The Lady Knight

Chapter XVIII: Nights and Nirvanas

The Lady Knight

"The Crown Prince looks rather traumatised, does he not, Ma'am?" Captain Everard observed, sniggering under his breath.

I glanced over at where he was looking, curious.

The Prince, attired in a glossy black suit with a royal blue sash slung across his torso, complete with a golden crown balanced precariously on his dark brown hair as usual, was dancing the quadrille de contredanses with Diana and three other pairs.

I watched, as the four couples, arranged in the shape of a square with each of the couples facing the centre of that square, engaged in the intricate dance with quick, light steps, in time to the music.

What amused me was how the Prince's eyes kept riveting to the doors at the back of the Ballroom every time he switched partners during the dance, with an almost desperate expression on his face most people around him seemed blind to.

No doubt he was waiting to make his escape, but then again, that was a nigh impossibility.

I had watched enough this evening to know how the game in the Ballroom was played, with the Prince as the main player - and how he was losing miserably.

For every time he would make an excuse to leave after a dance, he would be surrounded by a group of Lords, consisting of the young and the old, to discuss politics. Indeed, I had overheard one such conversation when the Lords had once ambushed him near where I was stationed.

I knew for a fact that politics wore on the Prince's patience. Politicians were never usually direct with their words, and the Prince hated complexity in all things.

However, unlike the Prince, politics simply fascinated me. Mayhap it was the thrillingly cunning manner in which they wielded their words to achieve their own selfish purposes? Or was it the quick way their minds worked to get themselves out of their troubles?

I knew not. No matter the reason, I had very happily eavesdropped on their conversation while they conversed passionately with the Prince about their views.

However, whenever the Prince made an excuse to leave the discussion, a mother and her daughter would appear out of thin air. They would cling to either side of him for a turn about the room, filling his ears with endless chatter, most likely about Ladies and marriages.

It was all they could talk about nowadays, truly.

I should know. Marguerite had been dragging me once every ten minutes to meet one noble Lady or the other, mothers and daughters, throughout the evening.

Needless to say, I was already weary of them.

In addition, I was also extremely weary of standing on guard duty for almost three hours now, having done absolutely nothing productive in that time.

In a way, I was as eager as the Prince was to make my escape from the Ballroom. However, while I found that my predicament was bad, I had to concede that his was dire.

For after he would be rid of the mother and daughter, one of the Ladies of Cavarriere would ask him for a dance once more. At some instances, that particular daughter he had escaped earlier would return and hint at wanting to be asked for a dance by him.

Eyelash batting, coy glances, simpering words. They exploited all the weapons in their arsenal. Indeed, they were so desperate for his attention that it was sickening to watch.

They were everything that I never, ever wanted to be.

Of course, the Prince, being the perfect gentleman in public at least, would ask them to dance. The vicious cycle would then repeat all over again.