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

A blush budded beneath his mask as Erica said her farewells. "Good evening…my lady," he mumbled when she walked away. Silly, he supposed, to even bother regretting what he could never hope to have. Erica believed only her engagement stood in the way of such an evening. If only she knew the lies he'd told her tonight. He tore his eyes away from her elegant form when she rejoined her father and the king. A pleasant dream at least, to lessen some of the pain of separation.

He drifted deeper into the crowd, eager to escape her father's gaze. His mind reeled from her accusation and the very idea their king might be involved in something so underhanded. Everyone knew the nobility were the best among them, free of corruption since the end of the old king's reign. And yet…

"Worthless! If you can't carry out a menial task, you're worth less than my horse! Do you want to be stupider than a beast?"

And yet…

Thin arms shaking as he carried the Duke's chainmail to the ring. Can't drop it again. He sounds so awful when he yells.

The sharp tolling of the bell woke him from his musing. No, he had to remember his place. Another pair of rings followed. His eyes grew wide as he glanced around the crowd. People began to break away into pairs, some of the older couples returning to the dance floor. The three bells; the end of the festivities had come.

Ash began to weave his way through the crowd, controlling his speed to avoid drawing unwanted attention. The final festivities, including the unmasking, would occur as soon as the dance ended. A wave of sympathy passed through him as he glanced back toward the place he knew Erica stood. As the betrothed party, she and the king would have to take part in the final dance and exchange some romantic gesture to finalize the arrangement. He arrived at the door and slipped out into the hall. Perhaps it would be quick and painless. The king was not a young man, after all, and the night had grown late.

Once down the hall, Ash pulled off his mask and the white gloves to protect them from the dirty conditions in the servants' quarters. A few of the younger servants had gone to their beds but most of the beds remained empty allowing him to sneak back into the corner where his clothes remained tucked against the wall. He pulled the buddle out, staring at the humble cloth marked with the badge of House Richelieu.

Back to reality then.

Sometime later, Armand slipped into the darkened room and headed back toward the bed he shared with Ash for the night. He found the young man bent over a basin rinsing his long, white locks in the grimy coffee they'd saved from the morning meal, turning it a muddy brown color. The older man dropped a thin towel by the young man before sitting on the straw mat nearby. "Did ye enjoy yerself tonight, lad?"

Ash glanced up, a smile coming to mask his troubled mind. "Aye. It was ev'rything ye promised. Almost like a dream. Thank ye both so much."

"Good, good," Armand replied as he watched Ash towel off his now soiled hair, "Dance with any pretty ladies then?"

His smile turned genuine as he thought back to the silver haired young woman. "Aye, the prettiest of them all," he replied as he pulled his shirt over his head. So much work remained to be done before the night would end for him, much of his time at the ball had been a "rest break," but the lost sleep was worth meeting such a fascinating woman if only to know her for one night. Someday he hoped to fulfill that promise to her.

Armand chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "That's a good lad. Best get back to work then."

Someday. If ever a servant could hope for such greatness.
 
Erica's father's eyes let her known exactly what he was thinking though he could not speak the words with her betrothed so near. Surely he had a heart somewhere in that old frame. He was expecting her to marry a man closer to his age than hers, who could not dance, had the social graces of a hog and whom she had no interest in at all. Sure'y he could not begrudge her a conversation with a handsome charming man before she accepted her fate, but apparently he did.

There was a loud ringing of bells, and then King Roussillon held out his gloved hand for Erica to rest hers atop in a formal and pompous display of regal superiority. She had no choice but to comply, so she lifted her own gloved hand and gingerly placed it atop his much larger one and forced a smile to her lips. Luckily the older man was either besotted or drunken and did not seem to notice her aversion.

He led her to the platform where the band was located and called out to the people in a loud voice, "My people! I thank you for joining us on this momentous occasion of celebration and joy in the announcement of my betrothal to this exquisite creature beside me."

Erica felt the hair on her neck stand on end at his words. She was no creature! She was flesh and blood and a person of thought and action, not a thing to be bandied about like a trophy. She was so angry her cheeks were flushing bright red.

"See how she blushes at the compliment," King Roussillon said with a smile, "Such a tender flower will be a bright jewel in our kingdom. Now...for the unmasking! Let us reveal our true selves and have no secrecy among us!" With a sweep of his hand he removed his mask and then removed hers as well. "And I see that you are even lovelier than I had imagined." he whispered but turned to the others, "Behold your soon to be Queen."

Erica looked out at the people and saw nothing but smiling, kind faces. It was not their fault that their king was a pig. She smiled a genuine smile at them and bowed a deep curtsy to honor their applause and warm welcome. She could not fault this people for their King. She knew, better than anyone that people did not choose their Kings as a rule. She did find herself searching the crowd for Lord Boivin but she could not find him anywhere. Perhaps he had chosen to leave after their conversation. The thought made her heart sink, feeling she might have offended him when speaking ill of his King. 'Please no,' her mind called out against the thought, 'do not let him be angry with me. I could not bear the knowing of it.'

 
A fair wind drifted in through the open window of the Duke's generous chambers perfumed by the sea and warmed by the morning sun. Ash had already spent the better part of the day moving about the chamber with Eleanor, chasing out the night air and preparing for the Duke to awaken. Currently Ash stood at his side helping him into a black doublet slashed with steel grey cloth. The Duke himself looked the antithesis of his brother: sandy brown hair flecked with silver, hard brown eyes, and a well-maintained physique that denoted his status as a warrior. Most swore he was still a young man, despite his age being only a few years less than his brother.

"What a tiresome way to spend a morning," Duke Richelieu grumbled as he held out a sleeve for Ash to fasten. "Entertaining my brother's new plaything and her family for brunch. As though the girl mattered beyond her use as a political tie. One might think my brother thought himself capable of winning the simple thing over to be a proper wife." He shook his head and scoffed. "This vanity will be my brother's undoing."

Ash frowned despite himself as he worked the sleeve into its proper place. Lady Edenmire was more than a plaything. He remembered the fire he'd seen in those pale eyes the night before, her conviction as she'd spoken to him of her plan...

"Stop daydreaming and dress me, boy!" The Duke's voice cracked like whip in the air.

Ash flinched and returned his attention to his work. "Aye, serah."

The Duke sighed as he lifted his arm. "Damnation, being late is not an option. My brother will never let me hear the end of it. Where the devil is Emilie?"

"Here I am, Papa," Lady Emilie said as she swept into the room in a dress the color of daffodils. Her brown hair had been bound back in an elegant bun away from her green eyes that sparkled as she approached her father. She gave a twirl before the Duke and giggled. "How do I look?"

The Duke nodded as he pulled away from Ash's grasp. "A proper young lady. Now come, we need to be off. If we are late, your uncle will be cross indeed. Ash, you too."

"Why bring Ash, papa? Doesn't uncle have his own servants?" Emilie asked as she tilted her head.

The Duke gave his daughter a strange smile before starting toward the door. "I like to have my own attendant to ease the burden on the others. Besides, no one ever remembers which vintage I take in the mornings."

The group entered the halls and made their way toward the private dining chambers where the king waited; the Duke in front with his daughter on his arm while Ash walked a few paces behind them. The Duke glanced over his shoulder at the lean servant. "Remember to keep your mouth shut and your head down while before the king, Ash. Do not embarrass me. One wrong move and I will have to punish you."

Ash nodded, assuming the time for silence had begun. The thought of seeing Lady Edenmire again made his heart jump, though he would be unable to speak with or see her. Some fear appeared alongside the excitement in his chest, however. If she recognized him and said anything; the thought alone sent a shiver down his back.

They entered the dining chambers a few minutes later. The King stood within, dressed in a generous red and gold doublet trimmed with fur. Ash lowered his gaze immediately but his skin prickled when the King's eyes drift over to him. "Good morning, Leadre," the King said, ignoring his brother's slight, "I fear you have arrived before my bride-to-be. No doubt she will join us shortly along with her retinue."

The Duke nodded. "No doubt she must be exhausted from last night. So much activity for one so young. I look forward to dining with her."

"Is that so?" The King asked, his tone flat.

Ash heard the cat-like grin in the Duke's voice. "You know me, brother. I love a good political chat."
 
Erica stood with her arms out at her sides as an attendant ran a steaming hot iron down the sides of her gown. It had been a gift from the king for her to wear to the brunch today with a few chosen dignitaries of the kingdom and she was already feeling the weight of it. It was not anything she would have chosen, and as she looked at her reflection in the glass she could not help but smirk at the showy style of it. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that her fiance would be wearing something that matched and imagining it did bring up a sudden giggle to her lips that had the attendants looking up at her curiously.

"Forgive me...a humorous remembrance just filled my mind." And the two women went back to work on the red and gold gown. The fur along the daring neckline and at the cuffs was a bit much honestly, but she had no option but to wear it. She could only hope he didn't plan to dress her every day.

A second group of women entered to work on her hair and wove red, gold and white ribbon intricately down her back making a very becoming lattice like pattern with her hair and the ribbon. "You are amazingly talented." She said to the woman who did the braiding.

Geneva blinked and blushed brightly, "Thank you, your Highness. Your hair is beautiful and strong. It is very easy for me to do my job."

Erica smiled, "It is hair, I have seen much lovelier but I do thank you for your creativity and to make at least part of my appearance today something I can be proud of."

Geneva blinked again, "You look stunning Your Highness in every way."

"Ah you are sweet, but this gown is hideous." She said without any attempt at tact or decorum and every woman in the room was reduced to giggling. "I envy you all. No one will ever treat you like a china doll on a shelf." She let out a soft sigh as the woman before her finished with her face. She stood then and went to the doors. "My thanks ladies. Wish me luck."

Stepping out of the room and into the hall where Bowen and Larkin, her loyal knights were waiting she cast them both a look, "Do not even think of speaking of this ever," she warned as she crossed the hall to where they were. "I will cut out your tongue."

Bowen had to bit his lips to keep from laughing. But Larkin spoke, "Your hair looks beautiful."

Erica rolled her eyes, "Thankfully. I believe I am fashionably late enough to make an entrance now. Do not leave my sides I beg you."

Both men nodded and escorted her to the dining area designated for that day. Bowen stepped into the room first and his deep baritone voice filed the air, "Her royal Highness Princess Erica Antonia Victoria Edenmire."

Erica closed her eyes and drew in a breath and prayed for wisdom and strength and stepped into the room with a smile plastered on her face. The gown arrived before she did and the deep red and gold brocade was flattering to her coloring even if it was audacious. Her fiance was immediately at her side and she placed her hand atop his as he led her to the group. She smiled and gave a polite nod and waited to be given permission to speak by someone of them addressing her. It was one of the more irritating courtly manners, and one she would frankly abolish if it were left up to her. As if men had more interesting things to say than women, and thus needed to speak first to include a woman or she was to remain silent at the side of her protector this custom was in all ways insulting to women. Most courtly men did have the arrogance to believe they were of superior mind to women, which also fired up her ire since most she encountered were complete and utter idiots of the worst kind.

Her inner thoughts were cast aside as her eyes lifted to move from one face to another. Most she recognized from the ball, but the attendants she did not. She had never understood bringing servants along to such things, guards were different, at least she told herself they were. Bowen and Larkin were there for moral support, not actual service to her, and she felt that she quite frankly needed it.
 
Ash allowed his gaze to rise when the doors opened, taking advantage of the King and Duke's distraction. His mouth fell open when he caught a glimpse of Lady Edenmire. She looked almost more beautiful than she had the night before, glowing in the radiant gown the king had dressed her in. His eyes returned to the floor when the King turned back with his bride-to-be. Ash wished he'd remained Lord Bolvin from the ball, able to go up to Lady Edenmire and give her the compliments racing through his mind. A foolish dream, he supposed.

The Duke bowed before Lady Edenmire and kissed her hand. "Good morning, my lady. It is marvelous to see you again and might I say you looking absolutely ravishing in that gown." His tone carried something of a knowing hollowness. He despised pleasantries. "I am glad that you recovered from the long night of festivities."

His attention shifted to his side where Emilie stood. "This is my daughter. I believe you both met sometime yesterday, though she spent most of her time among the younger nobility. Quite popular here in the capital." She smiled and bowed as well but remained silent.

"Yes, yesterday's festivities were quite the spectacle. My brother loves a good spectacle." A lingering look passed between the two siblings before the Duke continued, "Did you enjoy it, my lady?"
 
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