Iridescent

Chapter 2

Stasia 

Thewalls embellished with deep colors of harvest décor oozed with opulence as Iwalked through the ballroom of rushed servants. Flying by with foldedtablecloths and balancing plates stacked to the crystallized chandeliers, theyfeared if they were not able to their job quick enough, they would be tradedout for another who would. Through the enchanting, warm hum of instruments atthe end of the ballroom, my feet tickled into an airy spin and I sang afamiliar melodic waltz. As I passed the assorted tables filled with delectablefoods and liquor, I covertly stole a bite of chocolate just to get caught by my mother, who hastily slapped the half-eaten truffle out of my hands, requesting that a servant would take it somewhere far away from me. I disappointedly watched Mariana, at my mother's request, remove the tray of assorted truffles into another room.

"Stasia, what do you think you are doing here?" Her scowl only towered over me because she was wearing those tight heels of hers—her feet hadn't numbed yet, or maybe she would have let me eat that Godforsaken truffle. At my silence, her green eyes narrowed, and she tucked a strand of her aging, honey colored hair behind the emerald jewel that weighed down her ear. A matching, soft, satin dress clung to her trimmed bodice and sleeves reached down to restrain her boney wrists.

Of course, I just had to be severely underdressed in her presence. My hair was loose from the pulling headache of a braid and I was (scandalously) dressed in just a silk robe to cover my long nightgown. In all this clutter, I had managed to slip out of my chambers to wander about before the ball. But, shame on my spontaneous character, for it was a taboo to "roam" in midst of the preparation for such a frivolous occasion...

We were on two different schedules—mother and I.

"You should be getting ready," She huffed, waving her hands to shoo me—an action I was all but too familiar with—and scolded, "Wash your hair. Get changed! Guests will be arriving!" Before I could answer, she cuffed a tight grip on my wrist, dragging me into the hallway where the maids were standing outside my chamber with several cosmetics and the box that held my dress for the occasion.

"I cannot believe you were just walking around here looking like this," She muttered under her breath, quickening her pace, "You are fortunate enough that none of the guests saw you."

It would be just another thing for them to talk about. I had to bite my tongue from letting that one slip out.

Mother, now turning to the startled maids, laid out her battle plan, "Make sure she looks presentable. The Prince of Archone is going to be attending and she needs to make an impression on him. He is in search of a wife." Mother had recently been leaving hints—which were as subtle as a cannon—about this Prince of Archone. I continuously brushed it off, in habit to blind myself of the inevitable plans she had in mind. For now, making comments that included my distaste in elite men—particularly Princes—dawdled in between my ears. There were more important things to take on in the present, more particularly, the beautifying torture I was bound to endure.

Simply ignoring the fact that Mother was in search of putting a (heavy) rock about my finger was not as luxurious as it seemed. Honestly, I had no clue, besides the amount of leverage the man had in his pockets, why my mother had such an interest in this Prince. Since when has a small-kingdom-oriented, Irkish Princess sat upon the throne of such an empire? In fact, my jaw would be the first to drop if he even wasted his time to grace us with his very presence.

But, me simply groaning and kicking at the waste of meeting him would do nothing but fuel the fire. In personal experience, there was no doubt that she would win against my refusal of affiliating myself with him.