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The woman in the resplendent silver gown doesn’t even glance at me as she enters the ballroom. She seems completely uninterested in joining the line of eligible maidens vying for my attention. In other words, she’s perfect. I wonder if, maybe, just this once, I can have an interaction with a woman who isn’t a simpering sycophant.
I should have some sort of well-reasoned strategy for how to navigate the ocean of maidens at this ball, one of whom is prattling something at me at this very moment. What is it she’s saying? Oh, right, she’s regaling me with all the dirtiest gossip she knows about the other women. Entertaining to be sure, but my mind conjures future visions of her at court spreading every scrap of gossip she gets her hands on. No, thank you. I mumble some sort of excuse to her as I draw away, following the magnetic pull of the gorgeous creature in silver lingering on the fringes of the crowd. The young lady’s face drops in despair at the rejection and I spare only a moment to feel sympathy for her. Like with all things, I simply must follow my gut.
I shouldn't entertain such hope. The minute the mystery woman notices the gold tassels at my shoulders and realizes who I am, the enticing illusion will crumble. I can feel the eyes of all the guests who encircle the room, like so many gnats buzzing around me, as I cut a harsh line across the currently vacant dance floor towards the newcomer.
She doesn’t notice my approach, staring thoughtfully upwards at the ceiling. I hardly know what could be up there that would cause anyone to stare so intently. It makes me even more fiercely curious about this woman who still hasn’t even spared me a glance.
“Hello,” I say and she startles at the sound of my voice. Her widened eyes—eyes so blue that they seem unreal—dart down from the ceiling to me.
“Hello,” she says, small and low. Somehow her voice defies my expectations. It’s so warm and gentle.
“May I have this dance?” I ask, extending an arm toward her. I watch her face carefully for the change that will inevitably happen when she realizes who I am.
She doesn’t appear to grow flustered or anxious as so many of them do, nor does she become cold and calculating, but instead beams a radiant smile. A thing of pure, unfiltered, infectious joy. Almost like this is the first time she’s ever been asked to dance. It strikes me like a physical thing and I can’t help but huff a slight breath—nearly a laugh—at the sight of it.
“I would love to,” she says, “but… where is the music?” She gestures vaguely around at the ballroom which buzzes with chatter, no doubt made up of the cruelest speculation about her identity and the content of our conversation.
I give her a cheeky smile and a wink as I say, “They’ve been waiting for me.”
Right on cue, the chamber orchestra begins a waltz. Father has certainly been watching me carefully from his balcony perch all night for this moment.
“Oh!” she says, letting out a little giggle as the music begins and taking my arm with her delicate gloved hand. She says nothing else, just accompanies me with quiet self-assuredness.
For a while, we are the only ones dancing. I am keenly aware of the jealous rage of every other woman in the room being directed towards us as if they are physical rays of heat, but she seems oblivious. I keep expecting court politicking from her, but instead she maintains an expression of pure wonder. She dances well, but gets continually distracted looking around at the grand ballroom, and especially the ceiling.
She’s stunningly beautiful, if a little bit… odd. She continues to treat me with a polite, removed indifference, almost as if I’m some common courtier who holds no interest for her. I bristle a bit at that, and immediately chastise myself. I can’t very well go around whining at the way women usually behave around me and then proceed to be irritated by the first woman who doesn’t treat me like a prince.
But I’ll be damned if I can’t out-charm the ceiling.
“I’m dreadfully curious what has captured your attention up there,” I tease when she glances up again.
She blushes faintly and says, “Why, it’s just the chandelier, that’s all. I was admiring it, I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
“Well I… oh, it’s nothing.”
“Do you think it’s too gaudy? I’ve always found it to be a bit gaudy,” I comment dryly, determined to keep her attention. She’s turned me into a simperer now.
“Really? Hmm. Now that you mention it, I suppose you’re right.”
I chuckle at her agreement. Bold. First, she pays me no mind, and now she insults my family’s taste in decor. I like her more and more every second.
She continues, “But no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just… I can’t help but wonder how they keep it clean?”
“The chandelier?”
“Yes! How do the servants get up there?”
I blink several times in utter bewilderment. Never in my life have I considered such a thing. The servants simply do their job. It would never occur to me to wonder how it all gets done—it just does .
“What an odd thing to wonder about, you strange creature!” I exclaim, delighted. “Now you have me wondering too!”
We dance in silence for a while, both contemplating. To any outside observer, we must look to be intensely focused on one another. Father surely believes me to be madly in love.
Finally I say, “They must have… a ladder? Of some sort?”
She nods. “Yes, yes. But what a frightfully tall ladder! These ceilings have to be… what, thirty feet high?”
“Oh, at least.”
“Thirty feet up on a ladder!”
“Maybe… maybe no one has to clean it. Maybe it doesn’t get dirty up there.”
“Oh no. I know a thing or two about cleaning, and I can tell you, it’s been cleaned. There would be ash, soot, wax drippings. Not to mention someone needs to replace the candles! Someone has to do it all, you can be certain of that. Whoever it is must be the bravest servant in this castle. I feel they ought to receive some recognition for that.”
“Some recognition? What sort of recognition? Do they give awards for cleaning that I’m unaware of?” I comment with a chuckle, but cut off abruptly when I see the look on her face. Her eyes burn with indignation, and she pulls herself up taut, giving the effect of looking down her nose at me. I’m so startled that I nearly lose my footing in the waltz.
“Perhaps they should give awards to people who climb up thirty foot ladders so guests of the castle can have a lovely clean chandelier to admire.”
I glance again at the chandelier which, apparently, I’ve taken for granted. The crystal sparkles in glittering rainbows above us, hardly noticed by anyone. She’s absolutely right that it’s spotless. Not a speck of dust to be seen. How many other things must the servants do that go unnoticed by me every day? Who the devil is this woman to have made me feel so utterly chastened, intrigued, and delighted at the same time?
“Perhaps they should,” I reply, bowing my head slightly in acceptance of her reprimand.
Her cheeks flush then in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. What an odd thing for me to say. You must regret asking me to dance.”
“On the contrary! You’re a breath of fresh air, my lady.” The waltz ends then and gives me the perfect excuse to get away from all these prying eyes. We’re too much on display here in the ballroom. I want this woman all to myself. I begin to feel that I never want to let her go.
“Oh I’m not a—“
“Would you care to take a stroll?” I ask and offer my arm, guiding her toward the large double doors that lead to the inner courtyard garden. No doubt we’re being tracked closely by no less than five of my Father’s men. I catch sight of one of them and jerk my head towards the curtain. He catches my meaning and hastily moves to close it, barring any of the guests from following us.
I don’t often come to this garden because I have very little reason to ever be in this wing of the castle, but I’m grateful now that it’s here. It’s undoubtedly beautiful and… I find myself wanting to impress her. I think again of what she said about the servants. The next time I see one of the gardeners, I should thank them. What a thought. I’ve only known her for a few minutes and already she’s got me thanking the gardener!
Once we’ve reached the quiet peace of the garden, I resume our conversation. “To tell you the truth, I was just about ready to fall asleep before you walked in.”
It makes me chuckle to see her look of pure shock. “No! At a ball?!” she exclaims. “But how is that possible?! It’s the most lovely party I’ve ever seen!”
“You wouldn’t believe how dreadful people are at these sorts of things. It might appear beautiful, but under the surface everyone is out for blood, maneuvering for power, saying one thing, meaning another. It’s exhausting I tell you.”
“Like what? What do they say?” she asks earnestly.
“Well, as an example… by societal rules, the young ladies here cannot ask me for a dance, I must ask them. But of course they desperately want me to ask, and so they linger near me and have loud conversations about how their dance cards still aren’t full, or how dreadfully bored they are, clumsily vying for my attention. What I want to tell them is: look, I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, but I have absolutely no interest, have a good night. But of course I can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
I bark a laugh before exclaiming, “Why not?! Why because her father, Lord Someone or other from Someplace, will be stomping in here tomorrow morning demanding reparations from my family for the social damages to his daughter! There will be a scandal! I’ll be seen as no better than an ill-bred country lout with no manners to speak of, that’s what. And I wouldn’t want to embarrass the poor girl in front of everyone. She’s only doing what she’s been taught to do. I just… wish it weren’t like this.”
She looks thoughtful as we meander through the garden and towards the little wrought iron bridge that crosses over a small, rock-lined stream. “I didn’t know it worked that way,” she says. “You’re right that it does sound a bit irritating. But to be quite honest, I find there’s something nice about the gentility of it.” I open my mouth to protest but she doesn’t notice me and barrels on, “In my house everyone says exactly what they think exactly when they think it, no matter whose feelings might be hurt.”
I shut my mouth at that, noticing the distinct flavor of vulnerability in her tone.
“That can get tiresome too, you know,” she says. “It can cause a lot of heartache, when if they’d only taken a moment to think before speaking, they might’ve spared that person from a little bit of pain in a world that’s already cruel enough as it is. It doesn’t seem so much to ask for a person to follow some simple rules of decorum.”
It astounds me how quickly and eloquently she put me right in my damn place. Everything in me—mind, body, spirit—feels aflame. I want to know every thought she’s ever had. I want to know everything about her. I want her to challenge every notion I have about the world and turn me inside out and upside down.
We stop on the little bridge and lean together against the railing to look down at the stream. I decide to push back just a little, taking a chance, again following my instincts that tell me she’s enjoying this discussion as much as I am. “Don’t you think it can be duplicitous? To use gentle words when what you want to say is far from gentle? These women at court, it’s not as if they don’t know they’re being rejected.”
She fires right back, “The next time my stepmother says an unkind word to me, do you think I should return it with unkindness back?”
“No… no, not unkindness. But return it with the truth. The plain and simple truth.”
“So you think the truth is plain and simple?”
“Quite the philosopher you are,” I tease.
Her mouth turns up in a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “Perhaps.” Her brow furrows slightly as she studies the glimmering water beneath the bridge. I look down too at our reflections staring back up at us and can’t help but notice how well we look together. How right it feels to stand next to her.
She whispers, “Here’s a plain and simple truth for you: I wish I could stay here forever and never go home.”
I nearly say I couldn’t agree more , but something in her face stops me. She looks so deeply sad. Troubled.
“You’re quite serious about that, aren’t you?” I ask.
She says nothing at first. And then, “My stepmother… Well.” She pauses for a long time. So long that I almost wonder if she isn’t going to say anything else. And then she whispers, “She’s not a kind woman.”
A protective instinct swells in my chest. Who could ever be cruel to this woman? Who would dare ? I say, “And is that a plain and simple truth?”
She looks at me then with those otherworldly blue eyes. I didn’t see the sadness there before. I wish I could blot it out. Destroy anything that causes it.
She draws me in like a magnet. We drift ever closer. I stop for a moment to make sure it isn’t just me, but no, her face tilts up, her body leans in, her gaze flicks down to my lips. My hands move of their own accord, sliding behind her back, drawing her to me—and then the clock bell tolls.
She nearly jumps out of her skin and pulls away from me hurriedly.
“Oh my goodness!” she exclaims.
I look around the garden, bewildered. “What’s the matter?” I say, and then without conscious thought, I reach out and grab her hands and assess her. Is she harmed? If something has harmed her I’ll—
“It’s midnight!”
I blink in confusion. “Yes? So it is, but why—”
“Goodbye!”
Goodbye?! This can’t be happening! It was all going so well only a moment ago.
She tries to walk away but I hold her hands tighter. “No, no, wait!” I plead. “You can’t go now it’s only—”
“Oh I must, please! Please, I must!” She’s frantic, almost wild. Her body moves to pull away, but she seems to be at war with herself, because the fingers of her delicate hand still hold tight to mine, unwilling to let go.
“But why?!”
“Well I… the Prince! I haven’t met the Prince!”
My jaw drops. How could she possibly not have known? “The Prince?! But didn’t you know—”
“Goodbye!”
“No, wait, come back! Oh please come back! I don’t even know your name, how will I find you?! Wait! Please!”
She slips her hands out of mine and darts away, taking my heart with her. I run after her, but she’s too fast. A flash of her silver dress disappears through the same entryway that she swept in only a few hours ago. And I, utter fool that I am, didn’t even ask her name.