Can you hear the chirping of the crowd and the dullness of the night, my dear diary? It feels like who I am dies tonight, because the day has come for father to sell me off to pay for his gormless, numpty, pillock, gambling debts-
"Isabelle!" She heard her father whisper harshly her name, as he rushed towards the carriage, frowning like a black rain frog.
The night was alive with music and cheers from the distance. Many carriages arrived at the palace and we're parked later at the space allocated. Isabelle had peomised her father that she was right behind him while heeft the carriage, but she had not oved an ounce since his departure.
Quickly, she hid her journal in her dress, slipping the pen into the journal's pen loop, when the door yanked open, creaking irritably, you could tell its substandard, but it looked substantial enough.
He pulled her out of the carriage, gauging at her, annoyed. She adjusted the wrinkles on her dress, when his hands tried to adjust her hair to look better, and she pulled away, not meeting his gaze.
She sighed in relief within her that he didn't catch her writing again, at such an important hour.
Then, he began, he voice calm yet, menacing:
"Do you know what time it is?" He demanded.
She still kept her head to the side with an attitude.
Triggered, he looked around before pulling her closer to him by the arm, frightening her. She tried to protect herself with her other arm by covering her face.
"Is your hearing now blocked? Or you're just unable to comprehend a simple question?"
He whispered, tightening his grip around her arm until she winced in pain;
"You're hurting me—"
She cried lowly.
"But not enough, I see?"
"Tell me, Isabelle, why I had to wait for you before Lord Geralt like a fool, before you grace us with your presence?"
He pushed her away, bumping her against the carriage. There was no way for her to curl up this time, so she stood in pain and her eyes soaked, and ready to release a tear.
He sighed, pinching between his eyebrows.
"Lord Geralt has been in search of you. And I've been waiting for over twenty minutes with him, like a simpleton awaiting your arrival? If you are deliberately trying to sabotage your future, I will not let you do the same to my opportunity. This is a potential suitor, who can seek your hand in marriage, and-"
He went on and on to justify his behavior and intention, but unknown to him, he only ever feeds my disinterest on the subject.
The only reason father brought me here is to sell me off to some rich elite whom I've never met, to pay off his gambling debts, and what better night than at the royal banquet where all the-well-to-do are gathered in one place.
The palace.
The theme for the royal banquet was Mystery, thus estate who came to the banquet had a mask on.
"Now, straighten up, and make yourself presentable. I don't want those tears of yours ruining my night."
He said, as he waited for me to wipe my tears and put on my mask before he opened his arm for us to make our way towards the palace stairs together.
*
The great chandeliers gave a different form of life to the hall, while the murmuring of the happy crowd were sidelined with cheers and the shimmering sound of pouring champagne.
My father was a man of many titles, but our family name held enough importance to speak for him. He is known as Viscount Fredrick Delacroix. But today, that name is hanging on a very thin thread, due to his costly habit of wagering.
"Lord Geralt, this is my daughter, miss Isabelle Delacroix. I apologize for the delay, she had some lady matter to attend to."
One thing I had learned with living with my father was how to put a mask on. With my mask behind my swan shaped mask,
I smiled, in the brightest way possible, conversing with the man twice my age. Yet, I couldn't be more irritated. I found him highly unattractive, more so the unnecessary conversation.
Ladies flocked past us with their fans flapping seductively by their faces. Their greetings tailored mostly towards Lord Geralt. One noticed my expression begging her to steal him away from me, but Lord Geralt was quite the player.
He held my gloved hands and planted a kiss, chasing them away, and I was at the edge of handing over the glove to him.
"Enough with the politics, Viscount." Lord Geralt laughed away, "Miss Delacroix, you grow lovelier each season."
"Thank you for the compliment, Lord Geralt" I inclined my head politely. I caught curiosity in his eyes before the words escaped him;
"I find myself eager to know more, Miss Delacroix. Perhaps we could take a walk to get to know each other better?"
My tentacles sparked up by a bit.
This means it's going to be just two of us.
I thought within myself.
"Ah, of course!" Fredrick got the signal.
He excused himself, sending a deadly glare at Isabelle to remind her not to mess things up, while he went away to mingle with other men and women of estate, his attention and ears remained attentive on their conversation to keep up with what next Lord Geralt wanted to know about his daughter.
"So, miss Delacroix, tell me about yourself."
Lord Geralt, began.
"I am a learned woman."
"Oh?"
Fredrick heard Lord Geralt exclaim, and he adjusted his tie, clearing his throat while he kept up with the new conversation he had gotten himself into.
"I am not a fan of the subject of a woman just laying home, birthing children, and running the home alone. I believe a woman can also take part in pressing matter of the society as the men of estate do."
Geralt's face seemed to freeze, his eyes glancing towards Fredrick, while his glass stood firm in his hand, half filled with wine.
"Really, now?" He said trying to contain himself.
Fredrick was already breaking a sweat on the side he was on, he greeted Geralt with his eyes far off after mistakingly meeting his gaze, before pretending to concentrate on his distraction. He couldn't really hear Isabelle, because her voice was too low to eavesdrop on, but Lord Geralt's deep was deep enough to be heard, as if he had speaker in his throat.
But Isabelle knew her father well, abd she was sure he wasn't listening to what the group with him were discussing.
"I prefer my woman-"
Isabelle's imagination almost scratched him physically at the indirect claim; "-less ambitious and involved in the affairs of the state, so she can— concentrate on running the household."
Isabelle stole a glance back at her father, who seemed reasonably far away, and too occupied to notice them. She walked him further away until she was confident enough to speak:
"Then I am afraid you have found the wrong lady, Lord Geralt, for I am quite disinterested in whatever arrangement you have with my father. More so, what man would want to marry a woman against her will, especially when they are both in the know it is for failed wagering purpose on the path on my father."
Lord Geralt's jaws parted confusedly.
"If you will excuse me, Lord Geralt, the air is getting quite pungent, don't you think?"
And she curtsied, before speed walking away in her long sliver dress. Lord Geralt, on the other hand looked the most offended, as he stormed off. By the time Viscount Fredrick noticed them, it was only Lord Geralt he witnessed leaving, his daughter was no where to be found.
He excused himself from his distraction while he went on the resumed search for his daughter.
Isabelle found the corridor to the exit and tried walking past as calmly as possible, but suddenly she was faced with a problem;
"Apologies, my lady. We have strict orders from the Crown not to let anyone leave the banquet, once through."
One of the guards at the door, informed.
Isabelle responded calmly as she turned away, not at rest inside. She needed to find a way out of this party. She found another corridor with a balcony; a loggia on the other side of the room, and a beautiful idea struck her at the sight. She heard whispers of a Viscount searching for his daughter, and she knew she had to pick up the pace. Everyone was wearing a mask, so it should prove easier for her to get across the room.
Immediately, she began the journey though the chirping crowd. She tried as much as possible not to bump into anyone, and reduce the attention on herself. Unfortunately, her father finally recognized an unusual female walking though the standing crowd.
"Isabelle!"
He called out as politely as possible, but Isabelle's footsteps only accelerated faster. She didn't look back. She couldn't look back. No, looking back meant going back to the fate her father had already set for her.
She had reached the center of the hall, when the enchanting strains of the jazz band suddenly stopped, and everyone parted away from the center, startling her in it.
She stood there, shocked, confused.
Her father burst through to the front of the circling crowd, locking eyes with her. But his expression behind the mask wasn't designed with anger as usual, he looked more terrified at what was behind her, so did everyone else.
She turned around carefully, and there was the King, the savage tyrant rumored to have killed his own brothers. Isabelle's heart had jumped out of its ribcage a million times over, and her soul waited for her signal to leave her body.
While the music froze, his hand stretched out for a dance. Isabelle was in denial at what was transpiring, when she heard his baritone voice speak:
"Will you keep your King, waiting?"
---
Earlier while the crowd, enjoyed themselves, the King grew tired of boredom as he sat on his throne. He signaled for his butler;
"Your Majesty." Alfred bowed.
"It's even worse than I imagined. Is there no life in the Kingdom?"
"The performers for the banquet have all performed Your Majesty. But If his Majesty wishes to have something else, as you say and it shall be done."
King Raphael, stared ahead, considering Alfred's suggestion.
"I wish to have a dance"
Alfred, was startled; "But with whom, Your Majesty?"
"Send for—" he trailed off when he witnessed Lord Geralt walk away from a young masked lady in a silver dress, who seemed to have offended the gentleman. He noticed her glancing back as if to escape his own royal banquet, and he frowned. Did she think he didn't know how to throw a party? Why else would anyone dare to leave before the King, the royal banquet.
Offended, he observed her destination tailored towards the entrance.
"Send word immediately to the guards that no one is allowed to leave the banquet until it is over."
Alfred, looked confused, but affirmed his Majesty's request. But before he could leave,
"And Alfred, send word to Duke Montclair, for an invitation to have a dance with first daughter."
"Yes, your majesty."
The band was also informed secretly of the King's desire. After some moments, Alfred returned to update the King on his wish. As he rose from his throne, all eyes focused on him, and like the red sea, they parted, bit by bit, until he reached the center of the ball room. Isabelle was to agitated to notice the movement of the crowd until she found herself in the middle of the hall, where the King had arrived, with the request for a dance proposed before her.
He examined her from behind his mask like a predator over a prey, and he sensed such great fear emitting from her just by her looking at him he wondered why. It was then, he noticed the dress was the same as the one who wanted to leave his banquet earlier.
She wasn't Duke Montclair's daughter.
He stepped closer to her, while she unconsciously moved a step back, unnoticeably. Thankfully, her dress was long enough it hid her crime.
As he approached her, her eyes evaluated him from top to bottom, but what caught her attention most was his mask which was unlike anyone else's. His was uniquely in the form of red and black dragon, while hers that of a a silver swan.
His red royal wear shimmered under the chandelier light, while her silver dress glimmered innocently in contrast to his demeanor.
Although she looked afraid, he could tell it was because of the situation she was in. Yet, he could see through her she was more afraid of something else.
Curious, he spoke first;
"Will you keep your King, waiting?"
His tone demanding, having held out his hand for more than five seconds.
She stuttered as she curtsied hesitantly;
"I would never, Your Majesty."
With all the courage she could muster, she took the King's hand, and the band changed the music. As they waltz around the center of the room, all eyes became curious of who this strange damsel was in the hands of the King; her father, in distress with mixed emotions, while Isabelle danced in denial of how this horrible nightmare could get any worse.