At first, it was no more than some softly spoken whispers in a few corridors—not unusual when one had hundreds of staff who shared a common interest in gossip.
Then the whispers grew, spreading to every corner of the palace.
Normally, Dane preferred to focus on his never-ending duties and ignore such things until his steward brought any matters of concern right up to his nose. Despite having seen no sign of Sir Alan, he could practically feel the tingles in the air, the veritable buzz of excitement; from tiny sparks of anticipation to a blinding display of enthusiasm that had become too much to ignore.
Was it the same rumours concerning Cassandra? No, those were discrete gossips in the shadows paired with sideways glances; smirks full of mockery about the uppity noblewoman who'd almost become their queen but had now descended to insanity.
Was it the upcoming ball his council of matchmakers was organising? Nay, this palace had seen plenty of balls and other grand events in its lifetime. Granted, this may be the largest ball in many years—the first since his coronation, one where nobles from leagues afar and foreign emissaries would come to pay their respects. But balls were often the attraction for young ladies and unmarried men. This time, the excitement was shared by all—even the rough, seasoned guards he'd come across in the training grounds over the past couple of days.
It was the same this afternoon. This seemingly ordinary afternoon after he'd sat through yet another mentally taxing public judgment, after he'd dismissed his personal guards and was hoping for a quiet, leisurely stroll before returning to his study for the remainder of the day.
"Is it time? Is It time?"
It was those whispers again. The same whispers that teemed with joy and anticipation.
"Aye, aye, it starts in a few minutes."
"My goodness, we best get going. It's going to take us a while to get to the west wing."
The west wing? The west wing housed the guest chambers, where attendees for the upcoming ball would soon fill. What was so interesting there alrea—
Cassandra.
She'd not crossed his mind for a sennight, not since he'd deliberately blocked her out of his mind and ordered for no news of her to reach him. He wondered briefly if the Rivera's were on their way to the palace—they better be.
A shuffle of footsteps brought his attention back to the mysterious excitement. The gaggle of maidservants around the corner had started speed walking towards the west. Towards that mad woman.
Given the way he'd oppressed his curiosity days earlier, it now burst from the cage he'd forced it into and surged stronger than ever, pulsing through his veins and taking him in the direction that the maids moved.
"Please, Jon. I'll do the next shift for you."
"But I want to go, too."
"I'll owe you two shifts, then. The wife has threatened to chop my balls off if I do not tell her tonight."
"Argh, fine," the other man grunted. "Remember I did this for your balls."
Dane frowned at the conversation he overheard between the members of the royal guard. Just how many of his staff were shirking their duties, bartering with their shifts for whatever was due to start in a few minutes?
As unkingly as it was, he chose the smaller, quieter hallways of the palace and kept to the shadows, discretely observing and eavesdropping on the myriad of palace workers of all ages and positions, all behaving in a similarly bewildering manner.
YOU ARE READING
Bride to the Cursed: a Snow White retelling
Fantasy[COMPLETED] When a king makes an order, he expects it to be followed. When King Dane divorced his wife, he expected her to get out of his sight and stay out of his sight. Not reappear three months later in his bed, spouting nonsense about being a 'l...
