Royalty in Ruins

Prologue

"..And so I told him, 'Marynn, don't mark the palm tree. Leave it to them to figure that one out"

"But did he? I didn't know Marynn took interest in prank wars"

"No he was totally spying"

The noises drowned out from around Gwen, random conversations no longer entertaining her. She walked away from where she was standing in the ballroom and counting the marble tiles under her feet out of boredom. She was never interested in pranks or palm trees or the broody courtiers. Her hands ached for her dagger. Her knives. The goblet of wine felt decent in her hand too, and at least the gold dust she'd sneakily spilled into it was making her head wizz and making its own music in her head. But goblets are too heavy, too rounded, too dependent. She wanted to go back to her room and feel the support of her crystal handles. She could've sneaked her dagger in anyway, but she wasn't in the mood to get her beloved weapons confiscated for eternity just yet.

She could feel her pulse in her fingertips, like her finger pads were shrinking, growing too small for her vessels. "Woah" she whispered, flexing her hand. These people need to slow their dancing, it's getting too humid. Courtiers in corsets and big gowns, some even in fluffy wigs, strutted synchronously with their kitten heels. Their powdered faces gleamed under the warm candle light from the large chandeliers. The ceiling of the ballroom, a collection of high class domes, let in some neutralising starlight, though the starlight was unbearably dull compared to the brilliance of the chandeliers. But she found comfort in looking at the sky either way.

Gwen threw her head back in a half careless-half uncontrolled motion against what felt like a mist. "Ow that was a little harsh, Gwen" her body told her as the inflexible corset pinched into the skin of her back. I don't remember tightening this corset this much. The music sounded sweet, and the wine smelt like sugared court toffee. Everything was slowly starting to feel so overwhelmingly candied. The smell of sugar in her nostrils, like she had dipped her face into an oven baking a dozen of Terence's tarts.

She relished the shallowness in the air, swinging her loose hair around as she circled her hips,softly dragging her sage green skirt with her. Her eyes weren't open, but the room seemed to comply, giving her space to move her body like she's floating on water in her green gown. She was about to hit another wave of movements when she felt her chest collide with a moving force. She snapped her head up "Way too god forsaken quick, Gwen" and her vision was washed away by static. She could hear someone complaining through the music, but couldn't make out what was being said. She couldn't tell much anyways, just that she lost her balance and may or may have not spilled her gold dusted wine on someone.

"I'm so sorry" Gwen said semi-apologetically and attempted to shuffle away as fast as she could to the other side of the ballroom. It wasn't her first time on gold dust. It was a party delicacy. One that was frowned upon due to the alleged dangers of its intake, sure. Which also meant that as a royal, she should not be seen near it in any given proximity.

It wouldn't be a great evening if they were to notice that gold dust had somehow found its way into a royal youth ball, and Gwen's senses were too scattered to effectively tell lies at the moment. I best stay away from everyone.

Gwen aimlessly paced away, and the candle light was getting too dull for her taste. She could hardly see very well through the static that still clouded her vision, but she needed to push her stride. She bumped into various people as she walked, her plan failing completely.

Damn you. Did I add too much gold dust?

Slowing down as her vision restored itself, Gwen found herself not on the opposite side of the room, where she had hoped she would be, but on the middle of the dancefloor, dancers dodging her with an effort and casting her annoyed looks.