On the third day of the festival, Pixal acted as she had the two days prior, her family none the wiser. The previous night, she had concocted a plan for her day, and she was determined to see it through.
As first order of business, she helped her stepmother and sisters prepare for the festival and saw them off. Columbine and Begonia spat yet more biting remarks about Pixal and how they were to catch the prince's eye, but Pixal shrugged them off. Unbeknownst to them, they meant nothing to her; the prince could not care less.
As they were about to leave, Amaryllis stopped Pixal in her tracks just as she was about to turn and go back to her basement room.
"Pixal, wait."
"Yes, Stepmother?" Pixal asked, dread roiling in her stomach as her traitorous mind told her every way Amaryllis could have learned her secret.
"I want you to be studious in your cleaning today," Amaryllis said. "Prince Zane may show interest in one of your stepsisters yet today, and should that be the case, I will not be shamed by a dirty home."
Pixal faltered for a moment. "I understand."
"See to it that the estate is spotless!" her stepmother continued. "I have not missed how things have deteriorated in my absence. Scrub until even the floors shine."
"I will," Pixal responded, the lie sitting on her tongue with its coppery taste. "Enjoy the festival."
"We will," her stepmother retorted. Then Amaryllis turned and left, entering her carriage and settling herself between her bickering daughters. Within mere minutes, Pixal was alone once again, and the next part of her day's plan could begin.
For her second task, Pixal pilfered another forgotten gown from one of her sisters' closets and donned it. This gown was unlike either previous one, having more fabric and detailing than either, and it flattered her figure such that she scarcely recognized her reflection.
The gown was a pale blue, embroidered with white and green thread in an intricate pattern on the skirt and sleeve hems. Pixal twirled in front of the mirror, watching the hem as it swirled and turned. Unlike the others, this dress was quite low-necked, yet not so low as to be uncomfortable nor too revealing– completely ladylike in all aspects, but so lovely that Pixal scarcely believed either sister could discard it. However, that worked to her benefit, so she thanked them for it. After she was satisfied with her choice, she donned her snowflake necklace and did her hair, making her appearance into that of a proper lady.
There was but one final addition to her person. It was a blue scarf the color of ice, made of a gauzy fabric, which Pixal set in her pocket for later use. It had belonged to her mother, Astrid, and she had almost forgotten about it after Begonia had snatched it for herself when they were children. Now, however, she would be taking it back.
As the third and final step in her plan, she needed to transport herself to the festival. Pixal took her spellbook and another bunch of herbs and prepared her spell, creating the plume of sparkling smoke with which she had become so familiar. She stepped in without reserve, boldly facing the smoke as it enveloped her, but then stopped short on the other side.
Despite everything being identical to the previous day, at least to her knowledge, Pixal was nowhere near the pavilion where she had found herself the previous two days. Instead, she was by the jousting arena, across the festival grounds. While the location was not as it had been the previous two days, it would be workable.
A smile made its presence known on her face as she reasoned through the matter. If things progressed today as they did the previous two, then this was the most convenient place to be when she returned, since she could stay to watch the tournament. Perhaps she would be able to watch the evening jousting and see the prince there! Then she could give him a favour and somehow be able to watch him joust with it, showing it off to all those who attended.
Once she realized how her thoughts had turned, embarrassment filled her. The prince was not a quarry for her to pursue, and she knew that very well. She had to remember that he was simply someone with whom to share the last day of the festival. She would not delude herself into thinking that she could somehow cultivate a real relationship with him, nor develop feelings. That would end poorly and painfully. As such, she would not allow herself to hurt either of them in such a manner.
After hiding the spellbook, Pixal wondered what she should do next. It was most logical for her to return to the pavilion where she had met Prince Zane both days prior, to continue the pattern. It was a fair walk from the arena, although manageable, and would not be a hardship. By all reasonable estimation, she would have to travel quickly if she were to get there as early as she had been the day prior, so she did not delay in beginning her trek.
As she had suspected, the time it took Pixal to walk to the pavilion was long enough to throw off her timing from the prior day. When she reached it, however, she found it just as it had been the two previous days, filled with whirling colors and people. Though she found it less tempting, it was nevertheless still enticing, and she considered joining the dancers for a few moments. She searched the crowd and saw no sign of the fair-haired prince, and her heart sank.
Pixal looked everywhere in the nearby area, but did not see Zane. Her heart sank the longer she searched, but she did not allow it to discourage her, and searched more carefully. A little while later and after seeing her distress, an organizer for the festival came up to her and cleared her throat.
"Pardon me, young lady. Are you looking for someone?" the woman asked, her gravelly voice sounding aged.
Pixal turned in surprise, then nodded. "Yes ma'am."
"Might I be of some assistance?" the woman asked, silver hair close to falling in her face as she smiled.
"Perhaps." Pixal smiled self-consciously and looked down, a light blush dusting her cheeks. "I fear you would judge me for my answer."
"Nonsense, dearie. Tell me about your trouble."
"Very well." Pixal looked up to meet the woman's gaze. "I'm looking for his Highness, Prince Zane. I had the pleasure of meeting him the previous two days, but not today, and I expected to find him here."
The woman nodded knowingly. "Of course. Every marriageable lady here seeks to meet him– that is understandable."
"It isn't like that!" Pixal protested, raising her hands. "I simply wish to talk to him– I know he would never consider me, nor I him."
The woman hummed in contemplation. "Ah, very well. I can help you, young lady, but you must help me first."
"What kind of help do you require?" Pixal asked. "I can do whatever you need."
The woman beckoned her near. "Come with me, and I will tell you. If you are so considerate of the prince, then I'm sure you will be very happy to help me with this task…"
On the third day of the festival, Prince Zane found himself anxious as he waited for the day to begin, unable to focus due to his preoccupation.
He woke early in the morning, fretting about how best to present himself. He washed himself in freezing water, dressed, and visited the memorial to his brother. The sun was barely risen, but he left the castle anyway, eager to supervise and perfect everything before the time came for him to meet up with Lady Pansy.
For several hours, Zane burned the time he had by working, hoping to ease his nerves. Despite everything that would assuage him, he found himself adrift on a sea of anxiety, so incredibly unlike himself. He tried to reason through it, and for a little while it worked, but only so long as he did not stop to think about Pansy.
When the time came, Zane rushed to the pavilion, although doing his utmost not to appear too quick to arrive. His heart beat loudly in his chest, louder with every step, every breath feeling colder even as he grew warmer and warmer.
When he arrived, however, Pansy was not there.
Concern worked its way into the prince's mind as he searched, looking into the crowd of dancers as he tried to catch a glimpse of her fair hair. Where was Lady Pansy? From what he could tell, it was not her habit to be tardy.
Perhaps he had come too early. They had not set a time to meet, and he had been awake since before dawn.
The city clock tower struck ten, discarding that idea. It was not too early, for this what when they had met the day before. Still, he did not find her.
After a little while of searching, Zane went to explore the near area, hoping to spot her. As he went farther from the pavilion, the sound of the music faded, replaced with speech and children's laughter, distracting yet not unpleasant. The latter grew louder as he walked, and Zane stopped to look at its source.
A hundred feet from him, a crowd of children laughed and cheered, having been playing games. They crowded around each other and pushed toward several adults who supervised. These adults were giving them treats- candied fruit, toys, flowers and more.
As Zane watched, he smiled. Then, his heart began to race, as he noticed one of the adults had the fairest hair he'd seen that day. The woman turned to speak to some children in his direction, and Zane knew immediately that it was Lady Pansy. She smiled and spoke to the children, giving them treats and paying compliments that sent them into happy peals of laughter. When her basket of gifts was empty, she put it aside and spoke to an old woman with gray hair, who dismissed her.
Pansy turned, but then paused as she caught sight of Zane. She smiled, and Zane had to smile back. Cautious of the children under foot, he approached her, and when he reached her, he kissed her hand.
"Lady Pansy. I was wondering where I might find you," he greeted.
She smiled, embarrassed. "My apologies, your Highness. I did not intend to make the task difficult for you."
"It was no issue for me," he replied, already putting his trouble finding her behind himself in favor of the current moment. "You are a lover of children?"
"I am. They have such potential," Pixal replied, glancing at the children playing with a smile.
"They do." Zane smiled back. "I take it that you volunteered to help?"
"Madame Mystake asked for my help, and I could not say no." Zane's smile made Pixal feel lighter than air, and she did her best to hide just how happy it made her feel. "Do you love children, too?"
"I do, though I fear I am not as capable with them as you are, my lady."
"Perhaps so, perhaps not." Pixal looked off into the distance, in the direction of the dancing pavilion. The sun reflected off her snowflake necklace, and its appearance brought a smile to Zane's lips. "There have been many things during this festival that I am not accustomed to."
"The same is true for me. A festival of this magnitude is rare." He offered his arm. "Perhaps, if I might be so bold, you would accompany me for its final day?"
"I would be honored, Prince Zane," Pixal said, taking it.
"You may call me by my given name if it makes you comfortable, Lady Pansy."
"You wish for me to call you such?"
"Indeed."
"Then you may call me by mine, Zane."
The two shared a smile. "Very well, Pansy." With that, the two set off.
For several hours, the two walked and talked, just as they had the previous two days. They spoke of many things, not the least of which family and love, although never in such terms as toward the other. Throughout the day, they spoke of all lovely things, and shared many anecdotes from their lives. Questions were frequent, and answers were entertaining. However, Pixal felt as though she could not truly share some things, for shame of her true position in her household, so she carefully told her stories as to not betray her status.
Despite Pixal's carefulness with her stories, however, she found herself ever closer to the prince. For the majority of their time together, they walked arm in arm or side by side- if not those, then they sat right next to each other, no farther than a few feet apart. Their tendency toward connection was unmistakable.
As their day passed, Zane took mental note of the qualities he saw in Lady Pansy. She was reserved, yet had interesting opinions and did not hesitate to speak her mind. She was clever and wise, yet did not boast in herself. She was hardworking, yet gentle, and though strong, not brash. In every aspect, he saw the most remarkable things, and in such fell deeper into admiration for her.
As the sun reached its zenith, high above the earth, Zane knew it was time to ask her one of the most utilitarian of his questions. Thus, as they sat together underneath a maple, he brushed her hand with his to catch her attention.
At the touch, Pixal turned to look at him. He seemed anxious to some degree, though she could not fathom why.
"Pansy," he began, his usual surety missing from his voice.
"Zane? What is the matter?"
"I must ask you a question, though I fear I should have asked this earlier of you."
"I am sure your timing is no issue," Pixal assured him. "What is your question?"
Zane felt chilled, but pressed on despite how belligerent he felt, and took her hand in his. "Pansy, if I may be so bold as to ask, you have not told me your family name. Might I know what it is?"
For a brief moment, Pixal's heart stopped. "You wish to know my family name?" she clarified.
"If you would let me know it, yes. I wish to know of your family."
Pixal could not meet his eyes, her mind racing. "I do not mean to assume, but Zane- Prince Zane- there would be but one reason for asking in this context. You couldn't possibly mean such a thing. It does not make sense."
"I know what such a question means." He sought out her gaze. "Lady Pansy, you are a most remarkable woman. It is a pleasure to simply know you, despite how slim our time has been. I would think no more nor less of you for your name."
"No, you most certainly would think differently." She broke away from him again. "I cannot tell you. You cannot know."
Zane's heart sank. "Pansy…" he uttered, the name sounding like a plea.
Pixal's heart clenched in her chest, the sudden reality of emotion clearer than a summer sky, her mind the eye of the storm. "Zane, you are a prince. My prince. If you are to- to consider a lady, she should be from some high and respectable station! I have no such thing."
"I do not care for station! Neither does my father." Zane took her hand in both of his. "Pansy, he declared this festival such that I might meet someone fitting, regardless of background."
"That matters little to me, either, but you would not find a proper lady in me, should you know my family. You would not see the woman you wish to see."
"The eyes deceive. Pansy, do you think I am shallow?" he asked, pain in his eyes.
"Of course not, your Highness." She drew away from him. "You are a man with integrity. I am not a lady to meet such a standard."
"How many times must I say it? The standards matter little to me." He put both of his hands on one of hers, enclosing it.
"I know this," Pixal said, looking down at their hands. "Nevertheless, you deserve better than me."
"I hardly believe such a woman could exist."
Pixal looked up sharply, and the intensity of Zane's gaze was nearly too much to bear. So much emotion was on display, she could not comprehend it, only knowing that it was tender, with his heart on his sleeve. She sighed, breath catching in her chest, feeling as if her spirit was caught in his gaze.
"You are not the kind of prince I believed our kingdom to have," she said after a few moments.
Zane chuckled, caught off guard. "What kind would you believe, Pansy?"
"None so willing to follow what he seeks, despite rebuff," she responded, a smile pulling at her lips. "Zane, you are… extraordinary."
"As are you," he responded. He gently raised her hand to his lips, kissing it. "Pansy, is there no way I might convince you? At the very least, I would like to continue our friendship, even if you wish for nothing more."
The gesture made Pixal feel flushed, and she racked her mind for an answer. She had no heart to deny such a plea, but no strength to allow him to see her true colors.
"I suppose there might be one way," she eventually whispered.
"What might it be?" he asked, hope coloring his voice as it bloomed in his chest. His grip on her hand became stronger.
She sighed gently, gears in her mind turning quickly as she concocted a plan. She spoke softly as she told him. "If you are able to find me, then you may know my name."
"Find you? Where? How?" He bowed his head toward her, ever so slightly.
She smiled despite herself. "I live on an estate not far from here. If you are able to find me, then you shall know." She tried to ignore how guilty it made her feel to grant him such a task, and worse, for him to still not know her first name– the one she still kept.
Zane contemplated this answer, wondering about her motivation but finding no sufficient answer. "You wish for me to seek out your home...?"
"That is correct." She nodded. "If you find me, then you shall know my name- then, too, you will also know all the other things you seek."
"I accept your challenge," Zane responded at length. He looked into her eyes and their emerald hue, memorizing the patterns of their variation. "I will find you, Pansy. No matter the difference in station, I believe we are compatible."
"You and I are compatible?" she parroted.
"That is what I said."
"Oh."
He laughed quietly. "Is that your only response?"
She blushed, her traitorous heart beating loudly in her chest. "Zane, I do not know what to say." The distance between them seemed small, and for a few moments it felt like she did not need to hide. "You are… simply incredible."
"As are you," he murmured. "If I may I even say it, you are the most beautiful flower I have ever laid eyes upon. If pansies are to indicate thoughtfulness, I can think of no more fitting owner of such a name."
She blushed and looked away. "You flatter me, Prince."
"Perhaps." He smiled. "I will find you, Pansy."
Her heart clenched in dread and anticipation. "I'm sure you will." She looked back at him, unwilling to consider her emotions any further. "Tell me, the day is still young. Might we enjoy it a little longer?"
"By all means." He offered his hand. "It would be my honor to continue such a fine day with you."
"The honor is mine." She took his hand and they both stood, so close and yet so far apart. "It is a privilege to have met you at all."
"I must say the same."
The day's hours came and went, their daily pattern uninterrupted by the chaos in the hearts of men and women. Birds sang, the clouds drifted, and the wind blew. Even the insects kept to their habits, with bees in hives and ants in nests. Mankind was not so affected, either, for the festival continued in its pattern, with cheerful people doing business and having fun. Dancers danced, merchants bought and sold, and celebrators milled about.
For the rest of the day's younger hours, Pixal and Zane still did not part. Despite how much time they had spent together the past two days, they found themselves to be closer still, unwilling to attend to any business besides each other. Despite the mysteries between them, each found their bond to be enticing enough to tempt half-thought impulses which they studiously ignored. Several times that day, Pixal found herself needing to re-fasten her hair clip, finding it loose and slipping from her hair. Despite her troubles, however, it did not fall.
Throughout the day, they talked and walked, often stopping in shaded places. At one point, they returned to the pavilion for a few dances. Faster than either would have liked, the hours passed.
When the sun dipped near the horizon and the bell tower rang, both knew it was time to separate. At that time, Pixal took Zane's hand, deciding to ignore the inevitable.
"You are jousting again tonight, are you not?" she asked him.
"I am." Zane turned his hand to clasp hers. "Will you watch me?"
"I will. I have something for you." She smiled and put her free hand into her pocket, pulling out her blue scarf. Melded with white and sparkled with silvery thread, one of her last mementos from her mother, it sparkled like ice and snow.
Zane looked down at it, then up at her. "You would favour me?"
"I would." She put the scarf in his hand and clasped his fingers around it with utmost gentleness. "I do."
Zane held it gently. "You honor me, Pansy," he said, voice hushed like prayer.
"It is the other way around." She smiled. "Care for it well?"
"I will." Zane folded it gently and put it in his pocket.
"I will watch your jousting, and I wish you luck." With that, she threw caution to the wind and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now you may show the world."
The smile on his face made Pixal's heart race. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and light, almost worshipful. "I will, with pride." Then he took her hand and kissed it. "I will find you, Pansy."
"I know you will," she responded, trying not to dread such time as he was right.
After leaving Pansy's side, Zane moved quickly. Their parting had taken longer than he expected, but he still had a bit of time before he had to begin jousting. As such, he hurried to prepare himself, but he could not stop smiling.
The day had not gone entirely to plan, he supposed as he entered the arena. Pansy had been so resistant to telling him her family name, to the point that she had fully refused to do so. He wondered what it could mean. Was her family disgraced, or of low stature? Perhaps she believed the caste system was valuable, and such, she was not of high enough upbringing to be an acceptable princess. If such an idea was the reason, then he simply could not believe it, for she was too well-mannered to be such.
What was the reason, then? Embarrassment? She clearly did not dislike him, nor was she reciprocating his advances out of fear of refusal. No matter how he framed the idea, he simply could not find a suitable reason for her refusal.
With so many thoughts swirling in his mind, Zane entered the room where he was to dress himself with his armor. There, Cryptor awaited him again, already holding the armor.
"There you are, Prince Zane!" he greeted. "You have cut your time closely today."
"My apologies, Cryptor." Zane bowed his head hastily. "I was preoccupied."
"I'm sure you were." Cryptor stepped forward, holding out the first pieces for Zane to step into. "Were you with Lady Pansy again?"
"As a matter of fact, I was," Zane replied, buckling on the armor.
"That would be the explanation, then. Would it not?" A smile was evident in his voice, even though Zane could not see him.
"Yes," Zane admitted.
"Have you learned about her family, then?" The advisor brought the next piece for Zane to don and buckle. "You were most adamant to do so when we spoke yesterday."
Zane hesitated. "No, but I will learn it soon."
Cryptor sighed. "The festival is nearly over, and I doubt the lady would stay past the jousting to speak to you, no matter how willing or unwilling she is. How will you find a chance?"
"She asked me to find her, Cryptor. She said that if I did, she would introduce me to her father." Zane sighed faintly. "Unfortunately, I do not know why she said to do so."
"Perhaps because she is ashamed?"
"Perhaps."
"Have you any leads, then? Something to start your search?"
Zane ran down the list on his fingers before putting on his gauntlets. "She lives near the city, in an estate. She mentioned no family, but fair hair and green eyes is a rare combination. That should be at least enough to narrow down my search."
Cryptor buckled on his breastplate. "If it is not, you will not find her. I trust that you know that."
"I do." Now fully armored, Zane took his lance in his hands. "I also know that she is not fully against the idea."
"How might you know that? She has not yet given you a favour."
Zane smiled. "In that, dear Cryptor, you are mistaken." He took Pansy's scarf from his pocket.
Cryptor examined it in interest, feeling the soft fibers. "I stand corrected. This is a fine gift– she could not possibly be from any lower station than a minor noble."
"I agree," Zane replied, tying it to the lance. "I have no reason to suspect she is of low stature, but even if she was, I would not think any less of her."
"Then you will look for her?" Cryptor asked. "Even if the nobles of our kingdom find fault with her?"
"I choose my bride, and no other," Zane responded, taking the opportunity to mount his stallion, Shard. "They will simply have to accept the lady I choose."
Cryptor smiled. "You are more certain about this decision than many I have seen you make, Prince Zane. The confidence suits you well." He put a hand on Zane's knee. "Have a good joust, your Highness."
Zane nodded in thanks, bringing down his visor. "Thank you, Cryptor. For everything."
"You are most welcome, though I suspect I will be helping with your search."
"Most likely." Zane chuckled, the sound echoing in his helmet. "The lady is elusive."
"She is indeed." With that, Zane trotted onto the jousting field, to the sound of the cheering crowd, lifting Pixal's favour high into the air.
The sound of the festival crowd was loud enough to shake the earth. It was an unabated roar such as Pixal had never heard, louder even than the bear that had once wandered onto the Borg estate, and fiercer than her father's cry of war as he drove it from the property. She covered her ears as she adjusted to the feeling.
The jousting tournament had been going on for a while before she arrived, yet there was still a place low in the stands where she was able to stand. Unbeknownst to her before she found her space, she was near the king's viewing box, making space rare and highly sought. However, not one man nor woman inconvenienced her, nor asked for her to move, which she considered providential. From her vantage point, she saw every joust at a prime view.
The first of the few jousts Pixal saw was between two experienced knights. The first knight bore a favour in the form of a red veil on his lance and a crest belying the Gordon family– it was emblazoned with stars and moons, with a mace in the center. The knight had to be Sir Cliff, patriarch of the family. The other bore no favour that she could see, yet held his lance high. His crest was that of the Powers– a compass and quill next to a pike, making him none other than the newly-knighted Sir Clutch.
The jousters came at each other at the sound of a loud bell, lances raised. Sir Cliff scored a solid hit on Sir Clutch's shoulder, but the knight did not fall. Instead, he rolled his shoulder as they came about for the next impact.
The next strike was Clutch's, upon Cliff's chest plate. The sound of the strike rang out, and the crowd cheered. In his reeling from the force, he tumbled and fell to the sand.
Pixal marveled as Cliff got up and dusted himself off, the joust already over. He bowed to the king's viewing box and then to the crowd before re-mounting his horse, then rode off to an opening in the wall and exited.
The speed of the joust took Pixal by surprise, even as the crowd lauded him. She watched in quiet awe as Clutch took off at a canter, circling the arena and raising his lance high. When he came closer, she realized he had a minimal gray scarf tied to the handle of his lance. Then he pointed it at a lady in silver in the stands, indicating she was the owner of the favour.
Pixal froze. She had given Zane a favour, thinking it was anonymous, and had not told him where she would be as she watched. Would the prince find her and single her out? Her family would know she had lied if they saw her. Would they recognize her scarf? How could she do anything to protect herself from their wrath?
As she contemplated this, a flash of silver caught her eye. Another knight entered the arena, clad in shining silver armor, more ornate than any she had seen before. It boasted strong, artisanal plating, and the pauldrons bore a crest. So too did the shield, and as he neared, she recognized the falcon and falling snow. Finally, upon his lance was tied a blue and white scarf, matching the paint of his crest.
Pixal's heart caught in her chest. There was Prince Zane, in all his glory, bearing her favour proudly. Strong and resilient, despite being hidden from head to toe, he was the model knight. The crowd grew wilder than any she had heard so far, and she heard murmurs from women near her about the scarf. Some shouted, others whispered, and all mentioned Pixal's scarf.
Zane canter around the arena, circling to a place before the king's box- and despite his lack of knowledge, before her. Pixal watched as he paid respect to his father, and resisted the urge to wave at him, giving away her position. Nevertheless, it felt like his gaze was fixed upon her, and a chill ran up her spine.
After the few moments had elapsed, Zane turned and went to his mark, where he waited to joust against Sir Clutch. According to a herald, they were one of the final pairs for the tournament, and it was to be Sir Clutch's last joust of the night.
A bell sounded, and the two were off, Pixal's heart beating faster than their horses' hooves.
With a mighty clang, Zane's lance struck Clutch's chest. Clutch was knocked back, but stayed astride his steed.
The crowd cheered. Pixal whispered a silent prayer for Zane.
The second attack was much like the first, loud and majestic. Clutch was struck on the helmet, and his head turned fiercely, but he did not fall. Both jousters stayed upright.
Zane returned to his mark at the sound of yet more thunderous support. Pixal watched her scarf flutter in the wind.
The third attack began, and this time Zane was struck, the blow glancing off his pauldron.
The crowd gasped as he was pushed back in his saddle, and he put a hand to his shoulder. Pixal breathed a quiet prayer as he looked as if he was to fall. Then, after a moment, the prince righted himself, triggering more cheers, and Pixal sighed in relief.
The fourth attack came with undeniable finality, as Clutch was struck fully in the chest and fell to the side off his mount. From the force of his attack, Zane continued forward, circling around the rail central in the arena.
Pixal watched in openmouthed awe as Zane slowed to a stop, the crowd quiet. He turned his steed around, and the horse neighed in the empty air. The prince was still for a few moments, and then slowly raised his lance, scarf fluttering.
The crowd exploded into cheering. Pixal applauded him, heart pounding, as he came before the king. Zane looked up at his father and bowed his head. The king raised his hand in approval, clearly proud. The crowd celebrated again.
A smile crept into Pixal's face as she watched Zane. For a few more rounds, he jousted several knights. Not once did he fall, and only once more did he stumble, completely sure in his skill. The crowds celebrated him every time, and every time he would circle back toward his father, as if he knew she were up there, watching. At the end, he spoke in the ear of a servant, who ran from the field, and she wondered what he said.
To Pixal's joy and dismay, the tournament did not last forever. She knew she was on borrowed time, for her family would return home soon, so she readied herself to hastily leave the arena. As such, she was just about to escape when the king made an announcement, hushing the crowds as he dismissed the same servant from before that had been whispering something to him.
"My people, I thank you for your enthusiasm for this tournament," the king began. "I hope that you have enjoyed the festival!"
The crowds roared in appreciation.
"Good, good! There is one last announcement for you, on behalf of my son, Prince Zane." Pixal's heart caught in her throat as she struggled to spy the king's smiling face. "He would like to inform the world that he has chosen a lady, but that he cannot find her."
Chaos exploded in the arena. Pixal heard several cries from nearby women. She watched, heart pounding, as the king explained the prince's search for her.
"Now, my people, please. I will tell you what she is like, that you may help my dear son. The lady he is seeking has the fairest of hair and green eyes. He does not wish to disclose her name– let it only be known that the name is short. He seeks to return her favour, as thanks for the luck it brought him. Anyone who aids in her discovery will be handsomely rewarded."
Throughout the announcement, the crowd stewed in mixed confusion and excitement. After it finished, they vocalized their emotions, such that the king could not calm them. Pixal smiled to keep up her charade, but it hurt to breathe as she listened. Before order was restored, she took her opportunity and left the stands as quickly as possible, running to find the place where she had hidden her spellbook.
Despite her clear memory, the search for the spellbook was not easy. When she at last found it, the stands were mostly empty. Her family was doubtlessly on the way home, before she was, and were likely to return soon! It was clear that her time was running out.
After casting her spell and returning home, Pixal wasted no time in tearing down her charade. First she ran to her sister's room, returning the gown and jewelry like she had found it– not a difficult task, given how messy her stepsisters were. Second, she ran to her own room, taking down her hair and hiding her fine things in the wallboard, which seemed to be looser than it once was and swung quite freely on the connecting nail. Third, she grabbed her cleaning supplies, going for the dirtiest of jobs in order to hide how clean she was and how she had just arrived.
For a little while, a hesitant peace descended upon Pixal's mind as she cleaned, the repetitive tasks soothing her. She began to be able to reason through the ways she would be able to hide, should she need to do so, in order that Amaryllis would not realize her deception.
Finally, Pixal came across a task that she was not strong enough to do, having spent all her energy at the festival, and decided it was the proper moment to use magic to aid her.
It was not until she asked for its help that she realized her enchanted hairclip was gone, fallen from her hair.
Let it be known that things are about to get much worse for our beloved Lady Pansy. They will be much, much worse.
It's announcement time again! Remember how I said earlier that I'm moving? That hasn't changed, but I am now starting school as well. Updates will be more spaced out from here on, but A Bride for the Prince WILL continue. :D As thanks for all the support, have some brownies! [:::][:::][:::]
Leave me a review if you feel so inclined! I imagine there will be many theories about how the next events will occur.