The palace was busy today with the preparation of the masquerade ball. Fleets of servants flitted to and fro with draperies and heavy silk curtains and all sorts of decorations laden in both hands. Cooks yelled at their assistants as butlers carted food items into the kitchens. Delivery men rode horses laden with bundles that contained dresses, luxury dresses of every luxury material available. Even though the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, it didn't stop the roundabout activity. For hours, Giselle had watched them come and go, as many as a dozen at a time trotting through the palace grounds with their bundles and she wondered if Lysara readied her dress like she'd said she would.
According to her lady-in-waiting, she said it was a surprise, a gift after all she had been through these past few weeks. Could it possibly be a bad idea to give Lysara free reign over her dress and mask after what she pulled at the last ball? Perhaps but Giselle didn't care much.
She weaved through a crowd of attendants who paid her no mind, not that she cared anyway. It was for the best that they didn't recognize her as she tried to explore the palace as quietly as she could. Fabio never did give her a complete tour of the entire place she'd be spending possibly the rest of her life in. To ensure she wouldn't be disturbed, Giselle even dressed the part—her wavy hair was weaved down in a simple braid and she wore a plain peach-colored dress with bright pink ruffles today. Lysara told her she looked like a flower, though, and she was almost tempted to go back and change.
For all her hope about no one recognizing her, it didn't seem to be going as she'd hoped. One attendant was looking at her a little too closely then seemed to recognize her and dipped into a low bow almost immediately.
"Y-your Highness!" He exclaimed, attracting the others. More startled choruses of "your highness!" followed, eliciting the slightest of panic in Giselle.
She acknowledged their greetings with a polite nod. "Oh, no it's alright. I was simply passing through, please continue with…whatever it is you were doing."
A petite older woman with flaxen hair stepped forward, an anxious look in her eyes.
"I am Miss Courtney Lyndsey, head of interior, milady. We were merely organizing a redecorating of the tapestries for tomorrow's ball. Some brand new draperies and ribbons just arrived as well but we were a bit torn about what shade to use; the ball is a welcoming gift for the king of Ravathorne after all a-and–" Giselle noticed that the older woman looked genuinely worried about the upcoming celebration. It must be nerve racking trying to organize a ball inspired by a country's traditions you weren't familiar with. "–truthfully, we don't know if the color red would be offensive to our guests."
Giselle scratched her chin in thought. She had studied a lot of history during her time in school yet she'd never seen anywhere that mentioned colors that were offensive to vampires. They consumed blood, surely the color red didn't mean much to them.
"Hmm, red is widely regarded as a regal color along with purple. I haven't heard of any law in Ravathorne forbidding the use of red in clothing or decorations and I think the curtains could do with such a rich shade for the celebrations." Giselle then asked if there was any fixed color theme for the ball and they said no. "Then the theme should be something luxurious like gold, maybe with hints of red for the curtains. It is a common theme in masquerade balls from what I've heard. Start with the ribbons and table cloths, I will ask the King and tell you what he thinks."
Miss Courtney looked like she might shed a tear of gratitude, curtsying repeatedly as Giselle smiled back and continued her walk down the corridor.
Great, she thought forlornly, now she had to talk to Fabio.
Just as she w5as wondering where she could find a 6 foot chiselled, dark-haired monarch with no wish to even be seen a few feet away from her, she spotted Sir Dorian standing near the pavilion across the east gardens. And was that, Lysara?, walking away? Perhaps the knight and her lady-in-waiting were more friendly towards each other than she'd thought.
"Sir Dorian!" She called, marching towards him.
The handsome fair-haired knight looked up and bowed with a smile. Giselle marveled at how everyone seemed to have a smile on their face (everyone except Fabio, of course)
"Your Highness, I was just about to come find you."
Giselle blinked in confusion. "Find me? What for?"
"The King wishes to have dinner with you. He also sends his apologies for calling you on short notice."
Pushing stray hair behind her ears, she exhaled out of habit, more confused than annoyed. He had been completely distant, silent for days, not even looking her in the eye and now he decides he wants to see her? Never mind that she was actively looking for him anyway, never mind that at all.
"It is on very short notice of course. I'm barely dressed for dinner, too." She replied, very miffed.
Dorian grimaced apologetically, "He said you would say that. I am now obliged to respond, 'the King doesn't care how you look or how you're dressed today, he only wants to have a simple dinner with you.'"
Giselle was unsure whether to be excited to see Fabio again—maybe possibly speak to him if his Royal Quietness was in the mood—or whether to be worried at the suddenness of it all.
She could only follow Sir Dorian who still had that strangely satisfied look on his face as he led the way to the dining hall.
It wasn't the central dining hall, the one Giselle was told was mostly for general banquets and feasts, rather it was close to the wing that housed their chambers.
The King's own private dining hall. How quaint.
Fabio was already seated at the head of the table and two attendants were in the process of serving food, darting in and out of the room to wheel carts of assorted meals. Empty foreign ceramic plates were already laid out along with gilded cutlery sitting beside it.
A whole braised pig sat in the center of the table with an apple stuffed in its mouth. Giselle blinked at the sight, hesitantly taking the seat to his right.
"What's the occasion, my King? It's not your birthday, is it?" She started politely. Dorian was standing behind Fabio. She could've sworn he was holding in a laugh when their eyes met. Fabio was dressed in his usual white dress shirt and plain black breeches but unlike yesterday, his hair was tied in a low bun. Giselle tried not to let her gaze linger on his needlessly handsome face. He was sipping on a glass of wine, his plump red lips curled on the edge of the cup. She looked away, slightly alarmed at the direction of her thoughts, and focused instead on the empty chair across from her. "Are we…expecting another guest?"
"Do I need an occasion to dine with you? And, no, this meal is only for us, no one else."
Dorian was like a statue behind the King's chair. Giselle wondered if 'no one else' included the serious-faced knight. She decided not to ask, not yet. There were other pressing matters for which she was seeking him earlier.
Fiddling with the ribbons on her dress, she asked, "About the masquerade ball, was it really—I mean, it's not because of me, is it?" She felt foolish the moment the question left her lips. What if it wasn't? Then she had made herself a fool in front of a man who already wanted nothing to do with her.
"What do you think?" Blue eyes glinted with an emotion she couldn't place.
Trying to ignore the sudden rush of warmth her traitorous body felt, Giselle quipped back, "Well, for one, your servants are having a hard time choosing the theme of the ball for fear of offending your guest. And I wouldn't want the Court to mutter on my account, especially for a tradition that isn't ours."
"Lucien wouldn't be offended by something as pointless as the theme of the ball, the servants can do whatever they like. As for the Court, my decision was mine alone, you can leave their reactions for me to handle, little red."
On cue, a gush of red filled her cheeks and her heart gave a traitorous tug. From where she peaked beneath thick lashes, a knowing smirk seemed to pull at Fabio's lips. Her blush grew, this time from embarrassment at him noticing.
"Dorian, leave us." The knight beelined for the door, as though he couldn't stand another moment in their presence. Giselle didn't blame him; they were as graceful as two newborn foals dancing in the wind. "And send word back to those organizing the ball; they are to spare no expense in making it a celebration to remember."
"Yes, my King."
After Dorian left, the air between them which was already dense and expectant, had crackled into something more pronounced, electric and expectant. Neither of them said a word at first, Giselle especially was scared to break the silence, to disturb whatever delicate energy that was building up. She felt a thrill run through her at the thought of even glancing at his direction. What was with her today, she moaned inwardly.
"What're you waiting for?" his voice startled her so much that she jumped a bit, a knee slamming into the table. Fabio scoffed, not maliciously though. That strange smile was still on his lips. "You're a walking disaster, aren't you little red? Eat, there's something I want to show you."
They dined in silence.
Giselle wasn't particularly hungry but she still made quick work of her plate, tearing apart tender meat with a fork.
"You're not touching your vegetables." That was the statement that broke the silence and it almost made her burst out laughing. There was, after all, a lot she wasn't doing. She wasn't saying a word, she wasn't looking at those impossibly soft lips curl around his fork…
"I don't like carrots." Giselle settled for, swallowing politely before she continued. "And I don't have much love for other vegetables either."
"Must be why you're so frail; your small omega body lacks the nutrients it needs."
Giselle choked on her food, rushing to force it down with a glass of water. To her utter surprise, Fabio was laughing at her. His shoulders shook as he chortled but for some reason she didn't feel annoyed at the sight, only fond and strangely amused—maybe even with an urge to laugh along. What has gotten into you lately, Gigi?
Her heart leapt out of her chest when he stood up, only to lean over on the table with sharp eyes looming over her. "Come with me since your hate for fresh food has ruined lunch–"
"–I don't hate–"
"I want to show you something."
So Giselle, once again, swallowed down whatever words she was about to say (and food as well) which she seemed to be doing all the time around Fabio. The Alpha did seem to enjoy having the last word. He led her out the corridor, walking briskly as she followed closely behind struggling to keep up with his long strides.
The palace was by no means less busy, but compared to what it was this afternoon it felt more mellow with barely a few attendants going about their business. They bowed when they caught sight of them with some even stopping to gawk at the two—it wasn't everyday the King and his highly-rumored 'hated' Queen were out and about the palace. Giselle responded in kind, nodding at the greetings; she was still confused as Fabio walked faster and faster until he was nearly ten feet away from her. By now they were at a part of the palace she had never explored before, possibly the South wing.
"Are you ever going to tell me where we are going?" She mustered up the voice to say. "W-wait up, p-please!" She panted, holding onto the hem of her dress after she tripped over it one too many times.
He never slowed down, instead taking a sharp turn to a narrow curve of winding steps, leading to what she presumed was a…rooftop?
"Why? Your little red legs can't keep up?"
Again, Giselle tripped. "Wh- N-no–" She didn't know what to make of Fabio's recent teasing but couldn't rule out the possibility of a concussion from a blow to the head, perhaps from a recent sword match with Dorian.
Then Fabio opened a large wooden door and a gasp caught in her throat.
The room was quiet and round, like the inside of a giant clock. A tall brass telescope stood at the center, aimed through an open slit in the domed ceiling where the night sky spilled in like dark velvet scattered with stars. Shelves curved along the walls, stacked with maps of constellations, dusty journals, and strange glass instruments that caught the moonlight and shimmered faintly. A ladder on wheels hugged the shelves, ready to roll wherever a curious hand might reach. In one corner, a lantern burned low, casting warm pools of light that danced across the brass fittings and shadowed corners, making the whole place feel both mysterious and alive.
"What is this place?" She whispered breathlessly.
"Welcome to my favorite place in the world—my observatory." Fabio said