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Rowen, as a noble’s daughter in the Asgardian court, was expected to present herself to His Royal Majesty’s two sons, Regent Prince and Commander of the King’s Guard, Thor, and Prince Loki. This came the year she turned eighteen. The Prince’s Ball was where this event took place. Every eligible noble, female of course, born within three years of either prince’s age would eagerly present themselves to the court, hoping to catch the eye of one of the princes. Most girls wanted Thor, he was tall and powerfully built, but rumors flew around him. Every year the ladies of the court would suffer heartbreak after heartbreak when he ultimately turned them down.
Others, although she had never heard of such a lady, hoped to catch Prince Loki’s eye. The younger prince was everything his brother wasn’t. Dark haired and lanky, with more interest in his studies and books than the military prowess of his kingdom. The ladies would indicate their personal interest in either prince by the color of the dress they wore. Red or gold for Thor and green for Loki.
Rowen herself had little interest in the blonde prince, she knew her chance with him was slim, and she wasn’t quite sure she wanted him. He was brash and loud, and made Rowan nervous. Even so, the Prince’s Ball grew close, and she found herself making an appointment with the royal seamstress, Helga.
She slipped into the large fitting room to find the seamstress. A large woman with greying hair was laying out gold and red fabrics on a table. Rowan’s heart fluttered nervously, she dreaded talking to people. Helga crossed her arms and said,
“Well my Lady, which do you prefer? Gold or red?” Rowen forced her back to straighten and looked steadily into the elderly woman’s eyes.
“Actually ma’am, I was hoping to look at green fabrics,”
The gruff woman smiled and said, “Well then miss, follow me,” She led Rowen into a room filled with green fabrics. From silk to wool, emerald to spring green, every shade was represented. Rowen reached into the collar of her own dress and pulled out a sketch of the dress she had in mind.
“Which fabric do you think would look best with this design?” The dress on the page was a simple affair, with a straight neckline just below her collarbone. The long sleeves draped off her her shoulder and came to a point over her hands, and it clung to her features until it reached her hips. From there it ended in an A-line just at her ankles. The real drama came from the slip up the skirt that ran the length of her leg, ending just before her hip. The seamstress was rather impressed.
“This would look amazing in emerald silk, my lady,” Helga suggested. “But would you not prefer a more elaborate costume miss?”
“I am truly partial to this,” Rowen replied. “Oh and please call me Rowan. If we’re going to make a dress together, ‘my lady’ and ‘miss’ will get old rather quickly,”
The older woman let her gruffness fade, and a soft smile played on her lips.
“Prince Loki would be lucky to have you,” Helga sighed. Rowen doubted it, but smiled warmly.
“Let’s get started then,”
2 weeks later
Rowen put her book down. It was only noon, but she might as well start getting ready. She took a hot bath, gathered her things, and made her way down the hall. The room at the end of the long corridor held all of the noble ladies preparing for the ball. Walking into the room, she immediately wished that she had dressed in her own chambers. Nearly twenty girls were coating themselves in makeup and hair products. They sprayed perfume everywhere, poisoning the air. Each girl had to wear half a dozen voluptuous skirts to meet the fashion criteria. The room was very claustrophobic, and felt filled to the brim with voices and skirts.
Rowen headed towards the back and plopped down at the very last dressing table, away from the loud noise. The makeup she planned to wear was relatively simple. She deftly layered a veil of powder around her face, then got to work around her eyes. Her eyes were the dark amber of sunshine through whiskey and the simple cat eye she created only intensified her stare. Mascara, and a touch of plum colored blush, and she was done, for now. She’d save her lips for last. Next she worked on her hair. Her hair was a silky almost black shade, and hung down to the small of her back. Gathering her hair over her left shoulder, she braided close to her head, letting light layers free to frame her face.
A glance around the room revealed a sea of red and gold, there wasn’t a single flash of green to save her. This should be interesting, she thought to herself as she quietly slipped into the green sheath. The intense emerald Helga had chosen accented her almond skin perfectly. Tall black heels added even more height to her 5’6” frame.
A murmur swept across the gold and red gilded room. Someone actually wished for the younger prince’s affection. Ignoring the whispered comments, Rowen slipped simple emerald drops into her ears and added a light orange scent to her neck and wrists. She then settled down and waited patiently for the sun to set.
She could feel the tension crackling around the room. Each woman wanted what only one could have; and there were twenty of them. Rowen stifled another yawn and was startled as a young servant placed a cup of steaming coffee by her elbow. She was grateful for the drink, her nerves were building, so she sipped the comforting drink and tried to relax.
At long last a gentleman came to announce they had five minutes until they were to be called. There was a flurry of panicked last minute adjustments from the other women in the room. The announcement woke Rowen from her almost-nap. She quickly applied a dark plum lipstick to her full lips. There’s wasn’t a speck of red or gold on her. She stood out defiantly from the other noble ladies, often, she was head and shoulders taller than them as well. Her simple elegance clashed with the gaudy results of the others. Looking into the full length mirror, she felt her anxiety lessen. She looked good, and felt like it too. Straightening her back, Rowen joined the others, standing at the very back of the line. It was time. One by one each girl lurched towards the door, some tittered anxiously, some were overly confident. Rowen felt a serene calm settle over her, she could do this. When it was her turn, she strode purposefully towards the throne room door.
The Prince’s Ball should be re-named Prince Thor’s Ball, Loki thought to himself. It would save everyone the awkwardness of knowing that none of the ladies desired the more studious prince. Trumpets rang in the ballroom, bringing all conversations to a halt. Loki sat up and tried to look princely. A small man, with a seemingly never-ending list of names, stepped in front of the Prince’s table.
“I will be announcing to his majesties the names of the eligible ladies,” said the man formally. Loki inclined his head, and Thor followed suit. With that the evening commenced. “Lady Mellisandra of Tunsinane!” called the man. A nervous girl in a poofy, blood red dress entered the ballroom at the sound of her name. With practiced, nervous steps she approached the table, curtsied to the two princes; more so to Thor, and sat in the red covered seats to Thor’s right. Loki sighed and the evening drolled on, much in the same fashion. Red and gold dresses flashed before his eyes. Finally the little man called, “And last, but not least, the Lady Rowen of Averly!”
Loki heard heels clicking on stone and glanced up. A tall, swarthy woman appeared, and Loki’s breath caught. A gorgeous, yet simple, green dress clung to her curves. Rowen suppressed a smirk at the shock displayed on the prince’s face. She strode towards the table with easy strides. The dramatic cut up the left side of the dress revealed long, shapely legs. She stopped just before the table. Simple elegance, thought Loki. Rowen bowed curtly to Thor and muttered his name. Then turned her attention to Loki, she bowed low at the waist and met his eyes on the way up. Rowen had cat-yellow eyes and full lips offset by a stubborn chin. Long black hair fell far past her shoulders in a braid. She was the most beautiful woman Loki had ever seen.
She smirked at him on her way to her seat -- on his side of the table. The scent of oranges lingered in her wake. Loki barely registered the closing of the presentation. He could feel her strange eyes on him as the little clerk gave his long-winded closing speech. At last, it was time to really meet the ladies. Loki had to restrain himself from sprinting over to her. He calmly walked up behind her, noting she was only a touch shorter than him, and asked, “My lady, did they run out of red and gold silk? I’m sure we could have gotten more.”
Rowen caught onto his subtle sarcasm and laughed; it was a low, seductive noise.
“Green suits me better, Lord Prince,” she stated, mischief dancing in her disquieting eyes.
“You’d be the first,” Loki declared. Rowen’s sharp eyebrows knitted together.
“Surely there have been others, besides me?” she asked.
He grabbed two pink champagne flutes from a passing server and offered her one. She took it with a smile.
“Not a one, save you, my dear,” he said, and they clinked glasses.