Lana twirled from the hands of her betrothed, adorned in a pastel pink dress shaped to her measurements and a smile sparkling alongside the grand chandelier suspended above in the ballroom. Her attire moved on its own as her steps remained straight, approaching the distracted fairy who lingered further than the party.
One arm threaded through another and they were side by side, three steps away from an open balcony elevated above a moonlit garden. Beneath them, far from the festivities blaring within the castle confines, was a man wielding a tail of polished scales and spiraled horns in the same obsidian color.
“You’re staring, Milady.” Lana’s sweet whisper traveled in a sing-song manner as she guided Verlene’s wine glass into her own hands and imprinted another set of red lipstick on the surface. “I am not.” Verlene denied but her eyes did not trail away from the garden hidden behind the architectural quartzite railing obscuring their line of sight. Beyond it, settled by the entrance of the archway, was a man perched on a stone statue carved in the honor of their kingdom.
He sat with a knee tucked underneath his chin, propping an open journal on the edge of the platform. The man was unbothered, absorbed in his thought process as he was, with the faint sounds of chattering and orchestral pieces in the distance.
“You are.” Lana frowned at the group of young royalty surrounding the soon-to-be-king close to the throne, displeased with their open-mouthed laughter, glaring golden ring covered fingers, custom tailored suits worn with casualty, and stares of judgment and condescension. They were revolting in her eyes, even more so once their stares were directed at them after the king opened his mouth to speak. Despite having been raised in their social group, Lana couldn’t stand them and their snobbery. “And I am not the only one who notices.”
Verlene remained silent, glancing at the sparkling contents settled in the narrow glass held between slender fingers and blue nails. She picked up on sudden hints displayed in the princess’s behavior—the curl of every finger around the goblet, the narrowness of her slitted eyes, the dimness of her tone—and sympathized. She may have been fated to royalty but she would not change to fit with its obligations.
“Though, I cannot blame you.” Lana hummed. “He is a better man compared to—”
“Let us not speak of such things.” Verlene raised a hand, putting an end to the sentence before it continued. “You are in the presence of his betrothed and it is not right to speak ill of him.”
“As if that will stop me.” She scoffed. “As if that would stop you.”
“It should.” The fairy accepted her returned glass, tilting its contents in Lana’s direction. She kept looking out of the double doors, entertaining the thought of roaming through the castle corridors with the night coming to an end and being with the one whom she truly wished was hers; Marian.