At long last, I dragged Thomas out from where he was skulking and got a bit more out of him. So, here's the ball!
I shall have you all know that I had my part of this chapter written ages ago. Billi here, however, has been ... preoccupied would be my guess, and seems to have forgotten until tonight. So, finally, here's the chapter! --glares in Billi's direction--
Thomas sat on his throne, idly drumming his fingers as he watched the ladies enter the ballroom with family or in small groups. His chilling gaze flickered over familiar faces and new ones alike, keeping a running list of incompetencies in his head.
Lady Marghetta, oh, she's gained quite a bit of weight since last year. That dress doesn't fit her well at all, either; she should have a more flattering cut. Perhaps even a different color, that maroon brings out the unsightly ruddy complexion of her face.
And Maid Fiona, charming as usual with her elegant smile in my direction, but her red hair clashes with that shade of pink. How could she not notice? Abominable. Her maids obviously have no fashion sense. Pity her mother died and took that with her.
Young Duchess Georgianalee of the long name, yes, I remember her. She was quite taken with Lord Devon last time. A waste of her beauty, that one. She cut her hair too, interesting. It curls nicely about her shoulders. Unpleasantly shy, though. Can't hold a conversation for more than three minutes.
A lady I do not know, hm. Pretty enough, I suppose, though with such stature, she needn't wear those monstrosities of heels. She looks positively giant-like. No man right in the head would want to dance with her and be dwarfed. She laughs far too loudly, as well. I can hear her all the way over here. Goodness me, no.
Speaking of giants, Maid Orpha, I see. Grown another foot all the way around. Good gracious, if you're so large, must you wear bright red? She's drawing all the gazes of the men, of course. Social butterfly, or rather, whale. Aha, a wink. My first one of the evening. Cheers, Maid Orca.
Another one I don't know. A golden dress? How bold. She glitters horrendously; I think I'll be seeing spots all evening. It washes out her complexion, also. She looks ill, almost yellow. Not terrible in looks. A bit too rounded to consider, though, and too tall. We must stand within an inch of each other. No, no.
Maid Marissa in her trademark emerald. Has she no other dress, I wonder? They must have been letting it out for three years. Not that she has grown overmuch. The same wide smile and a wink. Two in five minutes. Tonight might go well after all. And if Marissa has arrived that means...
There is Lady Alexis, of course. A white gown tonight, interesting choice. One of the few here who could pull off the color without looking like a ghost or a browned peasant. Nose too big though, and horsey teeth. Pity. Oh no, you don't have to smile, that's quite alright, thank you all the same.
And Maid Angela right behind, I might have guessed. She looks like a skeleton, has she been eating at all? Oh yes, she has been ill, I remember. The thinness does nothing for her already bony frame. Hideous. She shouldn't have come.
The fragile girl was the last to enter the room, so Thomas stood to address the room at large.
"My fine ladies and noblemen," he began, smiling so convincingly that it almost reached his eyes, "I am honored at your presence here this evening. I recognize many of you, though several have come with bright new faces. I hope to meet all of you I do not know, and restore old friendships with those I hold most dear, in the course of this glorious evening. I trust you all will enjoy yourselves during this, the Annual Berensian Royalty Ball in the 19th year of good King Hamilton's reign!"
The crowd of finely dressed people clapped politely, then began talking among themselves as music began to ring throughout the room. Thomas held out his arm for Soleil to accept as his parents began toward the dance floor. Soleil, in a dark mood as always, tucked her arm about his and walked in measured stride with him four paces behind the royal couple.
"I hate balls," she said vehemently, loud enough for only him to hear.
They began to dance.
"But you must endure them," Thomas replied, equally soft, "so you might as well enjoy them. Come now, put a smile on the strikingly beautiful face of yours or people will think I am malodorous."
The ten year old didn't even smile.
"Selfish pig," she retorted, expression souring further.
Thomas shook his head; the slight smile that seemed always to be resting there when he was in public widened.
"You are too young to know what you speak of."
"I'm old enough to know that you don't care about anyone but yourself," she snapped.
"Soleil, dear, really," he placated, "can we discuss this at a more opportune time?"
"When all your adoring subjects aren't watching?" Soleil sneered contemptuously. "And don't call me dear. If you give me a pet name, you might grow attached to me, heaven forbid."
"Soleil," he said warningly.
She glared.
"You know it's true. I don't know why you don't just disown me."
"Because you're beautiful, and once you sweeten up a touch, we'll be a lovely pair. Besides, royalty are supposed to be loving and friendly toward their family at all times. It would be nothing short of a scandal, and that would mar my otherwise untarnished reputation."
"Well, I hate you. Maybe I'll disown you when I'm old enough that people will take me seriously."
"You do that."
Her eyes flashed a deadly silver from their bottomless depths.
"You need to grow up, brother."
"You need to grow up too. You've already got half the men fawning over you, and you don't know how to handle them."
Soleil clenched her jaw at the jab.
"I do too."
He laughed softly.
"I ignore them," she continued, in a lofty voice. "And do my best to look ugly whenever possible."
"Hardly the way to win the hearts of the people."
"You already have them. It would be a fruitless undertaking."
"I like competition."
The song ended and they bowed and curtsied accordingly before walking back to their thrones.
"Competition is pointless," was Soleil's parting remark before she sat gracefully in her small throne.
Thomas left her to begin his quest of dancing with every girl at least once, making note of the rising maturity levels and adjusting his record of actions that would charm each one.
He was lauding to those who loved him and slightly disdainful to those who didn't seem to care about him. For if they didn't care about him, why should he care about them? Of course, he never overstepped the boundary between polite criticism and rudeness. He walked the line well enough to know where to step.
Music played, colors whirled around, and the gentle murmur of talk and laughter filled the air. They were at the ball.
Over in the distance, Gloria saw a group of girls giggling like there was no tomorrow. She assumed that Prince Thomas was in the middle of those girls. 'He can't be that handsome, or I would have known,' Gloria thought, moving towards the refreshment table. If only she could get there unnoticed. Hard to do in her elegant gold gown, but she would try anyway. Just a few more steps...
A new song started, and Gloria felt a tap on her arm. Turning, she came face-to-face with a boy.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, holding out his arm.
"But of course," Gloria responded, laying her hand on his arm and sighing inwardly. Her drink would have to wait. She turned her head to get a better look at her new partner. Jet black hair that looked like it had never been washed, pale skin, dark eyes ... This boy must be a scholar.
"With whom do I have the honor of this dance?" asked the boy.
"My name is Gloria Monterio, and you?" Gloria was quickly becoming bored with all these cumbersome phrases that had to be used.
"Alfred Bradshaw, at your service, milady." Bradshaw inclined his head slightly. "You are extraordinarily beautiful, Miss Monterio. I am surprised not to have seen you on the dance floor a bit more."
"Dancing does become quite tiresome after a while, to tell you the truth. I am indeed glad that they provide refreshments."
"Ah yes. Dancing does make one quit thirsty. Perhaps you would like to go get a drink?"
"It would be my pleasure."
Gloria and Alfred exited the dance floor and headed for the refreshments table. Gloria glanced toward the gaggle of girls who, supposedly, were hiding Prince Thomas from view and received a slight shock. Through a gap in the giggling girls, Prince Thomas was watching her! Or at least, it looked like he had been. She looked away, flushing and thinking fast. Either he had been watching her, or they had happened to look at each other at the same time. Personally, she would like to have thought the former was true, although there was really no way of knowing.
"So, what do you like to do?"
Alfred's question brought her back to the ballroom.
"Oh, not much. I love horseracing, but Father says I do way too much of it! He seems to think I have better things to be doing. But don't let me bore you. What is your main interest?"
Before Alfred got a chance to answer the question, Gloria felt a hand on her arm. Looking around, she found herself face-to-face with Prince Thomas.
"Excuse me, there's another song starting. Join me?"
"It would be my pleasure." Placing her hand on his arm, Gloria followed Prince Thomas out onto the dance floor.
Prince Thomas held most of the girls in the palm of his hand by the end of the evening. He was surrounded by a perfume-smelling cloud of those said girls as he glanced around the ballroom looking surreptitiously for any girls who may have been left out. He spied the girl in the golden dress talking with a young man about her age and realized he had not danced with her yet.
And it's a good thing, he thought with amusement, excusing himself from the flowery conversation, or I would have gone blind before I had the chance to meet that one girl. What was her name?
He asked her to dance in his usual smooth fashion, and she seemed only too happy to oblige. He chanced a look at the boy closer up. A mangy specimen. Put on a few pounds of muscle, and wash your hair, lad!
Thomas observed her as they danced, making a more fine tuned mental account, as he had with the scores of others. He was interrupted before he could quite begin, however, when she said suddenly;
"Are you enjoying the ball, sire?"
His mouth curved into a heart-melting smile and he thought he detected a hint of color rise to her cheeks.
"But of course. I always enjoy balls. The people are so... entertaining. And you, how do you care for the ball, Lady...?"
She smiled hesitantly, then offered her name.
"Gloria Monterio. I am enjoying myself immensely, thank you."
Definitely does not look good in this dress. The flashiness is juvenile, but the color does not look as terrible as I imagined. Not an altogether flattering cut, though. She is well proportioned, unlike Talia; her head was so small I marveled she could think at all! Nice face. Freckles, I see, hiding under a thin layer of makeup. "Cute," I think, was the aim. Rough hands, hm. Not extraordinarily pretty, but she glows. Not a complementary figure to myself – too tall, and her chin is too round. Her eyebrows are too high, like she is always surprised. And, she smells of horse.
Gloria seemed to find his gaze disconcerting, for she frowned and cleared her throat a little. Thomas made no sign that he had heard her, waiting to see her reaction and do something captivating. Smile winningly and apologize for his inattendance, blush and mutter that he was distracted by her beauty, etc. She missed a step in the dance and tripped over his foot.
Thomas tightened his hold and held her upright with little effort. She flushed and stumbled an apology, though instead of looking distraught and humiliated, she looked faintly irritated. At him? Well!
"A horse maiden should be lighter on her feet," he said softly, with an undertone of criticism. Surely she would guess it was the smell that gave her away. He smiled like it was a tease, but she flushed deeper, now in anger.
"And a prince lighter on his tongue," she hissed as the song ended, curtsying jerkily.
Touché, he thought, almost laughing. The viper bares its teeth. Good thing I saved her for last.
Thomas really is great fun to write, once you get him going. The arrogant little whelp likes hearing all about himself, of course. But only on his own terms.I hope I can get the next chapter up sooner than this.
Yes, please DO get the next chapter up sooner than this! Thank you to all of our precious reviewers, and to the next batch there will be ... -- drum roll --
chocolate-covered raisins! or yogurt covered, if you prefer ...