「The Secret Life of Gardenias」
「December, 181: Happy Families – Hanasuou (2)」
…
Guests filed into the vaulted hall in twos and fours to parade before their costumed hosts in fantastic, dazzling costumes. There were pirates and wizards and mermaids and elves, knights and goddesses and anthropomorphics galore, each secretly vying to be the most glamorous of all.
Leading the procession was the five year-old Crown Prince of Sanq, dressed as Antoine de Saint-Exupery's iconic portrait of Le Petit Prince in an exaggerated turquoise long coat fully lined in orange-red velvet, with star-crested epaulets and concealed hooping that put a permanent flare to its bottom edge. A long, thin scarf the exact sunny shade of his tousled blonde hair and a curved sabre hanging off his hip completed the look.
Beside him, lavishly decked in a wealth of tiny silver crystals threading through a long, snowy wig and cascading through the layers of her powder blue ballgown, was the North Star. A tall eight-armed star perched on the side of her head, holding a white mask in place against her eyes. Despite everything, Elise Weridge has never felt more beautiful in her seven years of life. Everything was so shiny-glittery perfect from the tip of her nails to the swish of her dress, it was hard not to be just a little glad. The only stain on her evening was the Prince, whom she had been forced to accompany, although he seemed quite content to ignore her when not using her to show off his manners and charms.
On the royal dais, the King and Queen took turns holding a happy, grabby baby in a fluffy, furry jumpsuit with adorable, alert fennec ears nearly as large as her head and a bushy golden tail, surrounded by a modest handful of royal guards and ladies-in-waiting.
Elise tarried, hoping to catch a glimpse of her father, until the Prince kicked surreptitiously at her ankles to hurry her along.
"Pay attention," he hissed, adopting the royal plural. "Don't embarrass Us!"
The sweet lilting sound of strings bled into a lively waltz of pianos, flutes and horns. The waltz is a simple dance. Three basic steps executed in symmetry spin the dancers across the room in interlocking orbits. One steps, the other pivots, they turn, and, places reversed, they begin again – step, pivot, turn. Couples took turns at the centre of the ballroom, completing light-footed circuits around the dancefloor before elegantly withdrawing to allow another pair to take their place in the pattern.
It was the first time either of them have danced in public or with each other. Elise took a deep breath and gently repositioned her arms. Milliard was shorter than her usual dance partners, which threw her a bit. Her feet were used to working without the pressures of being watched and the more she tried to focus on them, the harder it was to get them co-ordinated. Don't panic. She knew the waltz well. Her aunt says it's all about timing and looking graceful. All she has to do is keep calm and let the Prince lead.
As it turns out, he was all toes and heels and Elise quickly lost her rhythm trying to whisk her feet safely out of his reach. She spent most of the dance walking red-faced around and alongside Milliard rather than properly dancing. Mercifully, no-one seemed to notice under her floor-length skirt.
Several couples drifted towards them as they neared their starting position, but Prince Milliard was determined to prove his endurance and keep going, to his companion's dismay. Half-way through the third lap, he started to catch on.
"Are you walking? Don't you know how to dance?" He growled. "How can you possibly think you could come to the ball with Us if you didn't know how to dance?"
Her cheeks burned in humiliation. It was his fault she's lost, silly, arrogant, greedy, boy! "You made me! I didn't want to!"
"Liar," he scoffed. "Every girl wants to dance with the Prince."
She wanted to cry and stomp her foot on him, but everyone was watching, she could feel their gaze boring through the back of her neck. She wouldn't even be in this position if he had abided by the laws of propriety and taken Lucrezia, like he was supposed to. And Lucrezia, whom she had looked up to all this time, isn't she supposed to come rescue her?
What would a Lady do? What would Lucrezia do? Elise didn't know. All she knew in that moment, beyond any shadow of doubt, was that all Royalty sucked.
.
As at most balls, not everyone had the mind to take part as the opening notes to the traditional first waltz sounded. Not everyone had the stamina or inclination to dance, and even among those who did, there were those who had arrived without appropriate dance partners, such as the Alliance Army General laden down with an army of frivolous medals issued to him against his better judgement so he would seem important, and those who were too important to be seen cavorting in just any public at all, like the Dukes and Duchesses of Neo-Lombardia.
These were immediately recognisable to Alessandro, who had spent most of his life in their dazzling company. They gathered under the giant glass windows near the main terrace, some distance away from the royal dais, and set up a bowyer attended upon by their own army of servants dressed in pure white, imported directly from the Court of the Iron Crown. The Court prides themselves on Justice and Mercy Above All. Someone in that bowyer is bound to be kind and powerful enough to petition his father for him and Lucrezia to return home, if not bring them back themselves.
It took him a while to realise, after finding himself shipped off to St. Anthony's and his sister to Sanq, that they had been banished, though he had no honest inkling as to why. It could have been any number of childish missteps or nothing at all, Alex was well aware of the fickle nature of fortune and favour in the Court of the Iron Crown. Whatever it was, wasn't six months more than enough?
He scanned the room subtly for some glimpse of any lone little girls with shoulder-length black hair and dark purple eyes among the crowd. He hadn't given any thought at all as to how he would find Lucrezia once at the ball, which he was now greatly regretting. He whipped around to say so to his costumed co-conspirator, only to find that Treize had gone as well. Alex gritted his teeth.
"It's Milliard's first Ball," the United Earth Sphere Alliance Ambassador, Treize's mother, whispered at him, "remember to go put in some nice words in his ear for us after I'm done with you."
Milliard? Alex nodded dumbly, having no clue who or what that was. It wasn't as if he planned on running all of Treize's errands of the night anyway, only those convenient to him. That was the deal.
Clear knots of people and conversation started to emerge as the orchestra moved into its next song. The Ambassador flitted gracefully between them, slipping effortlessly into each circle as if she had been there all along and moving on again before the novelty of her attentions wore off. Slowly one of those groups gathered around her, trailing behind her like a brood of smitten ducklings.
Thankfully, no-one seemed to be paying much attention to Alex at all, despite all the fuss showered upon him and his adorable little Pierrot costume. Melusina made a grand show of it to everyone she met: "And this is my son Treize. Isn't he just darling? Look at that awful wig! He picked these costumes for us to be the same. Isn't that sweet?" most of it lies. The costume had been sent to their dormitory rooms straight from the shop. They hadn't even known Treize's size.
The gaudy lords and ladies fawned politely over his costume, though none bothered to look in his eyes, which were a completely different shade of blue to Treize's, or speak to him directly. It's no wonder Treize didn't want to be stuck here with them.
There were other children of similar age to him being shown off on the arms of their parents, but he saw no-one resembling his sister's age group yet. Zita would be so much better at this, the thought rose unbidden to the front of his mind. She would have some annoying, super-smart way of finding you in a heartbeat. Think, Alessandro, think! You're the elder brother!
Treize often said that St. Anthony's Academy for Fine Gentleman was where boys like them were sent to in order to be forgotten, and it was quite understandable for someone in Treize's position. Bastard Princes to dead Empires make everyone nervous, especially ambitious new husbands. Alessandro had no such fears, however. He was his father's only legitimate male heir. Boys like him were more important and don't get casually shoved into closets to be forgotten. There must be some mistake.
A sick lump bore through his stomach: what if they had forgotten? What if the reason he had not received any word from his parents since leaving Roma was because they'd forgotten they'd sent him away to the wrong school? What if Lucrezia isn't here because she is already home, safe and sound with them in Roma?
Then suddenly, like a moment of clarity, there she was; or someone that could have easily been her, weaving through the crowd in a pale blue dress sparkling with crushed gems, towards a pair of doors that led back into the castle. He has seen enough girls cry to recognise the posture and stride of one trying not to.
"Zita! Aspettami!" He called out without thinking and twisted away from the Ambassador and her gaggle of admiring gossips, nearly knocking over a sullen vision of Saint-Exupery's Little Prince in his haste. The boy said something, but Alex hadn't the time for it. "Zita!" He called again, pushing his way out of the ballroom.
The Ambassador turned with a puzzled frown on her porcelain brow. "Treize?"
He didn't stop.
He should, but he didn't. How could he? Someone who could be his little sister was crying.
"Zita!" He ran down an empty hallway after the small retreating figure and the world seemed to fall away in a great senseless roar when he saw that the blotchy, tear-stained face wasn't hers after all.
"Rex?"
He might have reacted differently if he'd had a moment to gather and compose himself. Unfortunately for Milliard, he was still flushed and confused when the little Prince caught up to him.
"Re... I mean, T-Treize... is everything alright?"
"My sister. Where is she? What have you done with her?" He grabbed Milliard by the wrist of his out-stretched hand and shook him in a fit of frightful urgency.
Milliard whimpered and struggled, to no avail. The white snarling clown thing he'd thought was his beloved cousin towered over him, wringing his arm into a bloodless stump like some kind of ghostly vampire.
"R...Rex? You're scaring me..."
"Where is she?"
Behind them, the girl screamed. "Put him down!" she cried, hurling a sharp, star-shaped headdress followed by a tiny pair of silver dancing shoes weakly at Milliard's attacker. "We don' know anything! Put him down!"
"Not until you tell me where my sister is!" He yanked the princeling around, trying to swat at her.
"I said we don't know!" Elise bawled, desperately trying to reach her shoes for a second barrage. Her hands trembled so hard she couldn't even pick them up. Her aim was severely hampered by the damp hair and tears in her eyes, and she could barely feel her legs enough to stand.
She wasn't strong like Thomas or Spencer, or fast and clever like Alain and Lucrezia, and a rather large part of her would quite like to see the ghastly little boy who had done nothing but pick on her all night get what he deserved, but she couldn't run away and leave him behind, not when she is the only help he's got!
The older, bigger, boy didn't even flinch as one of her silver slippers bounced off the top of his head. Milliard hung limply in his grasp, on the verge of tears himself. "You... you're not Treize...?" He stammered stupidly.
Something went off in Alex's head. He heard it go with a dull, almost metallic twang.
"Of course not! How dim-witted are the people of Sanq?" He howled, having clean forgotten that he was meant to be disguised as Treize. "I am Alessandro Larucca of the Neo-Lombard House of Larucca under the Iron Crown and I want to see my sister!"
A dozen hands reached between the tempestuous trio, pulling them apart. Elise wasn't sure what happened next, on account of the chaos, though she remembered crying insipidly for her shoes, then worrying that the ball was all ruined because of her.
…
*Updated 10th May 2013
A/n:
Since beginning this series on a whim years ago, and in the interim where I sort of forgot what an "I" and "Internet" were, I had the opportunity to associate with a number of children in the 3 ~ 10 age range that mostly served to cement the following hypothesis: that
1, children will grow up as quickly as you need them to, then forget it all again as soon as you let them. The latter reversion is effective no matter what age the person is when given permission to stop achieving and revert, but the ability to grow exponentially under pressure is limited only to the young. We today are too soft on our kids.
And 2, all children are more or less psychotic until approximately age 10, when they hit a brief refractory window before sinking into the psychosis and sociopathy of puberty and hormonal instincts for the next six to eight years. That is, optimistically speaking.