Romance Short Stories

Façade

The cart shakes, pulling itself over the thick cobbles of the urban street. It smells pungently of earth and soot, I look out as people amble, barely clothed, through the streets. . I shiver, pulling my arms tighter around me – the draft forcing itself through the slits in the cart, a poorly made wooden box where I am trapped with no escape. Regretfully, I see the target up ahead as we take the singular dirt road with no return. My apprehension is diminished for mere seconds as I take in the view – a wonderful view – an inky sky foregrounded with a palace made of marble and stone. The multiple arches and points rise up, obscuring the view of anything ahead. Powerful and prestigious. I almost forgot my purpose. Almost.

But as the cart pulls to a halt, I am brought back to the crushing reality. Tonight, is the night I pay my debt, for the sake of all of those I love. I secure the object under the dress and apply my mask. I smooth down my dress of fine silk and pull myself single-from the carriage – cold and now alone. I ascend the steps, two at a time – the anxiety creating pace. I seem to be the last in attendance, only a small trickle of people left on the grounds. I curtsy politely at the guards, flashing my invitation – sweat trickling my hairline. They simply nod – opening the iron casted doors to show the scene inside.

The ballroom is crawling with guests – everyone standing practically shoulder to shoulder. I breathe deeply, twisting my braid over my shoulder. The warmth of the chandelier light and soft glow of the candles suffocate me – in this fake dress with fake intentions. I push everything I am feeling to the pit of stomach and pursue he whom I seek. I stride easily towards the crowd, curious eyes and snarling mouths entangling me in unease. I pass from partner to partner as the music swells to a deafening volume yet not as deafening as the whispers and eyes upon me. I feel sickness rise as I guess their thoughts – as they see straight through the phantom guise of royalty and elegance upon the worthless daughter of a street urchin.

The next sensation is a gentle touch on my left shoulder. I turn round quickly, in a smooth arc, coming face to face with him. Dark sweeping hair, bright eyes and a cool gaze that does not falter as he bows lowly before me his hand outreached for mine. I hesitantly glance over my shoulder to the door, begging and pleading to escape. I meet the eyes of the man in the cloak that is shrouded in darkness. His eyes gleam in the dark and he smiles widely and raises his glass of blood red liquid, ushering me to continue. A toast to death. I swallow hard, turn back to face him and accept his advance – placing my gloved hand in his.

We walk side to side to the centre of the dance floor at a considerable distance with one of our arms outstretched sideways but still holding hands. The clamminess of my hands is evident to nobody else but me – the gloves providing protection to the truth of my feelings. The gloves however can not hide the shakes that possess my hands and body. We finally turn to face each other in the centre of the sparkling ballroom. Surprisingly, he offers me a small smile and pulls me closer to him, hoisting me in by my waist. I avoid his gaze, following the music with my ears as not to be entranced by the joy of the room. There is so much yet so little time and I can feel the clock ticking in my body. It pulses like rhythmic machinery. The task is so simple on paper but in my mind, I can not cast aside my guilt, nor can I imagine myself committing the act. I succumb to the music, finally. I allow it to move me and absolve my sins. I meet his eyes once again and force my body to stop trembling – they flicker for a moment before returning to me. And this time, they see right through me.

The music stops for a moment and I excuse myself, curtseying to him. His brows crease momentarily but he allows me to go, ushering me away with the push of his hand. I breath deeply, intensely. I dash towards the metal doors – somewhat unladylike and I am released. The night air is cool and sobering. Collecting my thoughts, I exhale deeply. I smooth down the dress again and press the object under my dress so the cool metal pushes against my thigh and reminds me of what is at stake. My head darts from side to side as I look for the man in the cloak again, but he is nowhere to be seen here or inside anymore. With this, my anxiety skyrockets - was I too slow?