No. 36 Duet of Duke and Duck
Slow, dulcet music drifted through the grandiose hall and over pale decorations. A dull blur beneath it all, the careful and timed stepping of high heels, masked inelegant footwork; Ahiru's glass slippers gnawed on her feet but she didn't mind. Her dress floated as she danced. It shimmered from the waist down in crystalline blues. She was having the time of her life. Her heart beat ecstatically within her chest. This was her maiden dream come to life. She had never imagined once that she would find herself dancing with the Crown Prince's friend, Duke Fakir.
His hand was a guiding force above her. He was gentle and tender; wholly committed to the waltz and to her. Ahiru could feel a faint, scarlet blush rise to the top of her make-up and freckles. She hoped he wouldn't notice.
She glanced at him. She couldn't risk embarrassing herself so she had kept her eyes away from his face. He had such a serious smile.
A strange headache was stirring inside of Ahiru. She wondered if it was because of her hair. Normally, it was in a flowy plait but now it had been styled meticulously with elegant braids and care. She tried to ignore it and how her hands seemed to be growing slimy from nervous sweat.
She hoped Duke Fakir didn't notice. It would be embarrassing if he realised that she was just a common girl, a maid: a duck amongst the doves.
He did notice but he didn't mind. He was equally as nervous. They hadn't talked only, not yet anyway but he had a thousand questions on his mind that he had to ask later. So far, they had only expressed sentiments through body language and he was slowly coming to admire Ahiru's earnest movements. She was awkward but sincere: completely and utterly different to the women he had met previously who guarded themselves with feathery fans and unpleasant niceties.
Gradually, Ahiru's hand was slipping away from Fakir's grip and he was so entranced by Ahiru and trying to decipher her enigmatic personality that he didn't notice.
Their interlocked hands loosened and Ahiru found herself stumbling out of Fakir's guidance. She quacked and trod on Fakir's foot. Stamped might be more accurate of a description but Fakir made no noise: he bit his tongue and articulated himself so not to offend the young lady.
'I'm so sorry!' Ahiru squeaked and she recoiled, she took her hands away from Fakir and froze.
Fakir extended his hand in silence. The music seemed to change. Ahiru swallowed and glanced at the clock. Midnight was edging ever nearer, mere seconds away - perhaps this was fate; her way of telling herself all good things must end. Ahiru didn't want to see the magic of it all end but instead, she decided to accept Fakir's motion.
He tenderly brought Ahiru's hand, worked to the bone from merciless chores, to his mouth and pecked her knuckles.
The clock chimed and Ahiru did not flee. The glass encasing her feet melted. Her dress became dull rags that seemed shapeless on her body. The mask across her face disappeared and her make-up became grime. Her hair uncoiled from around her head and already Ahiru could embrace the relief of a fading headache.
Fakir was more than surprised to see it.
'Do you hate me?' Ahiru mumbled and people were already trying to have the magical but filthy commoner removed from the ball. 'I'm a liar.' she added and she sniffed back tears.
'You have not lied once.' Fakir replied softly. The music paused and there was a breath from the musicians. A new song, robust as dusk, began to play. 'Would you like to have this dance?'
The purpose of Ahiru's tears changed as they were of unbridled joy.