ARIELLE:
I am swathed in a scarlet silk gown, the fabric clinging to me like a second skin. A rather *uncomfortable* second skin, I might add. Why Mother insists on subjecting me to such torture is beyond my understanding. She knows how I despise balls and parties, the endless parade of insipid conversation and forced smiles. Still, she demands I be "presented" to the assembled guests downstairs. I have been poked and prodded by maids for what feels like an eternity, each tug and adjustment a further assault on my already fraying patience. I have stood for hours since dawn waiting for my turn to descend the hall.
"Mi lady! Time to go now," the head maid announces, her voice a saccharine syrup of false cheer.
I gather the voluminous hems of my dress, the weight of the silk a physical manifestation of my mounting dread, and make my way through the passageway to the ballroom. A fine tremor runs through me, a wholly unwelcome display of nerves that threatens to unravel the carefully constructed facade of royal composure. We pause at the head of the grand staircase, and I take in the scene below. The ballroom is a riot of color and noise, the usual assortment of chattering guests and Amazonian socialites mingling in a predictable dance of insincerity. I spot Mother seated upon her customary throne, her gaze fixed upon me, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. And then I see him. The creature they call 'Man,' seated at the High Table, disturbingly close to my mother. Tonight, he is clad in a black shirt and trousers, the simplicity of the attire only serving to accentuate his...striking features. Good heavens, he looks almost dashing. Royal, even. His clothes, like ours, are adorned with gold; like he is as royal as us.
"Presenting, Hennessia Arielle White. The third in line for the throne of Khavena. Descendant of Isis. Princess Royalty," the announcer booms, his voice echoing through the hall. A wave of polite applause washes over me.
The MAN, damn him, stands, his gaze meeting mine across the crowded room, that same unnerving smolder of amazement flickering in his eyes. What am I to do now? With a sudden surge of defiance, I decide to go down the stairs and look around the people. I take a deliberate step forward, then another, and another. He advances as well, until he stands at the foot of the stairs, directly in my path. He extends a hand, an invitation, and, much to my own astonishment, I accept. It is, after all, the friendly thing to do, not that he is one for friendliness. I place my hand in his, the contact sending a jolt of unexpected heat through my veins. He leads me towards my mother, and I execute a flawless curtsy, a practiced display of respect.
"So, now," Mother announces, her voice ringing with theatrical flourish, "the Prince of Darkness will choose a partner amongst the many."
All the young, eligible damsels of Khavena immediately gather, arranging themselves in a neat, utterly uninspired file. I remain where I am, by my mother's and sisters' sides, feeling rather like a pawn in some elaborate, terribly boring game. This Prince of Darkness, as they call him, turns his attention to the line of hopefuls, his gaze sweeping over them with unnerving intensity. He studies each and every one with deliberation. Then, just as I begin to breathe a sigh of relief, he turns. He walks towards us. He circles Arianna first, then Azriel, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on each. Then, he comes to me. He circles me, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine, creating a vortex of tension that seems to suck the very air from the room. Finally, he stops, standing directly before me. I am not certain what is about to happen.
"I see my master is rather attracted to your daughter. Arielle Hennessia," one of the creatures says.
"I see that myself, Mr. Dingle. But he has to decide, not we," my mother says.
I look up into the smoldering intensity this Prince gives me. I feel shaken and afraid. There is silence in the room and I can only hear my heart beat fast in my chest. Slowly, he bends low to my fore head and plants a sort of peck on it.
"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" the creatures shout out in joy.
I wonder what this actually means. I stand confused. I look up into the only fear I have, this Prince's eyes. I see nothing but emptiness and hollow hell. I see darkness in these misty blue eyes. I feel afraid.
"The Prince and his Princess."
How can I be his Princess? How does this work for me? How do I become his all of a sudden?
I wonder what to do for now. How come I have become somebody's property in only a few minutes. I wonder what to do?
"Dear, come with me," my mother asks.