Page 25 of The Ballad of a Bard
S he was still trying to calm her racing heart after lifting herself on her toes and gifting West the kiss, even if it was nothing more than a chaste one on his cheek. But with the pulsing music that pulled her in deep, it was hard to ignore the temptation to make it more. To urge him upstairs and leave the party behind as they danced together, in another way.
There was so much to look at with the glistening chandelier with a hundred candles, the ocean theme that was echoed in everything that Muse spent weeks planning and the costumes that the folk wore graciously. And yet, there was only one thing that she focused on, one thing that she always focused on.
Crimson blamed it on the sole fact that he was a Saint, and nothing else. He was as dazzling as a radiant star, as alluring as a complete moon and as beautiful as the creeping shadows that created the midnight sky.
He might hate the glinting shade of gold- clear by the scowl hidden in his eyes that only those who truly knew him could see- but it only added to his glorious essence .
And it seemed as though Osira could sense her turmoiled thoughts.
Because the beautiful woman- Saint , floated over to her in an air of elegance. A chalice of white wine was in her hand and half drained, studded with sapphires.
“He’s always detested the shade.” She laughed softly, the chime of bells sounding within it as West plucked a loose strand off his collar, flicking it aside with a grimace. “Even if it suits him well.”
Crimson took another look before responding. “Blue suits him better, but the gold makes him glow.”
People danced around them whilst others looked for food and drinks. A few snuck off into secret alcoves and others giggled with their friends as the ball progressed. There was music and light and yet she couldn’t take her focus off of the captain who scurried off for a moment with Rook to discuss security. He hadn’t uttered a word to her after she’d kissed him, his face turning nearly the shade of her hair, which she enjoyed immensely.
“I’ve always adored him in blue.” Osira sighed, as if lost in a daydream. But Dream was over by the punch bowl, polking Imp in the side as they tried to swat her off like a cat. “I know that Imp always likes to joke about how West’s name never suits him, nor how his powers match how he looks but I think he’s rather fetching.”
“I agree. He’s probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.” Crimson said before she could stop herself. She clapped her hand over her mouth, biting her tongue before anything else could slip out.
The Empress only laughed again, the musical noise of harps this time following. ‘Oh my darling girl, I’m afraid it’s rather obvious.”
“Is it?” She grimaced, wondering who else could tell.
“Yes, but it’s a good thing, I assure you. ”
“How so?” She fought the maddening rush of embarrassment.
Osira smiled and it was one of the most kind, most beautiful things that Crimson had ever seen. “Because you didn’t fall for him knowing that he was a Saint. You didn’t fall for North, you fell for West.”
To anyone else, the statement might have sounded like a poetic riddle from the trickster Saint. But to her, it made perfect sense. Time had flown by, even if not very fast, and she’d fallen head over heels for the man named West, not the Saint that everyone knew as the Northern Star. Crimson wasn’t sure that it was love, or what that would even feel like, but she was more than certain that there were strong and unavoidable emotions tethered to the Captain of the Watch.
“I suppose I can’t hide something like that from you, can I?” She asked, glancing up at the Saint.
It was strange to have them all here, save for her father. To see Imp, with their purple and green attire that made them seem half-mad; Dream, dressed in elegant shades that complimented her skin tone and made her appear as though she were a lovely cloud. Even with War in the corner of her eye, he oozed an immortal power that she couldn’t deny.
She had done a spectacular job of avoiding the head of the Pits for the evening so far, and had the goal to stay away for the entire night. Not that he would recognize her as Red Lyric, but it was still enough of a coincidence that she didn’t want to test it.
“You forget, Crimson, that I see the art, the wonder in everything. Including the strongest of emotions, even if your father was the one who created us and them all.” Osira finished her drink and set it on the tray as a servant passed by. “So this aura around you, this stunning glow of happiness and desire, it radiates enough that it calls to me. ”
“Is it the thrall that he shows?” She questioned, hoping that maybe her weakness for him was simply that instead of a more powerful, more dangerous attachment. “The fact that he’s one of the six and I feel drawn to him?”
The Empress shook her head. “He has been alive for far longer than I can count, younger than even I am, and yet I’ve never once seen him care for anyone like he does for you and your mischievous brother. I would not take that for granted.”
Crimson chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t think so.”
There was a slight disappointment that her heart was so dependent on another after so long of being perfectly fine on her own. She’d been the one responsible for her and Cobalt, but perhaps that very reason was the one that made her lean towards him in the first place. To feel taken care of, protected, loved.
She removed the last word, the last feeling from her before it became too permanent. Nothing stuck around in her life, least of all Saints.
Osira plucked another goblet from the table. “He’s always been tricky, you know.”
“In what way?”
West patted Rook on the back, allowing him to glide off before he was tugged into a dance and never free again. His attention dipped and she immediately knew that he was searching for her within the bustling crowd. There was no one else that he sought out with the intensity behind his gaze. She darted behind Osira, slightly ashamed of her embarrassment but then again- he’d darted off after her brief show of affection.
Osira brought the cup to her painstakingly painted lips to cover her shameless giggle and drank deeply. When she was done, she tilted her chin over her shoulder to get a better look at Crimson, who was in fact hiding .
“Pretending like those feelings never existed is not the way to go about this, you know.” She mused with a harmonious hum. “He’s far too old for that trick to work, and I think even your inner conscience is telling you to forget it.”
She scowled and lifted herself back to her full height, which wasn’t that off from the Saint she spoke with. “I’m not hiding, I’m just…” She trailed off, unsure of where she was going with it.
“Unsure of how you feel?” The Saint suggested. “Waiting for the right moment?” She frowned. “I’ve never understood what that meant to mortals. What is the right moment?”
Crimson smiled at the wise rambling. “I’m not entirely sure that we mortals know either. It’s just this sensation that takes over. This warmth in our chest and the-”
West found her, eyebrows lifting.
The warmth exploded into a spreading heat.
She tucked her lips together as a small hand applied pressure to her lower back.
“Go,” Osira encouraged with another gentle shove towards the edge of the ballroom. “There is nothing that says that you cannot try with him.”
“There’s everything .” She argued and perhaps it was mostly her own cowardice for things turning poorly if he didn’t want the same thing. “He doesn’t show any sign of encouragement, any want or desire.”
The Empress groaned, “He’s always been the sort to pull back, pull away. I’m tired of it after so many years, decades, aeons together. Hence why I dragged you both to this ball tonight, dressed you to the very height of glamour. Gather your skirts and march over to him like you have nothing to hide or so help me, I will push you over there and force the pair of you together. I will even go so far as to lock the two of you in his room if it means getting you to admit that you care for the other.”
The music had started up again and perhaps one dance with him couldn’t hurt. Crimson considered the ups and downs, ran over every scenario in her head before she even knew that her feet were moving.
Osira waved her luck.
Crimson walked as steadily as she could, trying to ignore the sovereign’s advice for what she took it as instead of what it was. Not a leader telling her what to do, but a friend suggesting some choices.
Right.
She could do this.
She was Crimson Bard, the daughter of the Saint who created all, Heartache.
And most importantly, she was falling for Westley Saint.