Palace Of Flames (Book One of the Damnata Series)

Chapter Nine: I Will Rise To Rule...

Damnatalia, 1568

The dark shadow of a young prince stood within the casting rays of pale moonlight, in front of the large ornate window at the far end of the ballroom. His hair was as black and shapely as a raven's folded wing, his pulchritudinous chocolate brown eyes scanning the gardens beyond the thick glass. He was silent, motionless, despite the joyous, grand ball that was happening behind him. The cheery, light and dulcet music failed to grace his ears as he sighed deeply, ignoring the pleas of the many women desperate to dance with him. The pale moonlight shone upon his dark, handsome features, enhancing the whiteness of his ghostly-pale, resplendent eyes constantly searching the night.

"Excuse me, your majesty, would you care for a dance?" Another drunken female, he thought with a slight frown. A countless number had approached him that evening. He just wished that his father would accept the fact that Laurence did not care for up-front, over-beauteous women, especially when he had the burden of becoming King resting upon his shoulders.

His father had made many mistakes over the period of his reign, especially after the untimely demise of his mother during childbirth. His father had once been an admirable, joyous and merry ruler, loved by all in the ancient land of Damnatalia. But then his mother died, and his father became cold, melancholic, jaded. He used young women to fill the emptiness in his heart, to fill the void that had been created after the death of Queen Victoria Helyer. Laurence just dreaded the day when he would eventually have to step up and become King, working constantly to fix the mistakes that his father had made.

"No thank you, ma'am. I do not care for dancing." He turned to look at the blond-haired beauty before him, and made a mental note to scorn his father once this ball was over.

"Really? How unusual...and intriguing." She, along with several other women, giggled. Laurence just sighed.

"Excuse me." He walked past the female, melancholy all-but dripping from the young prince as he crosses the hall, ignoring the swarming, dancing masses jostling him on all sides. His father was barely in sight ahead of him; Laurence could see a young ash-blond-haired woman trailing along behind him, and so his father was more than just possibly escorting this young female back to his chamber. Laurence rolled his eyes at the thought as he walked outside, the cool night air engulfing him as he wandered aimlessly through the maze-like formation of tall hedges.

As he reached the centre of the maze, he sat silently on one of the stone benches and contemplated his options. He could return to the ballroom, and take one of the many willing women up on their offers. Or he could return to the relative solitude and safety of his writing desk, where no woman would thrust any sort of "opportunity" upon him.

As he thought, a soft, mellifluous voice rang out, quiet yet melodious. The sound graced his ears, and slowly he rose to his feet, eyes searching the shadows for the source of this most wondrous voice.

A young auburn-haired female with a white mask over the top half of her face was singing softly to herself as she walked through the centre of the maze moments later, seeming not to notice Laurence as she idly glided across the open, circular space. Laurence became quickly entranced with this dark beauty, and as she turned to look at him, her emerald eyes filled quickly with surprise. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to know more about this beautiful young female.

"Y-Your m-"

"Please. Do not call me by my title." He took a step towards her slowly. "Why have I never seen you here before? My father holds many masquerades, but not once have I seen nor encountered you."

"I...I am not...not from around these parts."

"Where are you from, then?"

"Relatively...close by. I...I am forbidden from attending masques."