Ok, ok, I have an update. I honestly can't believe that people haven't tired of Lady Alanna fics, but what the hey. Hope you like :P I have a severely twisted idea for this fic that's beginning to progress, but right now it's in my mind only. Apologies for that.
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A passer-by might presume that the Prince of Tortall had nothing more important on his mind than the perusal of the opposite wall. If said passer-by had passed by roughly and hour ago (obviously in the great scheme of things, time should not always be measured to the most precise degree, in order to lend an aura of uncertainty), that by-passer would have seen the same sight; Prince Jonathan sitting – well, slouching – in his chair, staring moodily at the wall.
Of course, Jonathan did have more important things on his mind, as it turns out. And what could possibly be more important than the careful study of the layering of stones?
Girls. Or, to be more exact, women. Particularly one woman.
At first, he'd thought she liked him. He'd thought he could offer her a little release from the trials of being a Malven – he doubted Ralon was much of a bed partner. Then, she'd begun to plague his mind until he was unable to concentrate on anything else. And that kiss...
But ever since, she'd not only backed off, she'd apparently launched a hate campaign against him. Jonathan had had to deal with girls snickering behind their fans and eyeing places that their modesty should not allow them to.
He sighed, kicking the wall. Was she more trouble than she was worth?
Jon heard movement behind him, and then the sounds of another chair being drawn up next to his.
"The view from here is astounding," observed an all too familiar sounding voice. And she seemed to have changed again. The Prince struggled not to stiffen and turned to face her. "Yes, none like it in all of–" He broke off abruptly, eyeing her in shock.
"Ralon's idea," she said mournfully, attempting to drag the bodice up to a decent level. "You can see why I sought refuge in here."
Jonathan was having difficulty not gaping. "Ah – what made him think of it?"
"Oh, I'm not appealing enough. Apparently every man in the palace should want me. Never mind those who'll act on it, not every man respects the institution of marriage. And that's not where my eyes are," Alanna finished tartly.
"My apologies, my lady, it's just..." He swallowed tightly and shifted his eyes back to the wall, apparently unable to keep them from sliding from her face. "The view from here is astounding."
She laughed and pulled a face. "Stop it, you'll make me blush." Alanna glanced around. "No cloak, I suppose?"
He shook his head, wondering if he should offer to fetch one. "Are all your dresses this – this way now?"
She let out a shriek. "Oh, sweet Mithros, they'll have gotten them all. Gods curse it."
"You can borrow my clothes," Jonathan offered, somewhat reluctantly.
She half-laughed at that. "A girl in boy's clothing? I think people would have convulsive fits. I'll have to stick with this flower in, ah, full bloom look. Excepting the fact that I can't breathe or move – your parents aren't planning any balls within the next... year?"
He glanced at her, then had to return his eyes to the wall again. "Tomorrow night, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. "And it's Midwinter soon."
He sneaked another peek – she looked crestfallen. "Goddess. I'm going to be a frozen disgrace. I don't think I can even dance in this thing. You wouldn't-" She turned to him hopefully.
Despite himself, his curiosity was piqued. "Wouldn't what?"
"Practise with me now?" she asked. He finally dared to properly turn around and was pleased to note his self-control. Her eyes were hopeful.
"I suppose so," he replied, as though it was a big deal, and stood, extending his hand to her. "Would Lady Alanna favour me with a dance?"
She stood gracefully – strange, for someone who claimed to be unable to dance in the dress, but he put it to the back of his mind. "Only if your highness chooses a favourable dance," she replied with a smile.
The dance itself was uncomfortable. She insisted on practising in the positions her husband preferred, which allowed him a view that the Prince would normally delight in, but left it hard to concentrate on anything else, such as the complicated steps and keeping up with the conversation.
Alanna, as breathless as he, stopped the dance. "I'll grace the floors, or suffocate trying," she said with a grin. "My thanks, your Highness."
She curtsied, offering rather more than he thought she'd intended to, and left, leaving the Prince even more confused.
