Dusk Angels
Chapter 4"We're WHAT?"
"We're giving the prince and his escort a ride so they can leave incognito. Why are you overreacting?"
"OVERREACTING! ARE YOU COMPLETELY INSANE?"
"I find myself in possession of all my sanity, thank you for checking. Besides, Darelgi, we have a personal interest in this. Whoever kidnapped the Betrothed left Allara in her place, and I will not have anyone messing with my dancers. Nobody, understand. I will not let this go unchallenged. Besides," Gaskett smiled, the intensity of the previous moment dissipating like mist on a sunny day. "We have to help them, otherwise we may not get Allara back. They're keeping her in the palace for her 'protection'. Or so they tell us, anyway."
"Huh!" Darelgi sniffed, stalking out of the tent.
Gaskett sighed, and he sank into a chair, deflated. Darelgi had swooped in on him the moment she had heard what happened. He'd been caught unawares, mulling over the message from the king, and thus he had made the error in judgement of telling Darelgi when she was full of righteous anger at the palace. He sighed, pushing himself to his feet. Of course the palace would ask him. Convenience was what they were after, the quick and easy solution. He very much doubted, however, that getting the betrothed back would be easy, let alone quick. There was no mistaking that footprint… He pulled his elaborately decorated cloak onto his shoulders and pushed the tent flap open, taking a deep breath of sweet night air before leaving the tent, letting the flap swing shut behind him.
"Look, this wasn't my idea, okay? So just cooperate, would you?" Yami pushed rubbed the back of his neck and glared at the girl before him.
"It wasn't MY idea, either," snapped Allara, shoving her chained hands into Yami's face. She had never thought she'd have the guts to do that to the crown prince, but right now, she was angry, upset and irritated, and that combination of emotions was pulling her along in the wake of every angry thought she had spouting out of her mouth.
"Look, just go along with them and then you can… do whatever… by yourself. Or, alternatively, I can have you locked in the stable and you can be fed with the horses. Which would you prefer?"
"Better the horses than that jerk we call king! At least they have the courage to hit someone themselves!" Allara spat back, and her eyes widened in horror at the expression on the prince's face. He looked ready to cry, and at the same time as though he was about to do something like smash his fist into the wall – or her face.
"Just… just go," snapped Yami, turning away from the dancer and trying to keep his voice from wobbling.
"I – " began the girl, but Yami just began walking away. "Okay… I'll go. Please don't – "
"What, cry?" Yami whipped around, glaring at the dancer.
"Uh, well…" the dancer flushed red and looked at her feet.
Yami turned and stalked away, not replying. Behind him, Allara sagged against the wall. She had really touched a nerve. She surrendered to the guidance of a servant, who led her to the bathhouse. She told her to leave once they had arrived, and slipped out of her now torn black dress and slid into the hot water. Feeling the tension leave her muscles, she mulled over the events that had brought her here, to the bathhouse of the palace. The ball; the kidnapping; the guards finding her; the king practically accusing her of kidnapping the Betrothed; being chained to the prince's bed, then unchained on the prince's orders. Then… the argument. All he'd wanted was for her to have a bath – and all she'd wanted was to be as obtuse as possible. She sighed and picked up the soap. Once she was finished, and wrapping herself in a fluffy white bathrobe made of towel material, three servants entered to begin what they referred to as the "Mount Titus" of all makeovers. After what felt like hours, the servants brought in a mirror and Allara took a look at the 'new her' they'd created.
Her messy red tangles were tangled no more, but cascaded down from a high bun in silky waves. The eyelashes that framed her dark green eyes were now even longer and much thicker, and her lips shimmered when the sunlight touched them. The plain white dress they'd given her to put on was now accessorised, with the light green ruffles on her skirt, the glittering bodice that was embroidered with light green sequins and the emerald choker that encircled her neck.
"Wow… that's amazing," said Allara twisting back and forth, trying to see her new look from all angles. "Thank you."
The servants, looking very pleased with themselves, curtseyed and muttered that it was nothing.
"Oh, stop that! I'm not royalty!" Allara snapped. "This?" She tugged on her skirt. "This is all your doing, you made me look this good! I'm just an ordinary dancer, believe me."
"Ordinary, eh?" One of the servants looked doubtful. "Do ordinary dancers get invited to the king's table for dinner? Don't think so."
"I didn't want this to happen! I didn't plan to get kidnapped and then left in the place of the Betrothed – all this happened without my opinion on anything!"
"You're still invited. Ah, come on – maybe you can even win the heart of the younger prince. Then you could get used to this. He won't be a king, but he'll still live the life of one!"
"Ah, never mind," Allara sighed and gave up. The servants looked knowingly at each other and departed, letting yet another servant in. Allara followed him through the maze of corridors to the antechamber that lead into the dining hall.
"Good luck," he whispered, before disappearing through the door. Allara took a deep breath to steady herself. It was really hitting home now. She, a dancer, was about eat supper with – and share a table with – the royal family of Eleniara. A dancer!
"Come," said a servant dressed in smart red-and-gold livery. "It's time for dinner."
DURN DURN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURN!
Oh, and I don't own YGO. TRUST ME, that's a good thing!
ciao, for now
:meow:
straykitty (the one, the only, the completely certifiable!)
Oh, yeah, and sorry about the lateness. My compy wasn't working for a while -shakes fist- Idiot thing!