - loved, that is. I’m money. I’m influence. I’m a celebrity, so I must be adored, though hated, and I must be praised, though insult is hidden just out of reach of their tongues. They don’t love me; they love what I stand for. And no one can take my place, so they tolerate me.
For the first half hour of the celebration, people congregate in the ballroom, teeming around me. Then we are moved, family by family, based on wealth and social standing, into the dining hall, which hosts two long tables, one on each side of the large room, and any number of smaller tables between, where people are free to move about. Normally I’d be first, but seeing as the feast is for the soldiers, the three highest rated enter first and I follow them. We’re set at the same table, a small one with no room for others, obviously to set us apart as special and therefore restricted.
While we wait for the rest of the guests to be seated, one of the soldiers introduces them.
“I’m Acksel Grayson,” he says. He downs a shot of something pinkish and, if it’s possible, his blue eyes get brighter. “This is Paylor Farondol, and this, Trint Bundle.” His voice is laced with laughter, like poison mixed harmoniously in a glass of wine.
Paylor barely takes notice of us except to cast Acksel a critical glare. He probably thinks Acksel is going to get rung out for drinking freely in front of me.
Beside him, Trint smiles politely, but doesn’t say anything. He just sort of looks around, collecting mental snapshots of the guests and attendees, as though this is a giant game and he’s working out some sort of master plan. I suppose after five years training as a soldier, he’s learned to treat everything like a battlefield.
I slide a drink similar to Acksel’s across to him. Relax, I think, though I remain wordless.
Instead, I say, “Pleasure to meet you all.”
“Is it?” asks Paylor. His eyes are glossy, yet somehow his stare is imminent; his eyes are like metallic green marbles.
Already he puts me on edge.
“Farry, lighten up,” Acksel chimes. Paylor grits his teeth at the nickname. “You’re going to scare the princess.”
His words catch in my mind. So this is what I’m back to - no more "Lily Ceil"; no more "maid girl", or "servant", or "Adair"; not even my real name. Just "the princess". I know Acksel means nothing by his words, but I can’t help resenting him, just a bit.
In a few minutes, the rest of the guests are seated and we are allowed to move about. Almost immediately Paylor vanishes amidst the crowd. Acksel gets up and coaxes a pretty girl I’ve never met into dancing with him to the string quartet playing on a raised balcony. Then it’s just me and Trint.
Servers come around and offer us appetizers. I take some seasoned crackers, but I’m not hungry enough to go to the long tables at the side where the main course is set up. Apparently Trint isn’t either because he stays seated across the small table from me.
“So, how do you like being back?” he asks.
“I don’t… know,” I catch myself. “How do you like being one of the best?” I say, anxious to change the subject.
“Does it matter?” He folds and refolds his napkin. “They won’t choose me anyway.”
This throws me for a loop. Most soldiers that come this far are cocky, like they’re invincible. A bit like Acksel.
“You don’t know that. And there’s still the Sides.”
Trint just shakes his head like he already knows the outcome. Before I can come up with a good response, he stands and leaves me alone at the table.
I change my mind about getting food. I need something to do with my hands or I’ll go mad trying to think through everything. I walk to the far end of the table across the room; people glance over and whisper as I pass, but smile whenever I catch their eyes. I keep my head down, pretending to focus on not tripping over my full gown. The tables are decked in rich foods and decadent desserts, but nothing looks good, so I take a bread roll for its simplicity.
Princess? Vanadis says.
I jump slightly, though I should be used to hearing voices in my head; this isn’t the first time I’ve been given an earpiece. Being away for so long has messed me up.
“What?” I whisper into the mouthpiece.
You need to get out of there. Now. There’s an urgency in his voice.
“What? Why?”
It doesn’t matter, just come meet me at--
The cord is pulled from my ear. I turn to see a turning back retreating into the crowd. I want to run after him, but he’s soon swallowed up in the mass of shimmering ball gowns and golden tuxedos.
I put down the roll and look around, wondering where I’m supposed to go. The quickest exit is the eastern staircase. I push my way through the crowd and pull myself to the first few steps by the ornate handrail. I’m wearing a shimmering green ball gown, which makes it difficult to climb the stairs, though I persist. I want to shed my thin heels, but even in an emergency that’s looked down upon, and without knowing what Vanadis was speaking of I can’t justify it.
I reach the top and glance back over the room; all the guests are still milling around casually. Is the only one in any danger me? Or perhaps they don’t warn them because a contained target is still better than a panicked one.
Or maybe I’m simply blowing this out of proportion. Vanadis could have simply wanted to speak with me in person; I might have to make a speech, or meet a VIP, or, heaven forbid, maybe my dress is torn at the hem. But none of this explains why someone would steal my earpiece.
At that moment, someone shrill screams. I search for the voice in the crowd and can barely make out the raised arm pointing at the ceiling in horror. I have just enough time to turn my head upwards and see a hand grenade flying at the ceiling before it explodes above me.
I know it's taken forever for me to post this. I've been working on a lot of different things as of late (things I just finished) so I haven't had much time to focus on this. But starting now I'm going to try to get chapters out more consistently. Oh, and Rachey - When in doubt, blow it up. =3
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