Masqued Intentions

Part 4: The Masque Revealed

Emmaline

The palace was overwhelming with grandeur. Crystal chandeliers kept the hall cheerfully bright, with lush carpets and rich woods and marbles everywhere you looked. As fine as Pendleton house was, this was ten times richer than anything Emmaline had ever seen. She could only imagine the number of servants it took to keep up such a place.

She didn't get much time to admire her surroundings though. Sooner than she'd have liked, Lady Imogen was ushering them towards another set of open doors, these overlooking a multi-story grand ballroom. Near the door, liveried servants were tying dance cards to each lady's wrist. Emmaline felt awkward with the burgundy booklet dangling down.

"Follow my lead," Lady Imogen whispered in her ear, tickling Emmaline's cheek with the feathers from her mask. Then she stepped forward and spoke quietly to the master of ceremonies. Oh no. There was no way she could do this. No way.

Obviously deaf to her internal monologue, the master of ceremonies turned to the room at large. "Introducing Lady Imogen, daughter of the Duke of Worthington." With that, Lady Imogen began a slow descent down the stairs, her gloved fingertips barely brushing the marble banister. She truly was grace itself. Emmaline saw that even the king—the only one in the room that hadn't bothered with a mask—took notice of her entrance. The prince, next to the king wearing a handsome dark suit and gold accented mask, was watching as well, although if she didn't know any better he looked a little apprehensive. Nervous, even?

Chartreuse tugged her forward, breaking through the fog that was threatening to settle over her. "Come on, Emmaline, we're being introduced together!" She hissed.

As if on cue, the master of ceremonies boomed out, "Introducing, Lady Rose and Lady Fawn, both of Sorrelwood in Palatia." Emmaline felt herself propelled forward by Chartreuse, and numbly descended the stairs behind her.

At first, all she could was pick a spot on Chartreuse's back and keep the same pace as they slowly walked down the stairs. Before long, she couldn't stand the feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes on her. Taking a breath, she allowed herself to look up from under her lashes at the room, grateful for the anonymity her mask offered.

There were many people watching them descend, but they were polite disinterested, and even more people had ignored them entirely. It seemed Lady Imogen was right when she said that most people wouldn't care about foreigners at the masque: they were confident that the prince would choose someone from his own country. As she let her eyes wander further afield, she noticed that one person was looking at them differently from the rest. The prince appeared to be studying them intently, as if committing them to memory. She dropped her eyes again and finished her descent, blessedly folding herself into the crowd. At the last second she grabbed Chartreuse's hand and all but yanked her along with.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Chartreuse complained.

"Trying to be less conspicuous," Emmaline replied, dragging her to a corner.

"But we can't see the dancing from here!"

Emmaline glared at her. "You may be okay with getting caught and thrown in the dungeon, but I most certainly am not. I need to retain my position at Pendleton house. My father needs me. The stakes are too high for me to be galavanting about the dance floor in front of the entire noble class."

Chartreuse returned her glare with a hard look of her own. "I know what the stakes are for you. I also know that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for both of us, and I for one don't intend to waste it. So if you don't want to dance, that's fine, but I'm going to—"

"Good evening, ladies," a warm, pleasantly male voice sounded.

Emmaline whirled around, Chartreuse following suit. When she saw who it was, she felt like she could die.