On the second day of the festival, Pixal did not ask at all to attend.
When her stepmother and sisters left, she put on a great show of sadness, pretending that she would be forlorn. Her stepsisters jeered, thinking they had won some great victory, and Pixal bore their cutting words with a ducked head. Amaryllis likewise threatened, warning Pixal of the consequences if she left the estate. Before long, they had left, girls conversing all about their plans to meet the prince properly that day while Pixal watched them go.
Once they were gone, Pixal immediately went to her sisters' rooms. In Begonia's closet she found a lovely dress of white and gold, which she had worn in many months, with a sweetheart neckline that dipped low yet was not scandalous. It fit Pixal perfectly, and she happily twirled, so that its skirt flared out, the white fabric reflecting the light in almost blinding intensity. Upon it she laid her new overskirt, such that the gown looked perfectly new, unlike either of her sisters' garments– another layer of anonymity. The final touch was her jewelry and her hair, not having any makeup with which to decorate her face.
In the mirror, the lady that looked back at her smiled, hopeful and light. So unlike Pixal, with jewelry and styled hair, she looked like a proper socialite. She watched the skirts flare out as she spun, and thought she had never looked so lovely, knowing she might never see herself like this after the festival. To her glee, her stepsisters would never know, and today would be a wonderful day for her.
Once she had dressed herself in borrowed finery, Pixal left for the festival, a spring in her step and her spellbook under her arm. Just like the previous day, she brought herself there with the power of her enchanted smoke. She found herself near the dancing pavilion, just like the previous day, and hid her book. Then she was drawn by the sound of music and laughter.
At the pavilion the dancing was quick, even so early in the morning. Instead of immediately joining, Pixal decided was content to at least watch the dancers for a while, until she heard an announcer's voice crying out a message at the end of one of the musicians' sets.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" cried the herald. "There shall now be a contest! Gentlemen, ladies, pair up. The finest dancer from each side will be crowned King and Queen of the Dance! Mind you, an ornamental title." The crowd laughed. "Long live King Julien; may the best dancer win!"
Pixal looked around. Sure enough, a few people were filtering onto the pavilion– men and women in their prime, and some children and elders. Whom could she pair with, when she had again come alone? Everyone seemed as though they had already chosen.
As she surveyed the competition, she spotted a tall and fair-haired man approaching her, seemingly intent on asking her to be his partner. While he neared her, she noticed that he looked familiar, but for a moment she could not place his name. However, his face became recognizable when he came very close, and she realized with a start as he neared her.
Prince Zane cleared his throat and smiled. "Good morning, my lady Pansy."
On the second day of the festival, Prince Zane was even more tired than the first, yet he found himself happy to be such.
Part of his exhaustion was due to the previous day's tournament, as was always the case with such events. His joust had been near perfect, so the opponent had fallen within the first few strikes. It was clear that Zane was the most skilled jouster of the night, but the impact still left his shoulder sore and reeling. This was not to say that the audience had not enjoyed watching, for that could not have possibly been the case.
After it was done, Cryptor had pulled him aside and warned him of some rumors that he had expected. "How could the prince not have chosen a lady he fancied yet? There were so many to see," people had asked. Zane had sighed and told Cryptor the truth, to the advisor's understanding.
It was true that he had no favour, of course, but it was not a source of shame for the prince. There had been no shortage of ladies who offered, some more surreptitious than others– he distinctly remembered two sisters with matching auburn hair, decked in ornate flowery gowns and gaudy jewelry that practically dripped from them, frantically offering anything they could. It had been a particular struggle to turn the many ladies away, but nevertheless he did, knowing his favour would only be for a lady he was truly considering for courtship. Then he had jousted, free of any womanly marking, as if advertising his openness with no small amount of self-consciousness.
There was only one woman whom he had asked for her favour. She was the fair-haired Lady Pansy from the dance pavilion, with whom he had spent the afternoon. She had been intelligent, well-versed in sciences and every manner of humanities, and modest, not having been anything like the frantic ladies he had turned away while jousting. In fact, she had not even considered giving him a favour until he asked, and even then she did not give one. So unburdened with material things, she had only wished him luck. How could a lady like her have come to the festival?
The memory of her made him smile, a warmth blooming in his chest as he made his plans for the day. If he were only able to meet her again today, perhaps he would know if she were the one he was meant to choose. Perhaps she was royal material– if she was, maybe he would feel that connection once again.
With those very thoughts in mind, he had made his way to the dance pavilion early that festival day, in hopes that he might catch a glimpse of her. He searched the crowd, looking for a flash of purple or of her light hair.
As he hoped, there Pansy stood, looking even lovelier than the day before. Just like yesterday, he found that she was at the pavilion, having just arrived when they announced the morning contest. She was wearing a splendid golden gown, her hair pinned back with that same silver hairclip, eye-catching and yet attracting no attention. Instead, she seemed content to watch the dancers, smiling appreciatively.
Zane decided he would ask her to dance as soon as possible, but found no pause in the music, so stayed himself. It was about when he decided to ask her to dance without any more delay when the herald announced a contest, in which the best dancers would be honorary royalty. A more perfect opportunity could not be found, so he strove to speak to her. He came toward her, his heart beating hard against his ribcage, determined to ask her to dance again.
When he was within a few feet of her, he cleared his throat to catch her attention and bowed, careful to be at his most poised. "Good morning, my lady Pansy."
Pixal turned and curtsied, appearing surprised surprised by his approach. "Your Highness! Good morning to you as well."
Zane smiled, mentally taking note of her grace, even in such an unfavorable position– the mark of a queenly woman. "If I may ask, do you intend to take part in the contest this morning?"
Pixal looked wistfully at the pavilion, and then back at him. "I would like to, yes." She seemed lost. "Do you, your Highness?"
"I would, yes." Zane looked over and back, just like she had. "I must admit that I quite enjoyed our dances from yesterday. May I be so bold as to ask if you have chosen a partner yet?"
She shook her head. "I have not. I came alone, again."
Zane's heart beat fast, and he felt hot, filled with anticipation. Though neither knew, Pixal felt the same, her heart racing as she tried to push down her girlish hopes.
From the dredges of his chest, Zane gathered his courage. "If that is the case, would you be interested in another dance with me?"
"I do not wish to impose," she edged, hesitant even in her excitement. "I'm sure there are many ladies who would wish to dance with your Highness."
"Then it is most unfortunate for them that I do not wish to dance with another woman." He offered his hand. "The choice is yours, my lady."
"If so, then I accept." She took his hand, cherishing the touch of his cool hand. "It would be my honor to dance with you again."
Together, the two walked to the pavilion, where a series of dancing groups had formed. Each was a set of four– two gentlemen and two ladies, facing each other. Each group was given a number, which was to be their identifier for the contest. Pixal memorized theirs, which was eight: her lucky number, perfectly balanced and square.
When all the contestants were assembled, the herald cried out again. "Let the dance begin!"
The dance began simply, with every dancer in each group putting a hand together to create a four-pointed star. From there, they stepped in and out, weaving together seamlessly as the music kept them in time. In and out, skirts swayed and coattails danced.
At one point, Zane took Pixal's hand, and they passed through a narrow corridor of other dancers. Each other pair did the same after them. After that came a spin, after which the dance started again, smiles upon everyone's faces.
Throughout the music's many rounds, Pixal and Zane's eyes rarely left each other, and time seemed to disappear into the music. They shared many smiles, the routine actions of the dance quickly becoming a backdrop between them as they cherished the synchrony. However, within only a few minutes, the music faded away and the herald cried out again.
"The first round ends here! Groups one, ten, five, and four are to be removed. Thank you for your beautiful dancing!"
The named groups left the pavilion, with no lack of laughter among them, as the elderly and children mingled. When only six groups of four remained, they closed in on the center of the floor. Then the music started again, a little faster.
In the succeeding dances, things became more complicated. The dance moved faster and faster with every bar, with quick spinning and united movement becoming all that could be seen.
Pixal found herself laughing as Zane spun her in and out, the feeling of her hand in his growing ever more natural. They stepped and turned in time, mimicking and mirroring each other with remarkable ease.
It felt impossible, but Pixal knew that their connection was nothing short of miraculous. Zane likewise thought so, unknowing of her reasoning, and for a few short seconds thought it was possible for him to not be so set on a life of bachelorhood. Such was the way that both completely lost track of the dance and its time, until it came to a sudden end.
As they caught their bearings, they noticed that only two other dancers remained on the floor, those being another pair. At this realization, Pixal's blood ran cold. Anyone could see her with the prince, including her family. Would they torment her more for her situation? However, the prince seemed to be completely at ease, ignoring the eyes drawn to them. He was no doubt comfortable with attention, as he coolly smiled at her and surveyed their surroundings.
Just as she began to wonder how she might explain her situation, however, she was startled out of her reverie by Zane.
Prince Zane had been looking around, watching the herald as he prepared his horn for the announcement of the victor. Seemingly sensing Pixal's stress, he looked back to her, and he took her hand gently. As if he were just remembering his manners, he kissed the back of her hand, lingering only moments before letting her hand fall again.
"For competition or not, it was an honor dancing with you, Lady Pansy," he whispered. Her cheeks darkened, but before she could respond, the herald began to speak.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you very much for your participation!" he cried gleefully. "Your dancing was beautiful, but there can be but one Queen." He looked between the two couples on the floor. "Our ever-wise judges have made a decision."
Pixal looked at the other couple, a pair of an older man and woman, deceptively nimble for their ages. Then she looked back to the herald, who held up a small piece of paper.
"The winners of the festival dance competition are the young lady in the gold and white dress, and her partner!" he announced. Pixal looked around as she heard a smattering of applause, and then curtsied as Zane bowed. The herald beckoned her forward and set a crown of flowers on her head. He asked her name, which she whispered in his ear.
When he had had heard it, the herald presented her to the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Lady Pansy!"
After receiving her congratulations, Pixal quickly vacated the pavilion alone, feeling as if she had been dancing on air. Just like the day before, dancing with the prince had been nothing short of magical, and today was just like it in that manner. She could not believe the chances of him seeking her out! If she ever told them, Begonia and Columbine would think that she was bribing him, or otherwise buying his favor.
As she caught her bearings, a sinking feeling made itself known in her chest. She was Pixal, not Pansy any longer, and it felt dishonest to give him a name she no longer wore. If the prince knew she had lied, he would no doubt be disgusted with her behavior, she thought. How would she face him again, if she was to see him in the future? One does not simply lie to nobility, much less royalty.
As she thought about it more, the idea made her feel sick. However, she was unable to tarry on it for very long, as she spied the prince nearing her. Despite her traitorous heart, she walked toward him, attempting to push down her discomfort. There they stood alone, looking at each other.
Prince Zane smiled as he saw her, and it was so handsome she could not help but smile back. "Prince Zane, I must thank you for the dance. You were magnificent."
"As were you, my lady. It seems we have good chemistry."
"That it does."
"How did you learn to dance? You are most skilled."
"I taught myself, from books and stories." She took off the flower crown, examining it. "I do not feel fit to wear this crown," she added halfheartedly.
"If not you, then who might?" the prince asked, smiling. "Your talent is unmistakeable."
"You flatter me."
Zane laughed quietly. "I speak truth, and truth alone." He took the crown from her hands and set it gently on her head, arraying it so the blooms framed her face. "I am more than willing to be without a crown for the day, if a lady like yourself would wear it instead."
For a moment, they stood there, not knowing what to say. He felt a blush crawling up his neck, and while it embarrassed him, he finally gathered his courage and spoke again.
"Have you seen the extent of the festival grounds yet?"
"I have not," she admitted.
"Would you like to see them, then?" The prince offered his hand.
Pixal took it, enjoying the newly familiar feeling. "...I would love to."
Throughout the morning and afternoon, Pixal and Zane did not part any more than they had to, close at hand to each other most of the time. Like the first festival day, they talked at length about any number of topics, whether they were delving into minutiae about their favorite topics. However, they also lapsed into comfortable silence, only to be broken when he had to skirt a situation where he would be recognized too much, much to their amusement. They spent the day walking and talking, relaxing in gardens and playing games.
At one point, the two came upon a set of merchant stalls laden with all sorts of lovely things. With a shared smile, the two looked upon the things on display. Pixal paused as she saw a gold necklace, made of a fine chain decorated with a snowflake pendant that spun and sparkled in the light. As she examined it, Zane came up next to her.
"What are you looking at, lady Pansy?" he asked.
"This necklace is beautiful," Pixal said with a smile.
He smiled back at her. "It is."
"Fragile things like this are so lovely." She took it in her fingers, gently handling the metal. "They do not always last."
The merchant came up to them. "Ah, my lady, you have good taste. That article is one of my finest creations."
"It is beautiful," Zane interjected. "Did you make it yourself, sir?"
"I did indeed. I ask three gold pieces for it, if you wish to buy it." The merchant's eye twinkled.
Zane paused, considering it. He glanced at Pixal. "What do you think? It is a lovely necklace."
She smiled, ignoring how her stomach flipped. "It is. If you were to give it to someone, I imagine that lady would be touched."
"Very well." With a smile, he took a few coins from some hidden pocket and placed them in the merchant's hand. Seemingly noticing the delicacy of the situation, the merchant said nothing, only nodding his head as he stepped back into his stall.
Zane looked back to Pixal. "Do you like it, lady Pansy?"
She nodded hesitantly. "You need not buy me such a gift, your Highness..."
"Nonsense. It would only make you look more beautiful."
She ducked her head in slight embarrassment. "Very well."
"May I?"
"Yes, you may."
The prince smiled and walked around to behind her. He laid the necklace across her neck, cool metal resting lightly, and clasped it behind her neck. When he was done, she turned to look him in the eyes.
"Thank you."
He smiled graciously and asked if she would like to continue on, and so they did.
That day, laughter was no rarity between them, even as such tender moments came to pass. Both felt peace with their situation, happy to spend the day together and knowing that such a thing was a rarity at best in their lives. Pixal thought such a feeling could not come again, and so cherished that second day, not thinking a third would come. Zane likewise cherished the second day, wondering if perhaps this was the feeling he could always have, unaware of her misgivings. However, they eventually reached the point where they had to part, when Zane was to join that day's tournament.
"My lady, I asked you this question yesterday, so please forgive me for repeating myself."
"Questions are so rarely negative things," she responded with a smile. "By all means, Prince Zane, ask."
The sound of his title from her mouth was not an unpleasant one, but he did not tarry on thinking about it. Instead, he took her hand. "Lady Pansy, for tonight's tournament, would you honor me today with a favour?"
Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment she could not meet his. "I'm sorry, your Highness," she began, "but I have no favour for you. I did not realize I would receive the honor of seeing you again today, much less you asking for one."
He nodded, resignation creeping into his mind, though he ignored it. "Very well, my lady. I understand."
She impulsively took his hand in both of hers. "Please understand, Prince Zane! If I had a favour I could give you, I would." The look of resignation mixed with hope upon his face made her heart clench. "I will have one tomorrow, if you would wish it," she added, if only to wipe away the puzzlement he seemed to feel.
The prince smiled in understanding, emotions clearing in favor of appreciation. "Very well; I shall be patient for you. Forgive me for asking such a distressing question." He kissed her hand, gentle and lingering a little too long. "Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, my lady Pansy. I hope to see you tomorrow, for the final day of the festival."
"The honor is mine, Prince Zane. I shall see you tomorrow?"
He smiled, sincerity filling his every fiber. "Yes, but please, my lady– call me Zane."
She turned her head in curiosity. "What does Zane stand for?"
The prince laughed quietly. "It stands for peace, freedom, and courage in the face of all who threaten the Commonwealth– other than that, nothing." His smile turned self-conscious. "I am just Zane."
"Very well…" She smiled at him, examining his eyes and how they reminded her of shattered ice. "I shall see you tomorrow, just Zane."
"Likewise, my lady."
As he entered the jousting arena, Prince Zane could only say one thing definitely: Lady Pansy was the model woman he was looking for, and he would not waste time on the final festival day in asking to court her.
In his mind, Pixal met every criterion he had previously thought about. She was intelligent, clever, wise and well-versed, but also funny and engaging. In all these ways, she reminded him of his mother, the late queen. Unlike all the women he had met in these two days besides her, she never once pestered him about his royal life; her only questions had been simple and curious. "Have you enjoyed traveling to the other kingdoms? Do you do much diplomatic work? Have you met many interesting people?" Every answer was easily given, and they seemed to only fuel her interest, which made him ever more happy to converse with her. He scarcely thought he could find another lady like her.
He stifled a quiet laugh as he entered the jousting arena, composing himself for his public appearance as he thought of her questions and jokes. If he could only ask Lady Pansy's family name, he would ask her father for the chance to court her. As it stood, he could not, only knowing that she was unpromised to anyone. However, that would change, for he would ask.
When he reached the stables, he ran into his advisor Cryptor, who was waiting for him with his jousting armor and his horse, a white stallion named Shard. Upon seeing his face, Cryptor greeted him with a sly smile.
"My eyes deceive me, Prince Zane! You look as if you have had a wonderful day. I can scarcely believe it."
Zane smiled back. "As a matter of fact, you should." He entered the paddock. "You would laugh if I told you what has happened today to make me so happy."
"Perhaps, but perhaps not."
"I was with a lady today." The prince flushed a tiny bit. "I met her yesterday, too, but did not think to tell you."
"Is that so?" Cryptor seemed amused. "What might this woman's name be?"
"Her name is Pansy, and she is the most interesting woman I have seen this entire festival." Zane began to put on his armor, still smiling. "There is never a lack of conversation. She is clever and intelligent, more so than many I have known."
"Might this woman be beautiful, too?" his advisor asked, laughter evident in his voice as he helped Zane don the heavy metal plating.
"Absolutely." Zane turned his head away, sighing deeply. "I do not think anyone could compare."
"You seem completely smitten, your Highness. Could it be that the prince has finally seen the light?"
"You say that as if I was blind before."
"You were, to the wonder that is the fairer half." At that comment, Zane rolled his eyes, and Cryptor laughed. "It is good to see you so happy."
"As soon as I can, I'm going to ask her father to court her," he admitted.
"I imagine he would not say no. Who is her father? One of the nobles?"
Zane did not answer, putting on his gauntlets.
Cryptor frowned. "Prince Zane, do you not know?"
He nodded. "I do not."
"How can you know she is the right woman to consider, then? Would her station not be a matter of concern? You are of royal blood, after all."
Zane shook his head. "My father does not care about station, and neither do I. If she is the one, she will be right, and nobility need not apply." Zane put on his breastplate with a satisfied click.
"Very well." Cryptor paused. "Does she know you are royalty?"
"She does, but it did not change her behavior. It was as if she were unburdened with care for any station." The prince smiled again. "In fact, she displayed no aversion in the slightest."
It was then that Cryptor asked his most burning question. "If she is so open to the possibility, then why do you have no favour for tonight's joust?"
The prince's face fell and he ducked his head to don his helmet. "She had no favour to give me, but it is no matter. I will ask her again tomorrow; she has promised to bring one."
Cryptor chuckled. "Tomorrow will be a busy day for you."
A determined presence fell over Zane. "So it shall."
The night of the second festival day, Pixal again spelled herself back to the Borg estate, quickly hiding her spell book and overskirt away, as well as the dress and jewelry she had borrowed. She let her hair down and tied it back as she did normally. After she had finished and begun to clean, it was not very long before Amaryllis and her stepsisters entered the house, and she met them in the entryway. Like the day before, her sisters had no idea she had been there, but they complained to each other anyway.
"The prince had no favour again! He doesn't like any of us ladies!" Columbine whined.
Begonia scoffed. "Didn't you hear the rumor? He was dancing with some woman this morning, and then they walked off together!"
Pixal tried to hide her reaction, but a warmness spread through her, knowing that she had bested them in secret. "Is that a bad thing, per se? Perhaps they were having an enjoyable conversation."
"You don't understand, you stupid maid!" Columbine cried.
"He's supposed to meet his future wife, that's what this whole festival is about. If he's talking to just one, then he's already made up his mind!" Begonia shouted. "He'll announce a courtship!"
Her stepsister's words struck her. "Surely not," Pixal returned quietly. "The prince could yet show interest in anyone."
"You're only saying that to make us feel better." Columbine pouted. "Just you wait. He's going to announce that woman as his bride-to-be and I'll be a spinster forever!"
"You? I'll be the spinster!"
From there, their complaining devolved into yet more bickering, and Pixal hastily excused herself.
Pixal ran to her room in the basement, seeking privacy in which she might think about what they had said, her mind reeling and her heart pounding. When she at last reached her dusty room, she ran to her secret compartment and pulled out a little paper-wrapped parcel. For a moment, she was still, but then she unwrapped it quickly and let the gold necklace Zane had given her fall into her hand.
At the sight of it, she closed her eyes, holding it to her heart as she desperately tried to still her heart's beating and calm herself. How could she have been so blind as to not see what that gesture meant? Giving such a gift was the most obvious thing a man could do to show his favor for a woman, short of asking to court– or more brazenly, expressing it with a kiss.
She blushed brightly at the thought of reserved Prince Zane kissing her, and after considering it for a few moments, she forced it from her mind. Such a thing would not happen in any world.
There was one more matter, which filled her with hot shame. She almost cursed herself for her actions. Once again, she had refused him a favour, for the second day in a row. If she had known it was a question asked from romantic intent, she would have made sure to have something for him, even if it was at least a kinder rejection. How could her reaction have not hurt him? Prince or not, could she not at least humor him for a day? A romance with a prince, however short-lived, would not come a second time in life.
As she considered these things, she slowly wrapped the necklace in its paper once again, hiding it in the wallboard.
The third day of the festival was coming, and she was determined to make it perfect. She would have a favour for him, knowing she had something perfect but had forgotten about. Indeed, she would go to the jousting tournament, even though she had not so far, and cheer for him as a lady would. He might not be able to choose her for her lack of status, but she could still have one more day of enjoyment with him, to tide her over by his memory, and to humor his deep kindness.
That night, Pixal again went to sleep to thoughts of the reserved Prince Zane– no, just Zane, which stood for nothing. A smile crept onto her face as her mind whirled. Thoughts turned to dreams, which echoed and repeated her memories, creating a tapestry of emotion and dancing and laughter and conversation. She slept soundly and softly, and despite her misgivings, she did not once wake, her mind content to allow her to imagine.
This week was exhausting, but this chapter is still coming out, if a day later than I wanted. Nothing stands in the way of me writing people being romantic with each other (especially when I can tie in canon dialogue)!
Fun fact for this chapter: Pixal's favorite number is 8 because binary is counted in sets of eight bits (i.e. 01101001). Leave me a review if you liked this chapter– I want to know what your favorite part was!