Chapter 3: Here's to New Friendships
Ignoring my dream and yesterday's events, I take my hair out of the braids. I step through the halls light on my feet, wearing a simple cream and gold dress. Thoughts of oats and fruit bring a smile upon my lips. When I enter the dining hall, my father smiles brightly.
"Good morning, my sweet child," he says in between spoonfuls of oatmeal, "I hope you slept well?"
My thoughts drift back to the nightmare, but even that seems less real; did the boy have blond hair or was it black? With every step, the dream seems to fade from my memory, so I smile and nod.
"Yes, Father," I reply as I take my seat. "My mind shall be at ease while I meet my suitors."
Even my mother brightens at this, strengthening my resolve to face this courting season with open arms. I cannot blame the Queen for her typically downcast mood; she directs her time and energy into protecting the people of Fostoria. After all, her own people were not so lucky.
When I was around ten years old, Queen Juliette's former kingdom was attacked by mages. The Queen's sisters and one of her brothers were brutally slaughtered, leaving her heartbroken. I would do anything, even suffer through unwanted marriage, to give my mother a sense of happiness that she has not felt in so long.
"My dear Arabella," the King gives my sister a similar grin, which makes her smile as she curtsies.
"Father," she replies and sits down. The last to make an entrance is our brother. Yesterday Jameson was ill with a tremor, but as he walks through the archway, he looks quite well.
A smirk seems to rest on his face no matter the time of day. His pride is certainly an obstacle for him to overcome, but he has no interest in tuning down the hubris. He seems to believe that this confidence will earn him friends and lovers.
"My son," the King says, "You have overcome your illness in time to see your sisters off to their ball."
I groan inwardly. Today is the first day that I must flirt and flatter my way to finding a proper Prince to marry. I can only hope that some of the men at the ball will be of my tastes.
"One can hardly believe the two of them are eighteen years of age," Jameson replies and continues his meal with the posture of a future king. Although it is hard for me to say, he will make an excellent king; his qualifications rival even my father.
My parents smile, but it isn't necessarily a jovial one; I feel quite bittersweet about my age, and from this I can tell they do as well. On the other hand, Arabella is practically jumping up and down. If she hadn't been taught how to be proper, I'm sure she would be.
"My daughters," the Queen says, "in only two hours time, your ball begins. Surely it would do you well to prepare now." Arabella and I excuse ourselves and walk through the halls together, discussing the ball; or as I like to call it, our imminent doom.
"Oh, how soon!" My sister cries, "two of the suitors will be our fiancés!"
The same thought which brings delight to her can show me only misery. After these nights, I shall never be free again. What am I to do if my husband is cruel and uncaring, or not the man I would choose? Oh, what am I to do?
"It is now we must depart," I say as we near our chambers, "and remain apart until the ball."
We curtsy to each other and enter our chambers to prepare. After having spoken my dislike at the courting season, I remember my want to make my mother happy by facing it graciously. My endurance is restored, and I step to the vanity with my head held high.
As my servants fit the dress onto my body, I let my mind wander and imagine scenarios. Will my suitors be dynamic or simply dull? Who will I choose to dance with? And most of all, how will I choose a relative stranger to be my husband? My worries seem to become as tense as the corset on my waist. No matter what happens, I have to take it in stride, but I am not sure how to do that.
"Milady, the Queen wishes for me to ask of you this; what shall your plan be for the ball?" Maria questions, which makes me glad for my wandering mind. I would have stuttered profusely had I not been daydreaming about this seconds before.
"I shall be confident," I say, keeping it short and simple. Long plans tend to unravel much easier than shorter ones.
"And if you are to make a lapse in judgement?" she continues, causing me to falter for a moment. What would I do if I screw this up? Retreating is not an option, and neither is outside help. No matter what occurs, I must fix it myself, quickly and efficiently so as to not botch my chances of finding a worthy husband.
"Then I shall do that confidently as well." Maria appears to be satisfied with this response and goes back to her work with a simple nod accompanied by a soft smile, leaving me to my thoughts once again. Visions of the nightmare have not plagued me since I first awoke, and although the dream was rather vivid, I can scarcely remember any details; I cannot even be sure of if I was two feet away from the ground or twenty. My servants, finished with the dress fitting, lead me to a mirror to inspect myself.
I've never thought I'm ugly, per say, but only on rare occasions would I believe myself to be quite as gorgeous as I look on this day. The dress accents my slim waist, and the color makes my eyes seem much more blue than they ever have before. Surely any suitor would be blown away by the sight before my eyes. At the risk of seeming narcissistic, I smile at my reflection and feel the fabric of the dress between my fingers.
My servants chatter slightly, complimenting me and thanking me in return when I tell them their work has made it so. We even discuss my sister, and her naivety towards the courting season. My nerves lesson with every word we share, and I am suddenly quite glad to be close with my servants.
"Your suitors shall be mesmerised," Catarina assures me, grinning as politely and respectfully as she can manage in her excitement. She isn't wrong; somehow I have managed to become enchanting, like a witch, even. The thought of magic that invaded my mind sends a slight panic through me. A subject as taboo as that should stay as far away from my head as possible, especially on a day as important as this.
"While this discussion is quite welcome," I say, "it is time for me to fetch my sister and meet my suitors."
Catarina, Maria, and the others-Jennifer and Elizabeth-nod and smile encouragingly. While the idea of marriage is rather frightening to me, it is a comfort that they believe in me. Surely Arabella and I can easily find both lovers and friends among the suitors, even if they have arrived to receive our hands in marriage.
When I step out into the hallway, Arabella has already left her room and is standing patiently for me. She smiles and clasps my hands as she starts chatting up a storm.
"Oh, my dear sister, I cannot begin to understand the feeling which has come over me! It feels almost as if the many butterflies from the garden have appeared inside my stomach," she explains, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against her dress.
"You are quite nervous, then?" I ask, almost surprised. Arabella has seemed rather excited for our ball until now. She even forgets to be ladylike as she shifts around on her feet, not looking me straight in the eye.
"As much as I talk about love," she says, "it has never succeeded in the past."
"Oh," I reply, trying to think of words to soothe my sister's mind. "These men are here for you. Your chances of success are high."
She smiles slightly at this and tells me about her dress while we walk down the hall. A few times, she compliments my own clothing, but she is rather excited about the "completely and utterly unique color" and "intricate patterns" of her own dress. I, for one, fidget around in my dress like it is made of pins and needles.
When we finally arrive at the balcony-like structure above our ballroom, the Master of Ceremonies announces us by our titles and names, and my sister and I walk down the stairs to meet our suitors. As we walk, I take notice of the men waiting for us; there are seven of them, which goes to show how unpopular a courting season like this is.
"Princesses Annette and Arabella," the one in front says, "I am Prince Stephen of Rivelway. It is an honor."
"The honor is ours," my sister replies, and I say similar words. I leave my sister with the blond boy and approach another man, one that is more handsome than Prince Stephen. Not that physical looks are the only determining factor, but they do help.
As I step up to meet him, I am struck by how un-royal he looks. His clothes are fine and rich, but are not fitted correctly for his structure. The black mop of hair on his head looks like it has never been brushed, and his hands are not manicured. A scar runs across the side of his forehead, about an inch in length.
"I'm Owen," he says as he reaches out to take my hand. Startled by his informal speech, I almost think a commoner has gotten into our ball. My eyes settle on the royal pin near his right shoulder, and I am satisfied. He might be an unorthodox royal, but he is a royal nonetheless.
"I am Princess Annette." I curtsy and continue, "which kingdom do you come from?"
For a second, he looks like a deer in headlights, but the expression leaves his face almost as fast as it appeared. He smiles and bows in return to my curtsy.
"Saludor," Owen replies. His hand falls, and I realize how rude I was to not take it for a dance. However, he seems unfazed and simply verbalizes the question. "Can I have this dance?"
"You may." I take his hand and place my other hand on his right shoulder. The feeling of his hand on my waist almost sends a jolt of electricity through my body. I have danced with men before, that is obvious, but it does not feel like a simple attraction. If I didn't know better, I would call it magic.
While we dance, I notice how expertly he places his feet, like he could do it in his sleep. Even Arabella, who has a passion for ballroom dancing, is rivaled by this man. I cannot understand how Owen, who is so strange and different, is such a lovely dancer.
"Your sister seems unfocused in her own courting," he whispers. I glance at Arabella and see that she is chatting amiably with a girl. Her light brown hair contrasts with her dark and beautiful skin. I notice a boy next to her with the same colored hair and skin, but he looks a year or two older. Siblings, perhaps.
"My sister is friendly in nature," I tell him, but the brief sight still worries me. Arabella is not one to be sidetracked in her hunt for love, but like Owen said, she seems unfocused. Could she be so naive as to think she can make a match quickly? There is a reason it is a courting season, not a courting ball. All I can do is hope she gets her act together and finds a proper match for the throne.
"You look like somebody I know." His eyes seem to scan my face, which makes me want to throw my hands up so he can't analyze it. Instead, I give him a polite smile before responding.
"If you recall, my twin sister and I share a face," I reply, which makes him laugh. It's a wonderful sound to come from someone with such sad and tired eyes.
"No, no," he says, "a boy from… Uh, from Saludor. The same eyes, really. Even the color; it's strange. I do recall one expression he'd make when thinking. His brows would furrow and his lips would smirk a little- like you're doing now."
I try to scowl at him for looking at me so intently again, but I'm not really sure how to do it. Most girls would be flattered that a boy took so much interest in looking at them, but I've never liked that kind of attention. I don't meet his eyes, and we continue dancing in relative silence, aside from various comments on his part to liven up the conversation.
"You are a nice dance partner," I inform him when it is over. He gives me another grin and steps away to give me room.
"I'd hope that means you'd like to dance again sometime?"
"I'll give it a thought," I reply. "But now I must meet my other suitors."
As I walk around the ballroom, I learn each of their names, but some of them seem to have their eyes on Arabella, so I don't try to flatter them as much. I wouldn't want to steal my sister's man, after all. I dance with a few of the suitors, but none of them can dance like Owen.
One of them, Blake, is the brother of Arabella's new friend. Determined to meet her and decide if she is a good role model for my sister, I approach the girl when Arabella steps away to meet suitors.
"Good day," she says, smiling brightly. "I am Duchess Leila of Halablo. It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Annette."
"The pleasure is mine," I return. She at least has manners, unlike a certain black-haired boy with annoyingly good facial features. And, since she is a duchess, her brother would be a duke, which would be good for my sister. Speaking of Arabella…
After wrapping up a conversation with Leila, I make it to my sister just in time for the ball to end. We walk back to our rooms to change out of these dresses and into more comfortable clothes, but not before planning to talk about the ball in the library tonight.
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