sbi royalty

a ball

As it turned out, Wilbur's schedule actually was not free. It simply appeared that way as it was assumed Wilbur knew what he was supposed to be doing that day, bad move.

Writing. One of his favourite past times was gradually turned awful when he was asked time and time again, to write speeches.

While usually people write speeches for royalty, the king saw such promise in his eldest son he had always let Wilbur write them. His previous speeches always had his character in them; he usually made a point to insert his loathing of writing them into the speeches themselves. He had a reputation for it at this point and however much his aides hated him for it, he cared little.

"Just write something, something, anything!" Wilbur loosened his grip on the quill he was using and promptly flicked it away, it clattered on the desk with a few ink drops scattered nearby.

Wilbur's face scrunched slightly as he drew his necks slowly up to the clock on his wall and read the time.

'How is it already half past one?'

He returned his gaze to the empty piece of parchment that glared almost menacingly at him on his desk. His eyes closed for a moment and he leaned back in the leather-backed chair he preferred most in his study.

'Why on Earth did I get up at 5 am? Why?'

He let out an exasperated sigh.

'And now there is a stupid ball that no one told me about, which is obviously going to be attended by stupid people wearing stupid clothes and...'

"I have to write a speech."

Hours passed with much more pacing of the  study and much less actual writing, and so, he gave up.

In fact enough time had passed that his valet had arrived (who he often dismissed out of stubbornness) to help dress and ready him for the ball. They trekked back to Wilbur's quarters and he looked upon the clothes in his walk in wardrobe with dismay. What he would wear, of course, was not decided by him. The outfit was far too cluttered for Wilbur with jewellery that glittered from even the weakest of sun rays; he felt like some walking display cabinet. Phil always made them wear it as a show of wealth of their kingdom. Tommy hated it, Techno quite liked it, though he had never though to ask why.

Nevertheless, he was ready, not with a speech, or mentally, but ready in a Wilbur sort of way.

He took one look in the mirror, then decided he had enough time to pace about his study once again. As he walked he passed a sturdy grandfather clock that chimed 6pm. The sound echoed through the hallways and seemed to follow Wilbur all the way up to the study.

'Guests will start to arrive any minute now, but I'm not needed for a while, that's fine, I have some time.'

He planted his hands firmly on his desk and leaned forward, trying to get a good view of the main entrance from the odd angle of his window. He saw flashes of overcoats and dresses as the country's aristocracy began to gather.

The ball gowns and the flattery were two of the things that confused and annoyed him the most; expensive and pointless respectively. While Wilbur admitted to himself he liked the luxurious lifestyle he could never get his head around the culture that got dragged along with it. It's almost like a stubborn cat; you must give it attention when it wants it, but God forbid you try to take it anywhere or move it in a direction it doesn't want to go, because any sort progress is completely absurd.

Wilbur stared a moment longer, then pushed back, and headed straight downstairs. He paused for a moment at the top of the last staircase, clutching the balcony railing that overlooked the foyer. The many attendees swanned around the room handing over coats and making small talk.

'Grim, but it could be a lot worse, I suppose.'

He decided to divert for a minute, to avoid the seeping in of guests that were slowly flooding the ground floor. He noticed a passing servant carrying a tray of champagne, and snatched one on his way past. He drank it quickly, placing the glass on a nearby chest of drawers and continuing on his way. On his travels, he noticed a little alcove and made a mental note to go back later, once things had died down a bit and everyone was at least tipsy, if not drunk, and wouldn't notice his absence.

He finally reached a different staircase, one which he knew he had to take. Clutching the banister, he padded down the velvet red carpeted steps, and turned the knob on the door at the bottom.

Guets had now began to fill up the main ballroom, it's high vaulted ceiling expertly decouarated with tales of heaven and earth as gods and war. Wilbur had almost forgotten what is was to like to stare up at. Even the wooden beams that held up that almost-real sky, were carved with flowers and leaves or sometimes simply little patterns.

Most of the attendees hugged the walls with some beginning to venture nearer the centre of the ballroom. They gathered in small groups and always seemed to be looking up and down at other groups, spreading the latest gossip Wilbur guessed. Various waiters floated around the room offering drinks and nibbles; it was a fairly typical ball.

Wilbur took a few steps into the room and then started to walk around the outside, searching for any familiar face that he'd like to talk to. No one caught his eye. An unfamiliar voice then spoke behind him.

"Your Royal Highness, do you have a spare moment?" The voice belonged to a prominent duke who Wilbur only knew from disgruntled mentions by his father about taxes and inflation and the state of the country. Though he was certainly one of the less controversial aristocrats Wilbur knew of.

At some point the man started talking, then stopped, Wilbur had not really heard much but politely nodded when seemed appropriate and made sure to make a hasty exit at the closest opportunity. He wandered the room some more but still found no one interesting to talk to. His father had entered the room while he daydreaming; it was announced to all, and quickly attracted a flock of people his way.

'No one would notice if I left for a minute, I'm not needed for while anyway.'

He slipped out while everyone's heads were turned listening to Phil give some welcome, and he turned a corner without any fuss. As he walked all the shiny trophies and armour and ornament appeared to gleam at him, reflecting the warm overheard light right at his eyes, beckoning him back. Wilbur pressed on, and came to a little nook in the hallway, with a seat looking out of the window and into the grounds. He sat down, bringing one leg onto the cushioned seat, and letting the other rest in the floor. He leaned back into the wall, and the cold and roughness of the stone shocked him initially, but after a few seconds he grew used to it. His eyes shut on their own.

'Oh why am I like this? Everyone else is perfectly content enjoying the-'

"Excuse me, are you Prince Wilbur?" A high pitched, but delicate voice came from above him. He jolted upright and nearly head butted her!  He recoiled quickly, and stood slightly timidly with her hands clasped together, her white dress swaying just a little around he ankles. It was finely and beautifully embroidered and complemented her short blond hair well. Wilbur found himself staring for a minute, still confounded.

"Uh yes, that is me, I believe."

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im still alive lmao, there's a part 2 to this coming at some point :)