A Dream is a Wish the Desperate Make (Poetlore and Tinder)

Tinder

Inconceivable
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Fantasy (High, Low, Modern, Any), Romance, Supernatural Creatures, Fairytale Retellings, Mythological, Heroes' Journeys, Fandom (Bioware Games). Open to Trying Different Genres.
Castle Roussillon sat high atop a hill looking over the grand capital city of Rhone in the country of Guyon. It had expanded from a modest mining community to one of the largest exporters of fine minerals on the continent, gaining the respect of its neighbors through clever trading tactics and an occasional show of force from their Grand Army. The city of Rhone remained the heart of the kingdom as it had for nearly three generation, built from the very stone the country made its name from. The architecture ranged from slate one-room homes in the old city to the polished mansions of marble nearest to the castle with Castle Roussillon as the crown jewel. The fortress had been refined throughout the years, gaining new wings and towers as each monarch sought to leave their mark on the kingdom. “The stone remembers,” or so the saying went.

The current monarch began his legacy project as soon as he gained the crown; a grand one even by the kingdom’s standards. He planned to gild the king’s tower as a promise of the wealth to come in his new dynasty, a wealth that they could only dreamed of. Such riches had not appeared yet nor should any have expected such after only nineteen years. The king spoke of the future, a generation or so down his line when his reforms would mature at long last. The kingdom lived on as it always had with most people paying little attention to the grandiose promises of their betters. What would come would come regardless of the king’s words. If he chose to live in his future before it could arrive, the people could do nothing to prevent him.

So it came as no surprise to them that the gala planned for that night had become a pageant full of spectacle. On the first night of autumn, King Marcellin Camille Theophile Richelieu had called for a lavish party for the nobility of the land to celebrate his betrothal to the daughter of the neighboring kingdom. It was to be a masquerade as was tradition among the nobility in Guyon, done primarily to impress and to celebrate the bride and bride-groom. King Richelieu set out to create the ideal party, sparing no expense to bring in the best of everything. The servants spent the week before acquiring a seemingly endless bundle of exotic foodstuff and late blooming flowers. They created flawless décor to enhance the already impressive interior of the castle until it resembled the places spoken of in fairy stories while the kitchen staff worked day and night to prepare a feast unlike any the kingdom had seen before.

When the day finally came, the castle staff could have collapsed in relief and perhaps would have had they not been needed to wait upon the masses of nobility. They ushered finely dressed men and women from across the surrounding kingdoms into the feasting hall done up in white and gold. There the king greeted the people as they entered dressed in his finest surcoat colored chocolate brown and embroidered with gold bearing his coat of arms, a shield emblazoned with a stock of grain and a sword. The crown jewels accompanied his choice clothing along with a feathered hat and a mask made from pure gold. The nobility whittled away the evening dining on the twelve course meal and conversing with one another. Each course surpassed the previous in decadency until it culminated with a local delicacy known as snowdrop cakes, small pillows of spun sugar formed into elaborate shapes.

This marked only the halfway point of the evening. The doors to the ballroom opened to begin the dance shortly after the servants cleared away the last of the food. The musicians began to play a quiet string piece while the guests made their way into the room, allowing a time for mingling before the first dance was called.

Deeper within the castle away from the brilliant collection of colored silks and perfumed air one uninvited guest completed his preparations for the ball. A trio of visiting servants in the employ of Duke Richelieu, the king’s brother, had crept away from the unending parade of tasks to a quiet corner near the back of the servants’ quarters.

The woman with them, somewhere in her mid-twenties, stepped out of the small patch of candlelight while the older man with greying hair smiled at their dripping friend. “Close yer eyes, Ash.”

“I’d rather put some clothes on.” Ash shivered where he stood, rubbing her hands over his bare arms to create some body heat. They’d already scrubbed the dirt off him, a seemingly impossible task but the nobles’ dinner had given them ample time.

Eleanor clicked her tongue at him. “Armand worked hard on this, Ash. Do as he says.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Ash closed his eyes. The first frost of the cold season had come that night, impossible to ignore on these lower floors of the castle. Ash swore he could feel his damp hair stiffening as he stood waiting for his friends.

“Right, Ash.” The young man flinched as a hand fell on his shoulder. Armand squeezed his shoulder gently to steady him. “Open yer eyes.”

Ash obeyed, his eyes widening when he saw Eleanor standing before him with a suit as fine as any he’d ever seen the duke himself wearing. A pair of trousers made from cotton the same color as nickel with a matching pair of boots trimmed with white fur. A grey-blue vest accompanied that with silver clasps up the front and trimmed with fur, along with a long-sleeved, linen undershirt. “Sanctified gods,” he breathed, glancing back at Armand. “That must’ve cost ye a fortune.”

Armand grinned. “Not a mite. Nobles’re always buying too much cloth fer their clothes. Between my wife ‘n me, we’ve got enough fer near twenty suits.”

“It’s too much,” Ash said. “I can’t possibly—”

“Ye can and ye will,” Armand encouraged him. “I’ve got no other use for ‘em.”

“Come on then.” Eleanor tossed the trousers at him. “Get into ‘em before ye catch yer death of cold.”

Ash smiled and hurried to dress. Eleanor helped him with the clasping while Armand pulled his ashen hair back into a ponytail. They stepped away after a few minutes of tugging everything into place. Ash moved his arms and legs to examine himself in the clothing. It felt almost too fine to be wearing, though nothing special by the standards of nobility. Just enough for him to blend into the crowd. For him though he’d never worn softer cloth. He looked back to his friends. “Do I look right?”

Armand laughed. “More than right, lad. Ye look like a proper young lord. Try not to steal too many hearts tonight.” He looked him over, frowning a moment before snapping his fingers. “Ack, One thing.” He retrieved the handkerchief from Ash’s clothes and handed it to him. “Never leave ‘ome without one as me grandmum always said.”

Ash nodded and tucked the kerchief into a pocket in his trousers. The praise brightened his eyes as he continued to admire the clothes. He had dreamed of a chance like this, to experience the life he might have had had his mother been a lady rather than a washerwoman, but to think tonight he would actually be a part of it. He stopped when his eyes fell on his hand. He looked back up and gestured toward the large scar there. “What about me hand? If the duke saw it…”

“That’d be where I come in,” Eleanor declared, returning to the dark corner. She turned and came forward with a pair of white gloves and a mask of silver. “They were me father’s. Wore it once to attend a minor lord’s feast. Mask’s not real silver, but looks the part. Wear them well.” She handed them over, her eyes lost in a far-off memory.

Ash smiled as he took them. “I promise to keep ‘em safe for ye.” He tugged on the gloves while Eleanor helped him to tie on the mask.

After Eleanor embraced him. “Enjoy yerself, Ash. I best get back to the kitchens to help.”

“Let’s go then,” Armand said as she pulled back. With a brief wave to Eleanor, the pair started off out of the servants’ quarters. “Remember to keep up straight. Yer noble and yer meant to be there. Use yer proper name if anyone asks. The duke won’t know, so don’t worry bout ‘im. Keep yer nose outa trouble and talk proper like the duke likes with company around.”

“Aye, da,” Ash replied as they rounded the corner, nearing the halls of the castle proper. Armand gave a sidelong glance. Ash cleared his throat. “I meant, Aye, serah.”

Armand smirked. “Better. Keep a mind on the time. Don’t want to be around when the unveiling ceremony begins at midnight. It’ll be once the final dance is called with three rings of the bells. Hear them and get out.”

“Three rings and get out,” Ash repeated, anticipation and nerves twisting his stomach into knots.

“Otherwise, ‘ave fun, get some wine if they’re servin’ and dance with a few ladies. Ye must’ve learned somethin’ bein’ the young missy’s dance partner.” They arrived on the upper level a short walk from the ballroom. Armand gave Ash a push toward the door. “Go on, lad.”

Ash stumbled forward, starring at the room like a den of bears rather than a party. He could hear the playful whistling of a flute over the rumble of multiple conversations within. He wanted to know what it was like, to be a part of the unfamiliar world, but so much could go wrong. If the duke knew or found out… He glanced back at Armand who gave him a smile and gestured for him to go on. His friends had done so much for him. He swallowed and nodded his thanks. He couldn’t turn back, not now.

He strode forward, managing to walk with his head held high and a smooth gait even as he entered the room. One or two eyes strayed to him but few lingered long. His clothing marked him as lower ranked, hardly worth the time to notice. Some of the ladies took notice and giggled to their companions, but no one approached him to speak. He wandered through the crowd, remaining near the walls until he found a good place to watch the proceedings. Perhaps after he’d seen a few dances he would join in, but for now he only wanted to see.
 
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King Alistaire Adam Chesterfield Edenmire and his wife Queen Clarissa Grace Edenmire arrived at Castle Roussillon with their daughter Erica Antonia Victoria Edenmire in the customarily tardy fashion of the highest of royals. Erica had been the cause of their delay, refusing to be paraded before a bunch of snobbery like so much cattle at the auction block. However, in spite of their daughter's defiant attitude, they did manage to arrive before the meal was actually to be served.

They brought along two Knights as guards along the road and for their person within the castle. Such precaution may not be necessary, but King Alistaire believed in the wisdom of caution. Bowen and Larkin escorted their charges into the castle and stayed at their sides as they proceeded through the receiving line. They approached King Richelieu and stopped before him as was customary.

"King Richelieu. Please allow me to present to you my daughter, Princess Erica Antonia Victoria Edenmire"

Erica had to fight her repulsion for the older man and only managed to hide the face she was making by bowing her head and curtsying before him. her gown was of the finest tapestry in a pale lavender with onyx and ruby embellishments. It hugged her waist and flowed out from his hips in shimmering waves. Her gloves extended up to her shoulders where they were edges in shimmering silver fur. Over the gloves she wore a golden filigree adornment with a large ruby at the center. Her ash blonde hair was flowing down in thick sheets and was woven at the crown of her head with a net of onyx and ruby where her tiara normally would have been. She had refused to wear the tiara and this was her compromise. Emerald green eyes scanned the people gathered as she listed ehr head and stood once more. Some faces were familiar and others were not, but such was always the case at events of this magnitude.

He offered his hand to escort her in and she could not refuse it so she rested her gloved hand atop his as they moved into the dining hall for the dinner. She sat next to King Richelieu and tried to act as if she was not about to vomit at every turn of his head or touch of his hand. The food was as ostentatious at the castle and the man. All of it repulsed her.

Thankfully they retired to the large ballroom where she knew she would be expected to mingle and be charming. She was glad to have the reason to leave the king's side, both of them, and have a bit of freedom even if only until the dancing began. She nodded and smiled, as she attempted to move through the room. She was swarmed by family after family as she did so, being introduced to earls, dukes, princes and other royals of all ranks and importance. All of them making that level of importance known to her of course. She had almost made it to the far end of the room when the first dance was announced and King Richelieu appeared instantly at her side offering his hand.

She did try to smile but she had a feeling it fell a bit flat, but ti was honestly a herculean effort to get that much of a smile to her lips.
 
Pairs formed up as the king led his bride-to-be into the center of the room. The floor filled in seconds with those of import taking their places nearest to the king while those of lesser rank peopled the outer rings. Ash watched from the back the rush of bodies, marveling at the grace and poise they maintained even in their haste. People born and raised to exhibit only the finest qualities. A smiled crossed his face. Eleanor hated to hear him say that. “Nothin’ but an ole fable told by fools who think too much o’ themselves.” The other servants would tell her that attitude only proved the nobility right, not that their opinion mattered to her. She had the sort of confidence that allowed her to go toe to toe with even the duke should he get underfoot in the kitchens. Ash wished he could borrow even a fraction of that nerve.

Speaking of nerves…He examined the area closest to him. A handful of eligible ladies remained including one young woman with pretty brown hair. He swallowed hard. Armand had told him to try to enjoy himself. If Ash returned with only tales of standing on the edge of the room, Armand would be cross with him. His heart began to pound. She looked pleasant enough. All he had to do was walk over and ask her for a dance. Just a few short steps.

She turned her gaze on him as though she sensed him staring. He shifted his eyes away and examined a nearby tapestry depicting what might have been a battle. Or perhaps a feast. He couldn’t bring himself to focus on the picture. No need to rush, he told himself, allowing a deep breath. Many hours remained until the final dance.

The musicians launched into the first song, an elegant piece traditionally played during an engagement to set a romantic mood over the crowd. It allowed lovers to hold one another while the unmatched dancers gazed on wistfully. Most importantly the slow, methodical dancing gave even the oldest members of the king’s court a chance to keep pace. For many it would be the only dance of the night. The remainder would be dedicated to mingling, where alliances would be forged and broken with little more than a raised voice. Ash had witnessed those sorts of conversations during balls thrown by Duke Richelieu when he had to act as his attendant. The duke liked to refer to them as a kind of dance far more complicated than any the young people could think up. His daughter, Lady Emilie, said he only envied those still capable of such feats. Seeing and having learned many of the dances himself, Ash couldn’t decide who he agreed with.

The music soon transitioned into a faster pace, cueing a change in partners and the time for the elder members of the court to retire from the dancefloor. The younger men and women took their places to display their dancing abilities and enjoy themselves. Ash took another look around the room to see if he could work the courage up for this round of dancing. The outer edges were beginning to crowd after the ending of the first dance. Not far from him, he noticed a blonde and a red head who seemed fairly approachable. Outfits fairly simple and no elderly family hovering around to seek out more suitable partners for them. He rubbed the back of his gloved hands. He had to try at some point else he would do nothing but outside of watching the festivities tonight. He began to walk forward, searching his mind for the correct phrasing. Might I have this dance, milady? Would you be so kind as…to grace me with your beauty that surpasses…

Ash veered his course and passed them by, his heart pounding. He was grateful for that mask that hid most of his face. No doubt it appeared the same color as the crab served at dinner. There must be an easier way to do this. He noticed a few tables holding goblets of wine standing near the edge a little ways off. He could start with that. Armand had also suggested sampling the wine and that gave him something to do to occupy his mind. He relaxed and came to a decision. He would start with wine and then try again…possibly.

He weaved his way through the crowd toward his new destination but came to another abrupt halt when he noticed the woman standing in front of the table. His eyes widened. Gods alive, Lady Emilie! She appeared to be searching for a dance partner. Her eyes fell on him and a frown came to her face.

He turned on his heel and hurried back the way he came.

“Wait!”

He moved faster, attempting to keep the panic from showing on his face. She couldn’t see him. She’d tell her father minutes, possible drag Ash over to him by the ear. Then… He cast a glance over his shoulder to see if she had continued her pursuit. The crowd proved too much, but before Ash could celebrate, he walked into one of the aforementioned older gentlemen lining the edges of the room. Ash whipped his head forward, his mouth going dry when he recognized the man as Earl Janvier. He’d visited Duke Richelieu several times in the past. He immediately bowed his head. “Apologies, milord.” Damn it, he had to act proper. He straightened, reaching deep within himself to summon up something of a collected facade. “Ahem. You must forgive me, good lord. I fear I was distracted.”

“Of all the—” Janvier froze when he glanced up at Ash. “Gods be…Our celebrations have woken the dead.”

The lady with him, presumably his wife, frowned. “What’s this you’re saying, my lord?”

“Had I not been there at his bedside,” the man replied, “I’d swear the late king Bouchard stood before me. You’re his very likeness, serah. Where do you hail from?”

Ash attempted to cover his pause with a smile. “The far south, my lord. I belong to a minor house, hardly more than overseers of farmlands.”

“Oh? Which house?”

“Boivin,” he blurted out.

The old man nodded. “I see. Not such as small house though I am not acquainted with its members. Did you come alone?”

“Yes,” Ash continued, uncertain where these lies came from, but grateful for the sudden rush of quick thinking. He needed to escape the conversation before they stopped. He attempted to take a step back to retreat. “Harvest time is demanding and thus my parents were unable to attend.”

The earl closed the distance between them. “A lovely place. Always warm in the winters. I had thought to spend some time there this year. Is there any place you would recommend?”

Ash felt his throat constrict. Gods when had it become so hot? “That entirely depends on your purposes, milord. Perhaps the springs—hot springs?”
 
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Erica danced that first slow dance with her intended husband, and had to fight to keep a half smile on her lips. What she wanted to do was spit in the man's face in front of this whole illustrious gathering and tell him what a pig she thought he was. her parents were dancing very near to them however, and she knew she could not afford to create an incident that might bring war to the neighboring kingdoms. She needed time to set her own plans into motion, so she had to behave and be the dutiful bride-to-be.

She was not at all surprised to see her partner tiring a bit after only that slow dance. She was thrilled though and urged him to participate in the next dance as well, knowing he would be forced to retire to a chair somewhere afterward and leave her to mingle a bit and find a more pleasant partner. Now during this second dance the smile on her face was wide and almost glowing at her partner's struggles to keep up the pace with the younger dancers. it really was cruel of her to be so delighted at his distress, but she hated the man so vehemently such an attitude was all she could muster for him. She'd been given reports that asserted that this man had killed the rightful Queen of Guyon, shortly after marrying her effectively stealing this crown and the power that accompanied it. She had this tale from many sources but without proof, she could not dispute her father's arrangement. She intended to prove this man's villainy as it regarded his late wife, as well as prove that he was somehow stealing the water that normally flowed freely into her father's kingdom.

The second song ended and her partner bowed and begged to be excused. "She bowed and gave a curtsy, "Of course Milord," she said sweetly to him making note of his bright red face and gasping breaths. "You do look as if you need a bit of wine. I will mingle and make myself known to your guests." He departed and as she watched, he nearly fell into a chair and waved someone over to tend to him. How she managed to keep from rolling her eyes, she would never know.

She was determined to make her way to the outer ring of people, where she felt sure she would find people more to her liking. She was not at all pretentious. Much to her parent's horror, she generally preferred the gardener's company to that or other royals. At least they believed she was spending time with the gardener in the hothouse. She was usually with Bowen and Larkin training with a sword and bow in a pair of men's breeches and a leather vest. Oh how she wished more often than not that she had been born a man. A son would not be forced into this ridiculous marriage to someone nearly three times her age. She huffed mentally as she continued to mingle but was making her way to the edge of the room for a glass of wine. She needed a bit of steadying and warmth within her belly.

She miscalculated her steps as she moved and a couple who was still dancing came round the opposite direction and they soundly bumped into her from the side sending her flying quite out of control at an older gentleman and a younger one. "Ooooohhh...deeeeeeaaaar..." she managed just before plowing into them both.
 
Erica danced that first slow dance with her intended husband, and had to fight to keep a half smile on her lips. What she wanted to do was spit in the man's face in front of this whole illustrious gathering and tell him what a pig she thought he was. her parents were dancing very near to them however, and she knew she could not afford to create an incident that might bring war to the neighboring kingdoms. She needed time to set her own plans into motion, so she had to behave and be the dutiful bride-to-be.

She was not at all surprised to see her partner tiring a bit after only that slow dance. She was thrilled though and urged him to participate in the next dance as well, knowing he would be forced to retire to a chair somewhere afterward and leave her to mingle a bit and find a more pleasant partner. Now during this second dance the smile on her face was wide and almost glowing at her partner's struggles to keep up the pace with the younger dancers. it really was cruel of her to be so delighted at his distress, but she hated the man so vehemently such an attitude was all she could muster for him. She'd been given reports that asserted that this man had killed the rightful Queen of Guyon, shortly after marrying her effectively stealing this crown and the power that accompanied it. She had this tale from many sources but without proof, she could not dispute her father's arrangement. She intended to prove this man's villainy as it regarded his late wife, as well as prove that he was somehow stealing the water that normally flowed freely into her father's kingdom.

The second song ended and her partner bowed and begged to be excused. "She bowed and gave a curtsy, "Of course Milord," she said sweetly to him making note of his bright red face and gasping breaths. "You do look as if you need a bit of wine. I will mingle and make myself known to your guests." He departed and as she watched, he nearly fell into a chair and waved someone over to tend to him. How she managed to keep from rolling her eyes, she would never know.

She was determined to make her way to the outer ring of people, where she felt sure she would find people more to her liking. She was not at all pretentious. Much to her parent's horror, she generally preferred the gardener's company to that or other royals. At least they believed she was spending time with the gardener in the hothouse. She was usually with Bowen and Larkin training with a sword and bow in a pair of men's breeches and a leather vest. Oh how she wished more often than not that she had been born a man. A son would not be forced into this ridiculous marriage to someone nearly three times her age. She huffed mentally as she continued to mingle but was making her way to the edge of the room for a glass of wine. She needed a bit of steadying and warmth within her belly.

She miscalculated her steps as she moved and a couple who was still dancing came round the opposite direction and they soundly bumped into her from the side sending her flying quite out of control at an older gentleman and a younger one. "Ooooohhh...deeeeeeaaaar..." she managed just before plowing into them both.
 
Janvier frowned, his white moustache almost hiding his lower lip. “I hadn’t heard of any hot springs in that area. To the west near Flatwell, yes, but not so far south.” He folded his arms over his breast, pondering the troubling information.

Ash stood straight as the columns that lined the room with a polite smile frozen on his face, praying to whatever higher power would hear him that something would appear to distract the man. Of all that things that could reveal him as an imposter tonight and it seemed destined to be one overly inquisitive earl.

The earl cleared his throat. “No, no, that doesn’t sound right at all. Are you certain you meant to say hot springs?” He narrowed his eyes behind his golden mask. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall the Lord Boivin having such an old son. Did he not marry only ten years ago?”

Ash opened his mouth to reply, hardly able to find the breath to put behind his words, when someone mercifully crashed into him.

The perpetrator, a lady, ran into him from the side and sent him to the ground. A few people nearby gave a gasp and backed away, but the music drowned out most of the noise. The earl stumbled back but managed to maintain his feet and held out a hand to steady the lady. Ash reached up to ensure his mask had remained in place, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it unmoved. Eleanor did good work.

As Ash found his feet, he earl addressed the woman. “Goodness alive, are you well, my lady?”

He brushed himself off and got a good look at his savior for the first time. The blood drained from his face yet again when he saw the Lady Edenmire standing before him. He’d bumped into the bloody king’s fiancé?! Immediately he bowed his head, resisting the urge to bend lower. “Forgive me for getting in your way, my lady,” he said, somewhat proud of himself for managing to control his voice when all he could feel was panic. “I did not see you coming.” His response, well far from suave, managed to sound calm. The best he could have hoped for considering the pounding in his chest at that moment.
 
Erica had reached for the older gentleman's hand and had narrowly avoided landing in a heap on the floor. She was extremely glad of the fact that her parents were on the far end of the room and had not noticed the near catastrophe. She fought the urge to brush down her gown, a huge error in decorum her mother abhorred. She smiled at the elder gentleman and nodded her head, "Oh thank you, I am quite well. I had just not calculated the zealousness of that one couple on the dance floor correctly." She was flushed in her cheeks but possibly they might attribute that to the dancing and the warmth of the room. She could hope so at least.

The younger gentleman, whom she had sent flying to the floor seemed to be at a loss for what to say, and she found it charming and endearing. "Please," she said as she rested her gloved hand on his arm, "This was entirely and completely my fault. You are kind to accept blame in such a noble manner, but I am not afraid to accept the blame for my own lack of forethought." realizing she had left her hand there far too long she retrieved it and tipped her head, "Have we met Sir?' she asked, "I do not recall seeing you at dinner."

She was attempting to learn names and gather them by affiliation to the crown, and by their intimacy with it. She was actually trying to befriend those who were NOT exactly friendly with her future husband. Even mentally saying those words made her shudder a bit. She glanced at the elder gentleman for a second then, "Forgive me," she said, "But I was attempting to find a bit of refreshment...have you seen a server? or possibly know where the drinks may be? I am quite parched." She had heard a bit of their conversation before being unceremoniously thrown into them and now hoped to have the Earl occupied for a but so she could continue moving about without quite his level of scrutiny.
 
Ash flinched when the lady reached out her hand toward him, his eyes immediately finding the floor. She surprised him with a gentle touch as her hand lingered on his arm. He glanced back at her face which had remained composed without any hint of underlying anger or annoyance. On the contrary she accepted full responsibly for the incident with some good humor. He could hardly believe a noble of her stature lowering herself to apologize to anyone below her station, let alone some pretend backwater noble who she had never met. The tension drained from his face as she spoke, almost allowing him to forget about how risky this sort of attention could be.

The older gentleman bowed to Lady Edenmire to acknowledge her request. “I am happy to serve, my lady.” He held his arm out to his wife and started into the crowd, heading in the direction Ash had fled from earlier. Thankfully Emilie seemed to have lost interest in her pursuit.

“Thank you, my lady,” Ash said. He breathed out a sigh of relief after being freed from the elderly gentleman’s sharp eye and focused his attention on the women before him. He had glimpsed her earlier across the room with the king, however only now could he see her entirely. He swore he had never before met a prettier person. She had an air of easy confidence about her coupled with her natural beauty, an admirable combination in a room full of conceit masked by elegance.

Remembering his manners, he bowed again, attempting a flourish but remaining a touch too rigid. “My name is a…Vincent, my lady.” He rose giving her a small smile to cover his flub. “Vincent Boivin. I fear I was seated at the far end of the feasting tables during dinner. My family is not so important. We are little more than supervisors for some of the farmland in the south.” A fact true of the actual family. He had heard Duke Richelieu mention them in several meetings, usually as an example of what could happen to a family falls out of favor. Being relegated to the one of lesser fiefs in the kingdom was punishment akin to banishment for those serving at court.
 
Erica smiled, "All members of the kingdom are of importance in creating a thriving economy, Lord Boivin. Please do not consider yourself to be inferior in any way. Hard work and perseverance are the hallmarks of the people of a well ordered kingdom." Her father's words reiterated for another to hear, though she knew well enough that her father did not strictly adhere to his own philosophy to the letter. She'd seen him show favoritism himself on a few extremely disappointing occasions. Seeing such flaws in her beloved father's character started a certain turn in her thoughts and disposition that had never turned back. She had begun to champion the poor and lesser among the gentry, and had enlisted Bowen and Larkin to train her. It was also the beginning of the stubborn defiance her father now face on practically a daily basis.

This young man though was not as aloof and superficial as the others in this room. She was so relieved to find someone of his ilk, she found herself desirous of continuing their conversation. "How are you enjoying the ball?"

Before he could answer though, Erica's father approached them. he bowed to the young man and gripped hold of Erica's elbow, "Forgive my intrusion," he said to the young man whom he did not know or care to know. "Daughter, I would have a word with you."

Erica frowned a bit but knew better than to make a scene in such a gathering, especially since she was going to request great freedom during her visit here. "Forgive me Lord Boivin. Please excuse me, and do enjoy the ball."

King Edenmire dragged his daughter away from the handsome young man. "Do not forget why you are here," he chided, "Give your smiles and attention to the right man."

Erica's eyes flashed with fire but she did not speak. She was delivered back to her husband to be, who was still resting from their earlier dance. She sat dutifully beside him and smiled, "This is a lovely hall, and your people are universally charming." All true, but it was still a torture for her to speak to the man. She was fighting to keep her hatred of the man from being evident, but it was difficult. All she had to do was get through this evening, and she could scope out the coutryside as she'd planned and find the reasons for the drought in her land. She was positive King Roussillion was responsible and once she proved it, she would be free of this arranged marriage.
 
Lady Edenmire’s words took Ash by surprise. No one among the Guyian nobility bore such an open view of the lower classes nor had they in his memory. King Richelieu had implanted a view of the nobility as the culmination of the country’s culture and success. To be among his inner court was to achieve the ultimate success. Some resisted the idea but most of the kingdom took it at face value. Ash never imagined he’d meet a member of the nobility who might deny such a story. His smile brightened. He admired her words though could not find it in himself to believe them fully.

He opened his mouth to answer her question, but snapped it shut when King Edenmire approached the pair. Ash took a step back and bowed low as any in his station would do for a visiting dignitary. His throat grew tight, half-expecting the king to walk over and rip the mask from his face despite having never met the man before. Of course nothing so dramatic occurred. He merely drew Lady Edenmire away with him, ending their conversation. Ash watched her leave, a twinge of sadness running through him. He doubted he would find anyone half as kind or beautiful as she for the remainder of the night. But I was able to speak to her for a moment. She might have ignored him entirely given the amount of people seeking her attention that night.

He decided to return his attention to finding the wine. Dancing retained some appeal. He’d enjoyed the lessons even if his chores doubled with each misstep that Lady Emilie took offense to. Wine would come first, however, to calm his remaining nerves.

He started in the direct the baron went in when he noticed a familiar face lingering nearby in the crowd. It seemed Lady Emilie hadn’t given up her search. Ash cursed beneath his breath, attempting to slip into the surrounding crowd. Unfortunately his height and ashen hair made that easier said than done. Her eyes found him. “Wait! Come here, damn you!”

Ash searched for another escape. He found it in the form of a lone woman standing nearby, lower nobility based on her simpler dress. He walked up to her, attempting to look more confident than fearful and held a hand out to her. “Might I have a dance, my lady?”

She blushed and nodded, obviously grateful for the attention. He led them into the crowd of dancers and immediately started working his way farther in. The wall of swirling gowns closed in around him, providing some momentary relief for him. Unless Lady Emilie managed to find a partner willing to assist her, he had eluded her once more.
 
Erica sat next to her intended and plastered a smile on her face. her only delight was watching the happy couples swirling around the room as the light of the beautiful chandelier danced on the shimmering gowns and off the facets of the jewels that adorned the necks and wrists of many of the ladies and a few of the lords as well. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful evening and for that she was glad. Good will was the key to her being able to carry out her own plans.

Her mind kept returning to the fair haired young noble, and the pleasant conversation her father had so abruptly ended. Lord Boivin's manners were so pleasing to her, and his smile had been very disarming. Shining blue eyes danced in her mind and then suddenly she saw him on the dance floor and felt a stab at her heart. What was that? She had no right to begrudge him a partner, nor to begrudge the lady his company. She may not be well versed in the ways of the world, but she was intelligent enough to recognize jealousy when she felt it. Was she jealous of the woman? Or was she merely jealous that they were free to choose their partner without censure? Or both?

She made a movement that caught her father's eye and he shook his head to still her. Her frustration could not be contained at that point and a rush of air left her. King Roussillion heard it and turned to her, "Are you well Princess?" he asked, "Shall I call for the doctor?"

Erica blanched, "No, no My Lord," she said bowing slightly, "I am quiet well. I was watching the dancers..." her hand motioned out onto the dance floor full of couples.

"Ahh...I fear my stamina for the dance is not what it once was. When a slower song plays I will escort you back out for another dance, would that please you?"

Miraculously managing to stifle the groan that welled up ruthlessly at that moment, Erica smiled and lowered her eyes, "I would be delighted Sire." Her skin crawled at the thought of having to endure his touch for another dance, but she had bigger plans than this one night, and if luck were for her, perhaps her travels around the land would bring her back into the company of Lord Boivin again.
 
Lady Gage, the dancing partner Ash had happened across, proved to be a skilled dancer if somewhat shy. She spoke only once or twice during their dance, her comments casual observations of the room around them as opposed to the catty gossip most of the other nobility partook in. Ash chose not to fill the air with his own stumbling attempts at conversation. Instead he let music cover the silence while doing everything in his power to match the skill of his partner. She appeared to enjoy herself, her smile growing as they executed some of the more complex steps together. Ash stumbled once or twice, but Lady Gage covered each mishap with her own excellent footwork. He found himself staring her way in absolute admiration which caused her to respond with a laugh.

Yet he could not bringing himself smile for her as he for Lady Edenmire. Lady Gage was pretty and an excellent dancer, but she lacked that captivating confidence Lady Edenmire had demonstrated. Not to mention her shining silver hair or those warm green eyes…

He tore his mind back to the present. Better to enjoy the remainder of his evening than spend it wishing for what could never be.

Another man appeared at the end of the last song to ask Lady Gage to dance next. Ash, not wishing to make the lady choose, graciously bowed out and returned to the outer ring of people. He could use a drink after so much dancing.

He gave an inward sigh when he reached it without seeing any familiar faces or being stopped by more inquisitive old men. Finally some good luck. He picked up a goblet nearest him and took a sip. His eyes slipped closed a moment as he savored the taste of the fruity red wine. It was the finest thing he had ever tasted. He understood why Armand had insisted he try some. Servants rarely received spirits of any kind and any bottles given were typically cheap vintages good for little more than warming the body on a cold night then watered down to ensure they lasted. This wine was the sort of quality Ash had heard Duke Richelieu discuss with his guests over dessert.

He took some time to finish the remainder of the glass, sipping until he found the bottom of the glass just as another waltz began.
 
Hearing the waltz begin the king smiled over at her, "And there you see, not a long wait at all. Shall we?"

Erica forced a smile to her lips as she bowed her head, "It would be a delight, your majesty." How she was getting these pleasantries out of her mouth, when she felt as if her teeth were clenched in aversion, she had not the faintest notion, but she was glad of it. Perhaps all those hours of etiquette instruction she had been forced to endure were indeed paying off at last.

He led them to the dance floor with an overly pompous show, holding her hand high as ushering her out like a fine breeding steed at auction. She felt like so much a piece of meet, or a prized possession. her mind revolted at the thought of being someone's possessed thing in a gilded cage. She was certain that would be her fate if she was forced to follow through with this marriage. It was why she was desperate to find proof that King Roussillion was indeed the cause of the drought in their lands. Once his treachery was discovered, she knew her father would release her from the agreement...and if he did not, she would release herself from it.

the pompous show was no indication of the king's skill on the dance floor. He was not at all practiced or smooth, and her toes were suffering for it. He did not even have the good manners to apologize for his mistakes or the abuse of her person, but continued on as if nothing were amiss. By the end of even this slow dance he was winded and having a difficult time standing erect and she fought rolling her eyes at him. She could only pray she was successful in the attempt. "Perhaps you should take another rest Sire." she encouraged.

"Thank you I shall."

"I am going to circulate and meet more of the people if you do not mind."

"Not at all, give yourself pleasure, my dear."

She bowed and turned away quickly and made straight for the table where she had seen Lord Boivin resting after his rigorous dance with his partner. She had hoped he'd stay there, and as luck would have it, he had.

"Lord Boivin," she smiled, "How is the wine?' she asked noting his empty goblet and needing something casual with which to begin a conversation anew. "I am parched and wondering if I should partake."
 
Ash chose to sit out for the dance, content to watch the dancers from the safety of the crowd. A nearby servant came over with more wine a few bars into the music and offered to refill his glass. Ash accepted with a sheepish ‘thank you’. The servant gave him an odd look before bowing his head and walking away. Ash realized his error a few moments after. It was a miracle no one, outside of the old man, had noticed his odd behavior. Ash made a silent vow to try harder as he sipped his wine.

A flash of sliver caught his eye on the dancefloor. The king had returned for a second round of dancing with Lady Edenmire, a rare occurrence indeed. Ordinarily the king preferred to lead the first dance with the lady of his choice and then retire for the remainder of the ball to gossip with his retainers while sipping whatever choice vintage he had pulled from the cellars. A selection made especially for himself naturally, while another wine served to his guests. It would seem he intended to impress his young bride tonight. His lack of practice showed, but no one would dare tell the king of his poor performance. Well no one outside of his brother the duke. He never missed an opportunity to gloat about his trim physique in front of his brother.

Ash found his eyes transfixed on the lady herself. Despite her partner’s blunders, she moved with practiced grace. She would make an excellent dance partner…not that any other would dare to ask such a thing of her. Taking the king’s fiancé for a dance would quickly earn his ire on the night of his betrothal. That ire would spell the social end for any who wished to remain at court. Another dream Ash chose to tuck away in his mind.

He lost sight of the pair after some time, leaving him alone with his wine. He didn’t mind the solitude. It was comfortable, familiar. The other dancers gave him other scenes to watch with one pair on the outer edge descending into an argument over who stepped on whose foot during one of the song’s turns. Both had done so at some point but both insisted they’d danced flawlessly. Ash smiled to himself. After having spent many years serving at events such as these, he derived a certain pleasure watching these little dramas.

All such thoughts vanished from his mind when Lady Edenmire appeared from the crowd. The smile brightened on Ash’s face when he saw her. “My lady,” he greeted her, turned back to the table to grab one of the goblets. “It’s exquisite. Would you like to try some?” He offered her the cup with a bow of his head, another instinctual motion he regretted seconds later. Not to mention declaring a wine exquisite based on his few experiences said little about its actual quality. He forced a cough. “I’ll admit I have little experience with such things. My family rarely has the coin for the finer vintages.”

A change of topic seemed in order. He returned his eyes to her face. “I saw you out on the floor with the king earlier. You dance wonderfully, my lady.”
 
Erica smiled, "I rarely partake myself but it seems the only offering tonight and i am quite parched." She admitted accepting the goblet from his hand. She was not at all put off by his deference and manners. They pleased her very well, since she found courtly manners and haughtiness to be offensive and pompous. She had been born to her station, and had done not one thing to earn it, so why someone should feel overt pride in something that they had nothing to do with was beyond her reasoning.

He complimented her dancing and she blushed at receiving the praise, "You are too kind Lord Boivin," she said softly, "I am sure you must have noticed that i did not know every step to this last dance, though i did try to emulate what i saw others doing." She was trying not to blatantly say she did not watch her partner, because he was horrible. So she watched others and copied their movements. A few times she was a bit behind the beat but her partner was so terrible that she hoped no one would attribute the errors to her, but to her partner. It was a highly uncharitable thought, but she was willing to admit at least to herself, that it was the truth.

She was trying not to stare at his face, but it was difficult. So she turned her gaze out to the dance floor. "Our kingdom has been suffering a drought, so balls like this are rare occurrences. My dancing has suffered a bit I fear." She grinned then and peeked over at him, "Luckily my partner did not seem to notice at all." If he were to be looking, he might notice a bit of her impish defiance there in her eyes and in the turn of her chin and even in the slight curl of her lips as she spoke that.

She took a sip of wine and then turned back to him, "You spoke of your family not having a great deal of coin," she said and bit her lip, "Forgive me for repeating your words, I mean no disrespect...I wonder...has your land seen the drought in places as well then?"
 
Ash missed her act of defiance, or rather saw but misunderstood it, unable to imagine anyone willingly insulting the king. No one outside of the duke, but he accounted for many exceptions among those at court. Everyone, particularly those of Ash’s actual station, knew that even thinking such thoughts could be dangerous. The king had his spies in many places, for purposes of national security, who would take every opportunity to pull a citizen off the street to correct their faulty thinking for the good of country. Not to mention his own upbringing in the duke’s house had taught him the importance of the nobility. It was not his place to criticize. He had to support them however he could in order to do his part.

Her following question did little to bring him comfort. “W-well,” he attempted to begin, nerves tying his tongue into knots. He combed through his thoughts, trying to remember what he had last heard about the situation in the south. “It is not that we are lacking,” he finally managed to sputter. “Rather that we serve in a humbler way. Our crops are plentiful and our workers many, but we only control so much land and we must pay our taxes like any faithful members of the realm.” He chuckled nervously, finding a point on the wall to stare at. “I do not know much about the other parts of the land. My father takes care of most of our business outside of our lands. All I ever hear are rumors and those have said we are strong as ever.”

A spark of curiosity flared within him. He cleared his throat. “I had not realized our neighbors suffered so. Has this drought been going on for a long time then?”
 
Erica found his self-depricating manner very appealing. he wasn't a snobbish elitist like most of the men she was forced to endure. How refreshing and utterly charming she found him to be. His dashing good looks didn't hurt either, but it was his manner of speaking and gentlemanly ways that were really impressive to her.

"Oh I am glad to hear your father does well by his family and the people around him. It is important as a leader to care for the wellbeing of those who look to you for strength and support. My father has always been a good example of this to me. The drought has made it nearly impossible for him to fulfill his duties to the people as he feels he should. That is why I was offered as a bride to the king, to gain valuable trade and food in return for the mineral resources of our kingdom." A swift glance toward the king had a frown and a deep sigh erupting from her. "How I dearly wish it had not been necessary..."
 
Ash wished desperately he had thought of a false identity with less to remember. He knew so little about the business in the south and House Boivin. Not to mention the greater danger of someone overhearing and exposing him as a fraud. If anyone learned he had dared to pretend to be so much higher than his station, he’d be executed on the spot. Even Lady Edenmire, who had shown him nothing more than kindness, he feared would react badly to his true identity. Her own country sounded like a different place, but station had to mean something to them. Ash could not imagine a country ruled any other way.

The situation only worsen when she spoke of her reason for coming to the kingdom. Ash knew the nature of her relationship with the king to be political, yet to hear her speak so openly about her displeasure left him uncertain how to respond. He glanced around them as though someone might emerge from the crowd to drag them both before the king. “I am sorry to hear of your kingdom’s troubles, my lady. And your own.” He frowned to himself, searching for the correct wording. “But I’m sure our king will do whatever he can for your country. And your life here might not be so bad. Our country is a beautiful one with a rich history and culture. Perhaps you will be able to learn to enjoy life here.”

He attempted a smile, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind telling him to be quiet. “If there is anything I could do for you to ease your fears, I would do it. I would like to you in some small way if only for tonight.”
 
Eric smiled at him, "Forgive my frankness, Lord Boivin." she said setting down her drink and folding her hands. "I fear it is my greatest weakness, and my father's biggest disappointment." She glanced at her father as she spoke but then back to him. "I have seen nothing but beauty here in your country. And everyone has been most kind and accommodating. I have no complaints on that score at all." She sighed wondering why she was saying these things to him. If someone were to overhear, they would both be in a great deal of trouble. Still, for whatever reason she felt drawn to him in the most peculiar manner and could not seem to help that truth came from her lips.

"I wish I had as much faith in your king's good intention as you do," she said softly. "I fear I do not. Though I realizing saying as much could damage your opinion of me, and I am loathe to have such a thing occur." She furrowed her brows as she was hard pressed between two unpalatable options. "I know my father believes my objects are due to the age of my future husband, but they are not. They are due to my personal belief that he has been the cause of the drought in our land somehow. I intend to prove it..."

Her eyes met his and she was measuring him, "That is the help I need. I will understand if you refuse. I must add, I am not entire certain why I am revealing myself to you in this manner. My only explanation is...the feeling of a silken cord that seems somehow tied to you and I find myself picking up and following. However, be that as it may. Do not feel yourself obligated to commit treason." She lifted her glass again and finished it.

She smiled brightly then, seeing her father glance her way, "You had helped me greatly this night already by listening to the words of a disheartened princess. You have my eternal thanks for that Lord Boivin."
 
A gasp escaped Ash when she told him of her suspicions. His eyes swiveled to assure himself no one had looked over as she spoke. Treason. The lady spoke of treason and the king himself committing an atrocity against an ally. The idea was ludicrous and yet…she sounded so sincere. She did not say such things lightly or out of malice. It sounded impossible to Ash, but if the king had done something so underhanded…

He hung his head some, avoiding her eyes. “I understand, my lady, and I wish I could but…” His lips twisted into a sad frown. “I have no access to any sort of resources that might benefit you. I am as much a visitor in the capital as you, perhaps even more so given your future status.” Not to mention a fraud unable to even use the minor ties to the other nobility that House Boivin possessed. He knew the servants’ quarters and some of the castle passage ways but little more than he had used to assist with preparations for the feast. Unless the lady required some menial task done or directions to the duke’s rooms, he would be useful to her as dirt.

“I…I can wish you luck in your search,” he continued, summoning a happier expression. “If what you say is true, then a great wrong has been done to your people. It ought to be remedied.” He met her gaze again. “Though I pray you are mistaken. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future when I am in a place to assist you. I would welcome the chance then.”

He followed her gaze in the meantime to where the king remained. “I suppose you will need to get back before you are missed,” he sighed, more than a little disappointed. The night continued to flyby and soon enough the time would come for him to slip away back to his true identity.
 
Erica was forcing a smile to her lips knowing that people were watching, most notably her father. She did notice the king was paying her very little attention, a fact she found both a relief and perplexing. She noticed the posture and body language of Lord Boivin and felt her heart sink. He was going to decline. While she could in no way blame him, she felt as if a great deal of the wind had been loosed from her sails somehow.

"Please, Lord Boivin, do not apologize. I completely understand, and I had not considered the distance you are away from home at present. Forgive me." He mentioned her future state and she could not restrain the visible shudder, "I am hopeful that I will succeed before that could possibly occur." her eyes were full of fire and determination as she spoke those words. She met his gaze and whispered, "In any case, I will not endure him. I will die first." This she meant and he would well see it. She would succeed in her quest to prove him guilty, or she would take her own life rather than endure his touch of marriage.

He tried to lighten the mood and she was glad of it. She had not intended to ruin his evening of laughter and happy revelry, "I will hope as much as well. I have not met anyone since my arrival whose company I have enjoyed more." Her father was giving her that look again and she sighed, "I fear you must be right, even now my father is watching with that look of disapproval."

Setting her goblet back where she had taken it from she sighed heavily, "I really wish I were not the future queen, and that I were free to spend the whole night dancing with you." There was a softness and something more there in her voice and in her eyes, but she did not speak more. "Please excuse me, Lord Boivin. I must return lest I bring ill regard upon you. Enjoy your evening, and I do hope we will meet again."

She forced herself away before she lacked the ability to do so and moved to her father and his group, smiling and making conversation but her mind was still with him and their conversation. She should be worried that he would reveal her, but somehow she was not, somehow she knew she could trust him completely.