Compilation

The Ballroom: Unfinished

Refracted pieces of dying sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, forming a myriad of whirling, spiralling, fluttering colors that waltzed through the ballroom under the light-footed soles of gliding dancers. The moon's silver crescent hung delicately in the slowly dimming sky as the first stars started appearing, like flickering memories of the dark, watching, waiting, glimmering down at the skygazers below; and in the midst of the fantastical chaos and joyful tunes and twirling couples, a subtle side door opened, revealing the discreet arrival of Princess Niviene.

Niviene stepped into the ballroom just as the herald announced the presence of the king and queen, as well as the kingdom's new and only prince, Arthur. He was dressed elegantly tonight, fitted in a pristine white suit embellished with sophisticated golden flourishes. The boutonniere consisting of twin lobelias he had pinned to his chest complimented perfectly the hues of his suit — gold and blue, the two official colors of Elkmire — and he looked every bit as regal and as polished as one would expect from a future king. Niviene watched him from a distance as he descended the stairs, remaining a respectful inch behind the king and queen; his courteous smile, however, didn't let slip from Niviene's notice the stiff posture of which he carried himself with and the subtle awkward tilt of his head.

"He doesn't want to be king, does he?"

A familiar voice came from behind her. Nivene turned, only to find Guinevere standing face-to-face with her, eyebrows knitted with concern.

"Why would you say so?" was Niviene's airy response, accompanied with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm sure Arthur is perfectly content and secure with his duty to the kingdom."

Thankfully, Guinevere took the hint and cut herself off before she could object, her eyes following the direction of Niviene's gaze to some overtly eavesdropping dancers lingering nearby. "You're right, of course — that was silly of me to ask! I'm sure he is content."

There was a sudden pause in the jaunty, festive tune, followed by a smooth transition into a slower, lilting music. Across the room, Niviene spotted Lady Eleanor beckoning to her with an insistent hand. Crossing the room, Niviene gracefully curtsied to the older woman, dipping her head meekly. "Good evening, mother."

"Good evening, sweetheart. Niviene, this is Sir Gawain of Lothien... he has traveled far to meet you and request for your hand in marriage. Sir Gawain, as you already know, this is my daughter, Nivene."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, milady." Gawain took Niviene's hand and kissed it, his light green eyes, a hue bearing resemblance to peridot, never leaving her face. Allowing a pleasant smile to cross her features, Niviene murmured some polite, civil remark to her newest suitor, keeping her gaze demurely averted from his countenance out of manners.