Author's Notes: Hey guys… I love you. Enjoy the chapter. Go back to Reyning Down. Turns out I had lost the epilogue of Reyning Down. So read that and then wait for the soon to arrive prologue of the sequel to Reyning Down. And for your information guys and gals, I hate this chapter, it took FOREVER to write. The man called Leon in this fic is not who you think. Enjoy it. And don't forget to read the Epilogue of Reyning Down!
Firefly-Dreams: Please, call me LotP. I don't like full caps. When you read a bit of The Curse of the Mercale: Angels of Hyne, it will be easier to understand Corin's presence.
Chapter 3: The Ball
My father once said that necessity was the mother of invention. Of course, that had been about a new alloy he'd created, not this.
"Are you sure you want this Miss Mercale? It is a rather odd request. I could undo these in a moment," the seamstress said.
"I am sure. I do not pay you good money for criticism. Please, just do this…"
She nodded and went back to her task. I knew once I was first fitted that I wouldn't be able to handle the long sweeping gown. I guess my desire to impress the Prince is the necessity, and I am the inventor. The answer: hoops of metal at certain points to hold the skirt up and away from my feet. If they were sewn into the material of the dress they would be near invisible.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Quezacotl, my great-great-great-great grand niece named Sabrina said. "You invented the hoop skirt! I hated those! Made it hard to dance."
"I'm sorry I don't have your grace. And they quickly feel out of popularity for many centuries!" I shot back, "Besides, I wanted to impress Drewel…"
"I was already impressed with you my love," the great guardian whispered lovingly in my ears.
"Get on with the story," the voice of the silver armored Griever came.
"Patience dear," a silky voice from my past insisted of the great lion. Just like those Angels of Hyne to hide themselves in the shadows. One day I would figure out those four.
"Just skip to the ball my dear," Drewel said with a smile.
"Violet really does become you my dear," Tiran said with a smile as the seamstress tied the final cords on the back of the dress and Nitasha finished placing the last of my grandmother's enamel butterfly pins in my hair.
"I suppose," I said, fingering the necklace my father had made according to my designs. It was gorgeous, with the fiery red phoenix at the top, the earth black lion at the bottom, the sea blue serpent at my left and the steely dragon at my right, all surrounded and melded with the symbol of Hyne.
"You do, just look," my father said, turning me toward the mirror.
I was met with my own likeness in such a way that I was shocked dumb. Was that really the humble smith looking out at me? The dress was several shades of purple complimented by jewelry of imperfect but lovely amethyst. Beside it my pale skin looked radiant and my hair not dulled with soot but with a luster of its own. Did I not know this was myself; I would have thought it to be a lady of the court. Or I would have were it not for the skirt. The thing billowed out like a bell, a style copied by my friend Nitasha. She looked as good in the teal as I did in the violet. "Girl, it is time to go," my father said from the door
The coachman smiled and helped Nitasha into the coach my father had hired with the money I had received for fixing the royal ring. For some reason the coachman looked familiar to me, thought I couldn't figure out why. No man in Esthar wore hair beyond their shoulders like this one, and few had stormy gray eyes.
"Crysil," Nitasha said, trying to hurry me along so we could get going and possibly worried at how I looked at the man.
"Ma'am, I cannot do my job with you standing there," he said politely, holding out his hand to me so he could help me in. Snapping out of my revere I took the offered hand and climbed into the coach.
"Thank you mister…"
"Leon…" he replied as he shut the door and moved to the driver's seat.
There was silence as my father waved us off, a grin upon his face. Even with what I had recently learned about balls and nobles and dancing, I was afraid of the encounter. What if I tripped? (I am accident prone). What if my dress offended people? What if Prince Drewel wasn't there? So many questions filled my mind until Nitasha placed a hand on my own in a comforting gesture. Her eyes pleaded for me to calm down, to relax, and assuring me that everything would be fine.
Before I knew it the coach had slowed to a stop and the odd Leon stood at the door, offering his hand to me. Quickly than I got in, I left the coach, Nitasha close behind me.
"That is a lovely rendering of Griever on your necklace," Leon whispered in my ear, "Your father's skill never ceases to amaze me…" When I turned to question this Leon, both he and the coach were gone, as if they never were…
"Griever visited you that night?" Odin asked in shock.
"If you'd let me speak, you'd hear the rest…"
"And so what if I visited her?" the lion guardian asked.
People grew quiet as Nitasha and I entered the ball room, waiting together at the top of the grand stairs. All eyes were on us commoners and our 'odd' dresses. Some looked envious of the unique designs, while others were disgusted by the non-conformist idea presented in these clothes. Still, I hardly noticed, for my eyes were on someone other than the run-of-the-mill noble, yet his eyes were not on me. Then someone took my arm in theirs, with a smile, and I stared dumbly in shock. This man I did know, Sir Corin, the Prince's guardian. I had once made him a suit of armor to his specifications, and a lovely thing it was. But now he was dressed in a crimson suit with a black cape.
"Do not worry," he whispered to me, "Just walk with me."
Then I remembered. Nitasha had said that there were men by the door to formally escort women in who were single and had no brother or father or other male to present them. In fact, Nitasha stood behind us, her arms linked with that of her older brother who had apparently come for just this moment.
While Sir Corin walked me down the steps towards the floor and crowds, he whispered again. "His majesty had hoped you would come and figured you would need an escort. I am as close to being him than anyone else, so by my escorting you he keeps himself open to the wealthier girls, is free of disapproving nobles and still shows that you are his guest of honor," the male explained.
I nodded politely, understanding it all. Once we were on the floor he bowed to me and I curtsied to him, something far easier in my hoop-skirt. Then I placed my hand in his and allowed him to guide me to where the prince stood, surrounded by nobles. Sir Corin cleared his throat and Drewel finished a joke before excusing himself from his groupies. Corin relinquished my hand and Drewel took it, politely kissing my hand.
"Mistress Mercale, I was afraid you would not come tonight."
"And yet you were prepared for me, My Lord," I accused playfully, thought still highly nervous.
"I admit that I little bird from the kitchens told me that you would most likely come and that I best make preparations or she'd withhold future information."
My eyes darted to Nitasha who was already off talking to other friends. When I looked back to the prince I smiled softly, knowing that he had meant no harm. Still, I felt uncomfortable to be the object of his attention. Really, what was a girl like me doing here before the prince?
"My I ask, Miss Mercale, if there is something wrong?"
"Wrong? NO my lord, there is nothing wrong."
"You seem to be staring, so I can only assume…" and he let the words hang.
With a blush I looked away. Yes, I had been staring, but could you blame me? The Prince was stunning in the sable suit. Of course, most people would probably be disturbed by the sword at his side, or the armor around his neck, shoulders and upper-torso. The polished silver was nothing more than a smile means of protecting him from archers.
"Forgive my rudeness Lord Prince," I asked, trying to be humble.
"I will on one condition."
"That being?"
"Would you join me in a dance?"
With as mile I took the offered hand, "It would be my pleasure…"