Page 27

Alia felt ridiculous. Playing dress up was a game for children. She could barely breathe, the fitted bodice of the dress was that tight. And her head ached, the up-do Perri had arranged was pinned and pasted far too tightly. More disconcerting, far too many eyes were drifting Alia’s way and lingering too long. No doubt the aristos thought she looked foolish also.

Although, at least her outfit allowed her freedom of movement, the draped glittering crimson paper thin tulle that fell in tiered lengths from her waist was as light as a feather, swirling in unseen breezes, constantly moving, as if she really were actual living flame. Lastonne was gifted, she’d readily acknowledge that. The costume - Blaze - was stunning, if only someone else were wearing it. Alia felt like an imposter. Clinging to the edges of the ballroom, impatiently waiting for the night to be over.

At least people watching was helping to pass the time. Her gaze shifting to the far side of the room, locking on Talac’s tall form. He looked dashing in his swordsman of Kelope costume, with its distinctive blue cross in the middle of his long white tunic. His face in permanent shadows thanks to the large hat he wore with a decidedly whimsical feather attached. His half mask black in colour, a simple satin that covered everything above his lips, only his eyes unencumbered, piercing out of the darkness, glittering. Even without being able to see his expression, his body language was stiff and haughty. He looked the very picture of unimpressed Prince. Refusing to mingle, waving anyone who tried to engage him in conversation away with a disdainful flick of the hand.

Automatically Alia ducked as Lady Cannon waddled by once again, her large ungainly wings threatening to topple her backwards any moment, but not before they had smacked everyone she passed by in the face or head. The young lady had decided to emulate a flit, but had gone to the extreme, her attached wings far too large and bulky. So instead of grace and lightness, she was unbalanced frumpiness.

Worse for Lady Cannon, two of the other bridal candidates had also chosen to attend as flits. As had more than a dozen other ladies. Though none of their faux wings could in any way match the size and scope of Lady Cannon’s.

Lady Evagene, dressed as a water sprite, looked particularly beautiful in her seafoam glittering draped creation. Her raven hair studded with blue and teal gems, falling like a silken waterfall to her waist. The other stand out was Miss Freer, dressed like Tineena, Queen of the Fairies, in silver and pink. Her costume reflecting little rainbows of light every time she moved. And the woman was always on the move, whether it be dancing with her father or brothers, or just parading back and forth under the Prince’s haughty nose.

“I swear.”

Alia dropped her voice to a low urgent whisper.

“If you adjust your mask one more time, I’ll tie your hands together.”

“But…”

“No. I secured it myself. Do you not trust my knots?”

She turned to look at her sister. Wicked, was the name of her costume, and Perri looked beyond stunning in it, positively ethereal in fact. The deep rich black satin appearing like liquid onyx. And the accompanying mask a work of art in itself. It covered Perri’s face entirely, except for her eyes, lips, and a section down the right side of her face, exposing a little of her cheek and a small section of her jawline. The material giving off a glittering spiderweb effect whilst it somehow cupped her face.

Perri had stared at herself long and hard in the mirror once it was fitted in place, twisting and turning, but it was moulded to her face so perfectly the mask refused to move. Still, Alia knew it had taken a lot of courage for her sister to don it and the outrageously exotic dress that made her look dangerously… sensual.

“You move that hand and I’ll slap it.”

Alia promised.

“Just so you know, Regal hasn’t been able to take his eyes off us since the moment we arrived.”

“Where is he?”

“Don’t be too obvious.”

Being so much taller it was relatively easy for Alia to keep track of everyone in the room.

“To our left. Red shirt, black pants. I think he’s trying to emulate the notorious philanderer and lover, Lord Mainekerby. Typical.”

“I can’t… oh, yes, there. He looks angry.”

“He’s smiling.”

“Trust me. He’s seething. I know his smiles, and that’s his I’m mad as the nine circles of hell and someone needs to pay smile.”

“Don’t look at me. I haven’t spoken to the man since our initial meeting following the quarry-hammer game.”

“I haven’t crossed paths with him either. Perhaps it has something to do with Deacon’s intel regarding Regal being moved to one of the rooms directly over the kitchens. I understand they’re rarely occupied during the summer months because of the rising heat from below. His new accommodation must feel like a furnace.”

“He’d better get used to the heat. I understand the fires burn hotter still in the nine circles of hell.”

Perri tried to smother a laugh but failed.

“That’s the spirit.”

Alia shared a grin with her sister. Pleased to see Perri’s shoulders were pulled back, her chin lifted, a smile gracing her lips. The sight of Perri looking so relaxed, confident, and glamourous, would hopefully only make Regal even more miserable.

A movement out the corner of her eye had Alia lifting her gaze, a man, dressed in black, was making his way through the crowd headed in their direction. Tall. There was something about the way he moved through the crowd… predatory almost. Those around him sensing it and unconsciously moving out of his way without even realising it. He was dressed like a highwayman, no, a pirate, in all black from head to toe. His loose drawstring shirt drawing attention to his tanned throat and muscular broad chest. The black satin sash tied at his waist matched the mask that covered his hair and everything from the nose up, tied tightly at the base of his skull.

All he needed was the deck of a ship beneath him and a sword to wave around and it would have completed the picture. There was something magnetic about the pirate. Alia was conscious she was staring, but couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe because the path he’d struck through the crowd would lead him directly to her. No, she was being ridiculous.

Then suddenly he was there, stopping before her, gifting Alia a sweeping bow. Rising, he extended a hand. What? Oh, he wanted her to dance. Oh, no. But he didn’t give her a chance to voice a refusal, reaching out for her hand, grasping it in his gently but firmly and tugging her away from her spot against the wall.

“This is most irregular.”

Alia hissed under her breath as the pirate carved a way through the crowd and she was given no choice but to be pulled along in his wake.

“And I’m not in a dancing mood.”

Attempting futilely to discreetly disengage herself from this impertinent stranger. Only for him to turn and embarrassingly, effortlessly, swing her into his arms and launch them on to the dancefloor. Acting like she weighed the equivalent of a feather as he twirled her about and then lifted… oh, cruddy hell. Staring down at him, the sparkle in his eyes behind the mask glittering brighter than gemstones, a pleased smile tugging up the corner of his mouth… a very familiar mouth. “Talac!”

“Not so loud, or you’ll give the game away.”

Her feet once more on the ground, as he swept them off to the left, twirling.

“But… how? If you’re here, then who is that?”

She referred to the man standing off to the side of the ballroom, the one doing a very good impression of a bored haughty Prince of the Realm.

“Let’s just say that I have required the use of a body double for various reasons in the past. Never fear, Miles is very good… and has many a trick up his sleeve to keep everyone at an appropriate distance.”

“To what end?”

“So I might drink. Mingle. Dance with beautiful women.”

Talac thought she was beautiful. Damn, Alia hoped her cheeks were not turning as crimson as her dress. Blaze. The creation named by Lastonne was turning out to be more apropos than she could have ever imagined. Her skin, even under the tulle and satin, where Talac touched her, prickled with heat and awareness of him. It was tempting to just get lost in the moment. Dance with Talac. Quietly revel in his strength and grace. But worry nibbled away at Alia. If he were to be unmasked, the aristos would be in high dudgeons.

“Relax. If anyone is looking our way it’s only because of how stunning you look tonight…”

Talac lifted her again briefly, all too easily.

“Like living flame come to life in my arms. Every woman is envious. Every man jealous of me right at this moment.”

“You’re taking an enormous risk. Why, it can’t be just so you can dance with me?”

“So suspicious. Tonight I’m just a man, attending a ball, complimenting his dance partner.”

“Well, you may get to play the part of an ordinary man, but I, am still a bridal candidate, all eyes remain upon me. Critiquing. Judging. Ready to run at a moment’s notice to your grandmother’s side to tattle if they deem I’m conducting myself in any way unworthy of our esteemed Prince.”

“My Grandmere has retired already. She hates the noise and crush at these types of events. Two minutes after the musicians began playing, she, and several of her cronies, escaped to her chambers to play cards and drink sherry.”

“Then they shall run to your parents.”

As he swung her about, Alia caught a glimpse of the noble couple seated on a raised dais, sharing a cushioned divan. The Queen dressed as Lady Dread, in a swathe of dark purple, a faux glittering green snake wrapped around her shoulders. The King’s only nod to the night’s theme was to concede to wearing an old uniform and a small black mask.

“Have you met them as yet?”

They twirled right, and then Talac spun her in close.

“Yes. I was presented to them along with all the other candidates upon commencement of the ball… they are…”

Alia searched for a word other than daunting, scary or arrogant.

Talac laughed under his breath, continuing to hold Alia in close, mentally thanking the crush on the dance floor.

“My mother is too vain to wear her glasses in public, so you, along with everyone else, are nothing but a fuzzy colourful blur. That’s why it seems like she’s looking right through you. Whilst my father is too stubborn to admit that his uniform, one he hasn’t worn for a decade, is too tight. Breathing is a challenge. The permanent scowl makes it a little easier for him to pant from between gritted teeth. They’ll slip away under the pretext of Realm business within the hour, mark my words.”

As the song they were dancing to wound down, Alia gave Talac a small push.

“I can’t dance with you a second song. You may be a transient nobody pirate, I remain a bridal candidate under constant scrutiny.”

“Tell you what. Let’s head outside, there are entertainers performing in the garden. And if we keep on the move, there’s less chance of anyone noting our pairing and accusing you of any wrongdoing.”

It paid to be tall in a crush like this, better still to have a cloud of notoriety hanging over you. It meant people were more willing to get out of your way and elbow their nearest neighbour to do the same. Alia was making excellent progress through the crowd. Talac shadowing her closely, a step behind. Abruptly Miss Jacquene stepped into Alia’s path, blocking the way.

Naturally the woman was wearing white head to toe, surprisingly, it wasn’t a wedding gown. No, she’d chosen to attire herself as a milkmaid. One dripping in diamonds. Her cupid bow mouth currently curved up at the sides in a superior smirk.

“Well. Well. If it isn’t Lady Firepants.”

Jacquene’s hangers on, mostly her siblings, sniggered.

“A strange play on words, since I’m not wearing trousers this evening.”

Jacquene’s smirk dropping momentarily before returning full force.

“That scar you flaunt is beyond hideous. I suggest you wear a scarf or a large necklace at the very least, to provide a distraction from such a glaring flaw.”

“Ah, now your rumoured exceedingly large collection of scarves and enormous necklaces makes sense.”

Two of Jacquene’s brothers had to smother their amusement whilst Jacquene sucked in a shocked, outraged, breath.

“You don’t belong here. Everyone, the Prince included, is laughing at you behind your back.”

Alia smiled serenely.

“You’re under the misapprehension that I care what you, or what anyone here thinks of me.”

“Even the Prince?”

“I…”

Alia sensed a trap, and adjusted her words accordingly.

“… do not presume a close acquaintance with the Prince. But you appear to be a confidante, as you have stated you know what his thoughts are…?”

The smirk was back in full force. Jacquene’s eyes glittering brighter than her diamond necklace behind her delicate white lace mask.

“He has made his inner circle very aware of his thoughts and feelings on the matter of you, Lady Alia. Too bold. Too… provincial.”

“Really? Yet I can’t think of anything bolder than dressing like a bride for your first encounter with him. Talk about unsubtle. And if the Prince has such contempt for things considered provincial, I find it ironic you are dressed like a milkmaid.”

With that final verbal jab Alia moved on, forcing the Hail siblings to fall back.

Moments later Alia stepped out onto the terrace, taking a deep breath of cleansing air. Gaze drinking in the spectacle below. The formal gardens were full of guests meandering along torchlit pathways, enjoying the spectacle of tumbling acrobats, musicians, poets, and several jugglers tossing various items, including several fireballs, back and forth to everyone’s delight.

Hesitating at the edge of the steps she allowed Talac to cradle her elbow and lead her down to the left, away from the wandering musicians. Good idea. She didn’t want to come face to face with Cadell. The bard’s ego was bruised that she had not chased him here to the Palace. He did nothing but sulk, scowl, and shoot petulant glares in Alia’s direction every time they crossed paths.

Twice now, she’d heard him sing songs that featured a foolish golden haired maiden who failed to recognise the worth of her true love and went on to meet a surprisingly gory end.

“Are they all like that?”

“Who?”

Alia enquired, as they drifted down a gravel pathway that had no entertainers populating it and therefore had only sparse foot traffic.

“The bridal candidates. Are they all so catty?”

“I’m sure under less… fraught circumstances that Miss Jacquene is a lovely sweet woman.”

“You’re defending her?”

“Yes. Put yourself in her shoes. The entire fate of your family, retainers, everyone that works or has business with the Hail family, is resting on that woman’s shoulders. If she were to become Queen, then her family are set for life. Her siblings will make above par matches. The family business will flourish substantially. Everyone will benefit. Since the moment the invitation to attend was received, no doubt every one surrounding that poor woman has been giving her advice on how to conduct herself. What to say. How to dress. Her Mama whacks her on the leg every time her smile falters. She must be black and blue.”

“But merely by being here her father will conduct business, sign contracts, further the family cause. They’ll benefit just by attending the festivities.”

“Really? What of Miss Jacquene, rejected by the Prince of the Realm? Her siblings will all marry, but she’ll be tainted by her failure. The woman not good enough for the Prince.”

“I…”

“And this is your sixth year of conducting this little charade, correct? Have any of the previous bridal candidates gone on to form marriage alliance? I doubt it. They’ve been effectively shelved, thanks to you. You’re so busy dodging the marriage noose you have not once considered the feelings of the candidates, or the far reaching ramifications their failure here will have on their lives. Do they really even want to be here? Be Queen? Do they even like you?”

“I did not ask for any of this.”

“Nor have you done anything to stop it. For you, it’s a convenience. It allows you to go play master spy, and disguise yourself as an average man for a few months of the year. Escape the Palace and the mantle of acting the Prince.”

“You like the average man, the Captain of the Guard.”

“Much more so than the Prince, admittedly, he’s too blinkered and haughty for my liking.”

“Blinkered?”

“One day you’ll be King of the Realm. Half your subjects are female. That coup you fear bubbling away in the shadows, it won’t come from the aristos.”

“You’re telling me women will rise up?”

He sounded so incredulous, Alia wanted to kick him.

“Imagine if you will, never being able to control your own money, own land, or a business. To have no legal redress to turn down an offer of marriage if your father or brothers insist upon it. Work, but never get paid for it. Grow old, and have to cross your fingers that your sons will support and shelter you. To have your husband die and have to depend upon the kindness or handouts from your in-laws, who effectively now own you. Like a horse. Or an armchair.”

“I’ll have you know I intend to appoint Master Kinnith to administer the Widows Annual Dividend Fund. And will assign him resources to help manage and enforce it.”

“Kudos to you. But that position wouldn’t be needed if women were allowed to inherit their own home and family business upon the death of their husband. Were allowed to work in exchange for money to support themselves and their dependents.”

Alia noted they were on the farthest, darkest path that edged the densely wooded parklands that butted up against the formal gardens on this side of the Palace.

“Changing centuries old traditions is not done overnight, or, on a whim.”

“Please. When the scholars announced that more men died from drowning three years ago than old age for the previous twelve months, what happened the next day? The Palace announced that all male children under the age of twelve must attend mandatory swimming lessons. Not the girls, just the boys, mind you. And do you know why no one cared about the girls? Because the scholars didn’t even include women in their survey.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes. Society… men, don’t care how women manage to get by, they certainly don’t care how they die. The workhouses and church halls are full of desperate, starving women… and their children. It’s no better in the countryside. A woman can work a bit of land, grow vegetables, keep animals, but the moment a man comes along and sees its worth, he’s entitled to evict her and keep everything for himself.”

“And you expect me to do what exactly? My father and his cronies would not countenance widespread sweeping changes.”

“You could start by caring. Seeing women as your subjects, just as worthy of your time and respect as men.”

Talac chuckled under his breath.

“Something I said was amusing?”

“It’s just I arranged to play the mysterious pirate dressed in black this evening to get away from the politics and the power games… and here I am, being schooled and shoved right back in my royal box.”

“Your cushy satin lined box, oh, woe is me.”

Alia noted Talac grin briefly, the far off torches causing his eyes to glitter behind his mask.

“You are snug in your own little box, fair Beast. Don’t you find some days the pressure outweighs the privilege?”

“Undoubtedly. But I take a deep breath, and generally within ten minutes a new calamity arises, one that has me wishing to turn back the clock ten minutes to when it had been no where near as bad… then I take a breath and wait ten minutes… you get the gist.”

A glow low in Alia’s tummy igniting as Talac laughed loudly in response, grabbing Alia’s hand in his, raising it and planting a kiss across the back of her knuckles. Their eyes meeting.

Both suddenly aware they were essentially alone out here. No one else wandered this far away from the flickering torches, that distant light shimmering across the crimson of Alia’s dress, giving the impression she was fire come to life. The music and sound of the distant crowd muted.

This was the first time the two of them had been alone since the ride to Pallene, and suddenly, strangely, Alia found herself tongue tied.

“We should head back, enjoy the entertainment.”

“Yes.”

Yet still neither of them moved. Gazes locked. Her hand still held loosely in his. A stolen moment. Just the two of them. And then it hit her. Potentially this was their last chance to be alone together. The likelihood of this opportunity arising again was infinitesimally small. Alia’s gaze dipping down slightly, settling upon Talac’s lips. Should she? Effectively it would be a kiss goodbye.

Almost of its own accord her body began to lean forward. A dark cloud covering the moon at the same time. No, not a cloud, the shadow of a man. Talac pushing Alia out of the way, the black clad man bursting out of the wooded parklands, his knife making a whistling sound as it sliced through the air where Alia had been standing just a second before.

Cruddy hell. Alia fumbled aside layers of tulle, trying to reach the blade she had strapped to her thigh, whilst Talac grappled with their attacker. A man who was only a few inches shorter than Talac, though definitely broader. He likewise wore a mask, a full face one, covering all his features but his eyes. Just as Alia finally pulled her blade free of the sheath, the two men twisted around abruptly, the attacker’s knife sailing away in to the darkness. The men broke apart. Their attacker making one last useless swipe at Talac before dashing away into the dark woods.

“Hold.”

Alia grabbed for Talac’s shoulder.

“It’s too dark out there and you don’t have a weapon.”

Her hand felt strangely sticky, lifting it up to the moonlight in order to get a better look. Fear stealing Alia’s breath away, so her next words came out low and stiff.

“Talac, you’ve been stabbed.”