Would there ever come a day that seventeen years old would be considered old enough for a sip of champagne? Unlikely, or at least it seemed that way for the Kingdom of Enchancia.
Amber was sick of having to wait, sick of having her hand shooed away from the glasses that passed her by on silver trays.
Well, no matter, the princess would think with a pout on her lips and a longing gaze on yet another platter, it's not as if the party is the only place where wine can be found.
With her head held high and proud, skirts in hand, she turns to walk through those blocking her way.
A path is made by those prudent enough to tear their eyes away from the men and women swirling across the dance floor. The time Amber could be seen to be missing was limited.
She does not bother to look back to the spillage she had caused when brushing against someone's arm.
Out in the corridor, the noise of the party and its guests has greatly diminished.
A blonde head turns twice before lithe steps hurry the princess along the most desirable path; the one that was least likely to bring about trouble.