Another chapter! --laugh-- have I mentioned I love Thomas? I have so much fun writing him. --wicked smile--

Oh yeah, disclaimer.

The Fairy tale that we are going to spin off doesn't belong to us.

Yes yes, another chapter ... How she can nag me to do something when hers isn't properly finished is beyond me, but, what can I say, she's the more experienced one ... Please review, it helps a lot:)

"Gloria, Gloria, how many times must I remind you?" Jethro sighed. "You're a noble. Nobles don't simply race because they can and want to, especially not in clothes like the ones you're wearing! Planned races are one thing, when you have the correct clothes on at least! But to simply race across a field just because you can is ... is ... quite inappropriate!"

Gloria tried to stay silent and still while her father lectured, simply because if she fidgeted, her father would think that she was not paying attention, which would bring forth yet another lecture ... It made her sleepy just thinking about it!

"Gloria, are you paying attention to me?"

Her father's voice came crashing through her thoughts like a charging racehorse, scattering her thoughts.

"Yes Father, of course. I will attempt to limit my racing to scheduled races and will try to remember that I am a noble and must behave accordingly."

"It appears your mind drifted before I spoke of the invitation, then."

"Invitation? What invitation?" Gloria's mind was now firmly focused on her father.

"Maybe, since you seem uninterested, I'll simply give it to Helen. It does not specify who is to come. I merely thought that, being the eldest, you would appreciate it more. However ..."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when she began insisting that her mind had only wandered briefly and could she please see the invitation?

"Alright, alright, here it is."

Jethro pulled an envelope out of his cloak and handed it to her. Gloria opened the envelope and wrenched out the letter, almost tearing it in her haste. Smoothing the paper out on the table, she read the parchment with growing excitement.

Dear Lords and Ladies of Berensia:

We are pleased to inform you

that the Annual Berensian Royalty Ball will be held on September 10th at the Palace.

Please present yourself at the Palace gates by no later than 6:15.

If you have a child above the age of 12, he or she is most welcome.

Please only bring one child.

"Oh Father, isn't this grand? A ball, and we have an invitation! Could I please please go? Please please please?"

Jethro chuckled. Gloria was normally persistent, but so many 'please'es was unusual even for her.

"Your mother and I will have to discuss it," was his only answer for the moment. Yes, there would be some real discussion going on between himself and Angelina.

"Soleil, sit properly," Queen Savannah reprimanded.

The ten year old slid sulkily off her knees and kept eating, stabbing her food with a vengeance.

"Just wait'll I get bigger," she murmured, glaring around the table at the other three occupants who, used to this behavior, ignored her quite effectively.

Soleil was a black haired, pale skinned child, not radiant like other vibrant children her age, but giving off a womanly glow that made everyone stare. She was not beautiful as much as striking, with her soft black hair, almost transparent pale skin, high cheekbones, and impossibly dark eyes. Savannah also had black hair and dark eyes, but the effect was not quite so attention-drawing on her rosy skin as it was on Soleil.

"Who did you invite to the ball, Father?" Thomas asked, biting down on a large sausage and half-listening to his father's reply.

"The dukes and lords of Berensia with their children, of course, and also the royal families of Molln, Trule, Grendath, and Liot. Of the nobles that would be, let me see; the Bradshaws, Sulleys, Tiroes, Willets, Thompsons, Bennets, Monterios... oh and all the rest. Savannah?"

Savannah shrugged.

"Too many people to properly remember."

"But there will be plenty of lovely ladies present, make no mistake," the king said to his son with a wink.

Thomas smiled back after swallowing his sausage.

Of course there would be lovely ladies, half of them uninvited to be sure, just coming to get a look at him. He knew this ball had long since been a place for the advisors and the king to find suitable matches for their offspring, and he was fine with that. He had the difficult job of finding a girl to be beautiful enough to stand beside him and complement his own beauty.

So much was asked of him.

He stood up and inclined his head to his family before striding out the door.

"Sire, you have a fitting for new outfits for the ball in ten minutes," Tyvome, a middle-aged man, said as he walked to keep pace with Thomas. He had apparently been waiting for the youth's exit.

"Why was I not informed of this earlier?" Thomas asked irritably, not looking at the man.

"My apologies, sire, but I told you of your fitting last week, yesterday afternoon, and again this morning."

"I do not remember that at all. Cancel the fitting, I have not time now."

"Of course, sire," Tyvome said, bowing and turning down the corridor to the left. Oh, by jove, if that boy didn't come to a fitting before the ball his clothes would not fit and he would be punished severely!

Tyvome worried his lip and strode faster along the hall until he came to the tailor's chamber.

"No luck?" the tailor asked with a sigh, laying down an expensive tunic, embroidered with silver thread and decorated with silver buttons down the left side.

"No luck," Tyvome agreed, sitting on a chair that lay vacant and scratching his goatee. "But by jove, I swear I will get him in here if I have to drag him in by his ear and get fired for it afterward. Getting fired will be better than the punishment I'd receive for not getting him in here."

"Unfortunately, I must concur with the statement," the tailor said grimly. "His Royal Arrogance would have his way with both of us if his clothes didn't fit properly."

They shared a humorless laugh over the Prince's title.

"Tomorrow then, sometime in the morning, I shall get him in here. One way or another."

"Good luck."

"Thank you, David."

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