Short Stories

The Ball

The Rose and Thorn Ball

A short story.

I pace around my room smoothing my hair and flattening my gown. I stop to look at myself in the mirror trying to find something to fix. Being the paranoid person I am, my eyes land on my damask lipstick. I bend down to the height of my mirror and apply one more coat, also layering white powder to cover my features. I freeze at the heavy knock on my door. He knocks once, twice, three times, until I finally turn the knob on the door and open. Behind the door stands a tall man wearing a white button up dress shirt and black pants. His hair is wet against his forehead, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down. His foot taps on the ground, nervously anticipating my arrival.

His eyes widen at my gown and his gaze slowly makes it to mine. He clears his throat before extending his hand out to me. "Good evening, Madam Roseline." My cheeks flush red as I giggle nervously. "Good evening to you too Sir Dorian." I place my hand in his and shut the door to my room. As we get closer to the ball room, I can hear the faint sound of slow music playing. Hearing the music just makes me feel even more unprepared.

Dorian walks beside me, his shiny black shoes tapping on the floor. The sound reverberating through the echoing hall. Here in Chateau de la Callac, you never get a choice. You could be working as a stable boy one day and the next be crowned royalty for no reason.

Dorian is different. He may have once been cowardly, spineless and faint-hearted, but when we met, he changed. Instead of acting the way he did, he would be lost for words when he spoke to me, his cheeks would flush rose whenever I made a snarky comment, and when our hands interlaced in each other's, the whole world would slip away.

As we stand in front of the doors to the ball room, I stare at them wide eyed. Dorian looks down at me smiling. "You nervous?" I shake my head quickly not noticing how obvious it is about how nervous I am. He chuckles and turns to face me. His hands softly connect with either side of my face as his thumb caresses my cheek. "You don't have to be nervous rose. Just put your hands on my shoulders like this." He continues to guide my hands onto his shoulders as he moves his hands to sit on my waist. "See, not that hard, is it?" Feeling a lot calmer than I did previously, I remove my hands from his shoulders and place them in his.

When the ball room door opens, the sound of chatter and clinking wine glasses fill the room. The music is louder but smooth as it plays. As we walk past ladies and gentlemen, greeting them girls giggle and stare at Dorian. Being the kind Prince he is, he takes each dashing ladies hand and gives a slight peck. Of course the girls giggle and swoon over him, he is quite dashing himself. His eyes are ocean blue, and his hair as black as a crows feather. His medals from war line is button up shirt and is blazer hangs over his shoulder.

A servant walks past us shoving a glass of sparkling wine in our hands. He shoves it so hard that some nearly spills out of the glass. "Oh my goodness. My dearest apologies my lady". The servant scrambles down to the floor wiping the wine with a small handkerchief from his pocket. I place a hand on his shoulder, and he stops cleaning. His eyes meet mine in a comforting gaze. "Please. Stop it, its just a bit of wine". I laugh. The servant nods his head and rushes off to the next guest. I watch him as he repeats the same gesture to the other guests. A man and a woman highly dressed in their best attire. Before the servant can apologize, the lady kicks him in the shin and snarls at him in disgust. Shaking my head I bring my focus back to Dorian and his dashing blue eyes. I notice that he was already looking at me. My smiles inches upwards as I put a strand of hair behind my eyes.

***

After a long night of drinking, kissing and small talk with other aristocrats, the song changes for the fifth time this evening. Dorian get up out of his chair and smooths his pants. He leans out to me and lends his hand in a smooth motion. "May I have this dance Madam Roseline." He says in posh fake accent. With a laugh, I too get up from my seat with my champagne in hand. I place my palm in his and we make our way to the dance floor.

His hands land on my waist and mine on his shoulders. We sway to the music moving left and right, ignoring everything and anything that is around us.