The fateful night finally arrived. Every crystal candelabra was lifted and lit. A bountiful banquet was made ready, with the most succulent foods and finest wines - Christian helping with the cooking before rushing off to change into his courtly garments. Everything in the Lunar Palace was made to shine and sparkle, and the best of the best was laid out for the imminent guests: silk tablecloths and tapestries, shimmering silver dish-ware, and a troupe of musicians whose size dwarfed all of the kingdom's theatres and music halls put together.
Prince Cyrano oversaw all of the preparations with a perfectionist's eye. He had duelled many men in his time, but he had never felt more nervous - knowing that tonight was the finale of his great romantic endeavour. Neither he nor Christian could put a foot wrong now – and he didn't simply mean the dance steps, either.
Sadly, and yet also thankfully, neither his parents nor Madame des Nuages would be present: he had received a missal that morning informing him that a terrible storm had swept in from the coast, and travel was impossible. On the one hand, he had been looking forward to seeing his family again, but on the other, their absence ensured that Christian wouldn't be exposed. The Moon King and Queen knew the Lunar Court inside out, but with such a great number of counts, earls, barons and other dignitaries throughout the kingdom to keep track of, Cyrano felt certain that Christian's supposed "peers" wouldn't notice the alley cat among the pampered peacocks.
The unfortunate news also saddened Roxanne. She had hoped to have her dear aged handmaiden back to help her into her elaborate ball gown, telling old stories as she styled her mistress' long, lavish locks. Yes, Madame des Nuages was overprotective, but at least she was good company. The same couldn't be said for her replacement, who scarcely spoke a word, handled her hair and dresses far too roughly, and looked at Roxanne's royal jewellery a little too admiringly – her fingers twitching.
As the sun began to set, stallions speedily drew along the carriages of nobles from all across the two celestial kingdoms. The Baron de Brouillard, after a great deal of shameless sucking-up, managed to hitch a lift with the Sun King and Queen, but scarcely joined in their polite small-talk. Instead, he curled himself up tightly in a ball upon the velvet-cladded carriage bench, stealing glances at a letter concealed beneath his cloak: a report from Mademoiselle Géle, containing, among with other gossip, the conversation she had overheard during the dance rehearsal.
So, Prince Cyrano was behind all this. Just as he'd suspected. Well, this soppy, sugar-sweet scheme of his wouldn't work.
Nothing was going to stop him from ascending to the Solar Throne.
Some hours later, with their succulent suppers still settling in their bellies, the chattering nobles, gathered in the Ballroom, fell into a fervour-tinged silence as the lights surrounding them dimmed down. The doors opened, and within moments, every set of eyes was fixed on the Count des Étoiles – striding through the crowd into the centre of the dance floor, and drawing his sword from his belt.
"So!" rang out a voice from the rafters. "This is the arrogant little upstart who wishes to marry Princess Roxanne du Soleil!"
"Who are you, sir?" the Count cried out in a reply... a little stiltedly.
"I, sir, am the defender of her honour! How do we know that you are worthy of this fairest of hands?"
"Come down and face me, sir, and I shall prove it!"
Right on cue, a shadowy masked figure swung across the room on a rope, many metres above the gathered guests. With a death-defying leap – and a somersault to boot! - he dropped and landed directly in front of the Count, swiftly brandishing his own blade.
The minutes that followed were a ballet of sword fighting... a true duellist's delight. The Count and the Prince moved around one another with a clockwork precision: sparks flying from their silvery-steel swords as they struck one another. Cyrano was using all his renowned tricks - changing hands, throwing and catching his rapier, thrusting forth from above, below and behind – but nothing he attempted allowed him to defeat his opponent. Instead, in a moment of foolishness, he left his chest open and exposed... allowing the Count to strike home.
With a rasp, Cyrano dropped to his knees, and then fell.
As the chandeliers returned to their full brightness, applause rang out from all around the room – with the sole exception of the Baron de Brouillard, whose face would have looked happier at a funeral.
Christian, smiling, stood over his master, and offered him a hand to help him up, which Cyrano took gladly. It was then his turn to take the lead, as he brought Christian over to the Solar Royal Family: seated on small golden thrones, Princess Roxanne perfectly placed between her parents. She looked even more goddess-like than usual: her sunrise tiara rising from a wavy sea of loose blonde curls, and her elaborate golden dress, with bustle and underskirts, and adorned with gemstone symbols of her kingdom, was a triumph of design.
As Cyrano greeted them with a low, reverent bow, Christian followed suit.
"Your Majesties," Cyrano said warmly, "I have the honour of humbling introducing to you your daughter's beloved – Christian, Count des Étoiles."
Christian bowed again, just to be on the safe side. He was desperate to make a good first impression. Their gentle smiles as he rose were very reassuring.
But please don't ask me to speak, he begged mentally.
"What a charming young man," the Sun Queen said brightly. "Don't you agree, husband?"
The King nodded – seemingly a little more reserved in his judgement. Christian instinctively opened his mouth to answer, but the Queen raised her hand politely.
"You'll be tired after that fine duelling demonstration, no doubt. We'll give you some time to get your breath back before we ask you any questions."
Christian loved his future mother-in-law already.
With a nod from Cyrano, the musicians took up their instruments, and began the waltz.
"You cannot rest for very long, my dear Count," Cyrano told Christian merrily. "Princess Roxanne... I trust you would like to dance with your future husband?"
Roxanne eagerly rose to her feet, reaching for Christian's hands - only to be pulled back by her mother's gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Prince Cyrano," the Queen said softly, "may I remind you that a ball's first dance is, by tradition, performed by a royal personage of the host kingdom with a royal personage of the visiting one? I myself danced with your father many times. As such, I ask that you share this dance with our beloved Roxanne."
Christian stepped aside at once, looking a little defeated.
"Don't worry, dear boy," the Queen told him. "You two will have plenty of dances after this. I promise."
Cyrano, blushing fiercely, nodded.
"Of course," he replied. "I - I had forgotten about that. Dear Princess... will you join me?"
Roxanne was, clearly, less excited about this turn of events, but she still smiled kindly as she took Cyrano's hands, and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.
Within moments, the two young royals were gliding around in circles with a magnificent air. As Roxanne relaxed into the dance, she soon found herself enjoying it hugely – despite the awkwardness of having every guest's gaze now set on her. She was used to being admired, but it was still strange to have it occur on such a grand scale all at once. She found it helpful to focus on her dear friend Cyrano, whose black velvet bird mask (adorned with small diamonds, she noticed) made it harder to see the sentiments in his eyes.
And yet, Cyrano's gaze was probably the most loving of all. He relished the soft touch of Roxanne's fingers interlocked with his own, being so achingly close to the prospect of taking her in his arms. His heartbeat matched the melody of the music. Roxanne interpreted her dance partner biting his lip as a gesture of focus – a way of helping him count their movements – but in reality, Cyrano was simply fighting every instinct he had to declare his love.
The plan, he told himself. Focus on the plan.
"How are things going with the Count?" he asked Roxanne in a kindly whisper.
"Very well!" Roxanne whispered back, her volume scarcely containing her glee. "I really think he's the one... the one I'll marry, if I can persuade my parents to agree."
"I'm glad to hear that, and I'm sure you shall. He is a handsome man, after all."
"Oh, but that's only part of it, Cyrano!" Roxanne enthused. "What I really love about him is his language!"
"His... language?"
"Christian writes the most beautiful letters. Such perfectly passionate poetry. You should see it, or hear it... I've committed some to memory because of how much I loved them."
"Well... if you're willing to share, I'm willing to listen."
Roxanne giggled, all at once embarrassed about what she was going to share. Still, Cyrano was an old and treasured confidante, and he liked poetry. He was bound to be both kind and discreet about it.
"All right," she said. "Here's one."
"Fair golden queen of day, please hear my song,
To cheer you as you rise from dream-filled sleep.
It is for you my heart shall always long,
To court you, wed you, and as wife to keep..."
Her recital stopped for a second as her slipper slid on her silky gown, knocking her slightly-off balance. As she righted herself, she was astounded to hear Cyrano, his voice hazy as if hypnotised, picking up from where she left off.
"For you, my perfect one, must have the best,
And so it is my best that I present,
In timid hope my love-filled lines are blessed
And relished by she who was heaven-sent.
O, Roxanne, truly, you shall never know..."
"How far down deep my love for you doth go," Roxanne continued, finishing the piece, but remaining astonished. "Cyrano... how in the heavens did you know it?"
As Cyrano's romantic, poetical brain was dragged back to reality, he suddenly wanted to slap himself stupid.
"Oh - I confess Christian showed me that one, as he... needed help with the spelling," was the lie he hastily cobbled together to cover his blunder. "Wasn't sure if "heaven-sent" was hyphenated or not. Like you, I was struck by its sentiments. But, that was the only piece he ever shared with me, Princess. I promise."
The song came to an end, saving Cyrano from further scrutiny as he quickly bowed to his partner, then hurriedly led her back to Christian.
"The dances hereafter are yours, Count des Étoiles," he said warmly. "I'll leave you to it. I just need to... check on a few things."
His parting words, however, were far more soft and sentimental – spoken as he looked deeply into the princess' shining eyes.
"Goodbye... my dear Roxanne. "
Lifting Roxanne's hand to his lips, he brushed it with the softest and sweetest of kisses. Then, Cyrano made a hasty exit, losing himself somewhere in the crowd – away from Roxanne and Christian's sight. Meanwhile, the Princess happily led the Count into the centre of the room, as the musicians continued the evening's repertoire with a polka.
Christian did his absolute best to keep up with Roxanne's elegant, excited dancing, but despite many days of practice, he still stumbled here and there. Thankfully, his companion's laughter was compassionate rather than callous.
"Forgive me, Roxanne," Christian told her, embarrassed. "I'm not exactly light on my feet."
"That's all right, darling. We have the whole evening to practice."
"Truth be told, I'm happy the Prince had the first dance with you. He is very skilled at it. He is skilled at many things, and has been a great help to me."
"Ah, yes... he did admit to assisting you with spelling!"
Christian raised an eyebrow.
"Spelling?"
"For a poem you wrote. You weren't sure whether or not a word was hyphenated."
Christian instinctively wanted to ask "Which word?", but he had sense enough to realise that it would raise further questions on Roxanne's part. All the same, hearing what was undoubtedly an excuse Cyrano had composed to cover their tracks created a pang of guilt within him. The doubts he had had before flooded back to him three-fold.
He couldn't keep up this charade for the rest of his life. And he didn't want to, either. It wasn't right or fair to Roxanne... and he wanted to be loved for who he was.
It was crystal clear to him. The Solar Princess was meant to be with his master.
As the polka came to an end, Roxanne noticed her partner's crestfallen expression.
"Christian? Are you all right?"
"Honestly? Not really," Christian confessed. "Listen, can I speak with you alone, outside on the balcony? There's something you need to know."
"Of course, darling. Let's go."
The pair slipped away through the dancing throng, past the Sun King and Queen, through open glass doors and onto the raised stone terrace.
Another guest, lurking in the shadows, spotted their escape. Sensing oppotunity, they swiftly followed - emitting a sinister chuckle.