A Royal Ruse

Chapter 8

A Royal Debut

The palace's grand hall rumbled with people.

The masses roared and swelled throughout the room like a glittering tide, sipping from crystal cups as effervescent as their chatter. Zita stood glued to the outskirts, afraid she might get swallowed if she ventured too far into its depths. The princess used the back of her hand to dab the ever-multiplying sweat beads from her face, being extremely careful not to wipe off the thick kohl lines that swooped across her eyelids like crow's wings.

An awful lot of preparation went into being 'Princess Nara of Sandor'. She had thought the seamstress would simply throw an exotic-looking dress on her and call it a day. But she was mistaken. Accessories hung from her neck and lobes like sparkling fruit and her coily hair had been wrangled into an intricately braided updo. All traces of 'Zita' had been eradicated. She was a walking parade of gemstones and deception. Her reflection still startled her whenever she caught a glimpse of it in one of the many shiny surfaces surrounding her.

Ornately decorated tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the hall facing the royal table which sat perched on an elevated platform on the far side of the room. The clearing created in the distance between set a stage for the nobility to cluster into groups while servants weaved through, carrying silver platters gleaming with sparkling drinks and finger foods.

Zita swiped a glass of the festive-looking yellowish beverage everyone seemed to be enjoying. She needed desperately to occupy her fidgety hands and calm the whirlpool in her belly. She gulped it down, only to immediately regret it.

Zita sputtered and hissed,  jerking her cup away from her. She had initially thought the drink looked like fizzy urine but she didn't expect it would taste like it too.

"You look familiar."

The princess snapped out of her fit of disgust to see a willowy girl with emeralds for eyes anchoring in front of her.

"I'm sure I've seen you before." The girl's seafoam-green dress swished against her russet skin as she drew nearer, desperately trying to place the princess within her memory.

The blood drained from Zita's face. She had barely stepped foot in the ballroom. How could her cover have already been blown?

"I know!" Recollection bloomed on the young woman's impossibly symmetrical face. "You went to the Leneir Academy for Girls, didn't you?"

Zita felt something uncoil in her chest. She could breathe again.

"No, I was tutored privately." Zita lifted the cup back to her lips (careful not to sip any more of its contents) hoping it would obscure as much of her face as possible.

"I'm Harita." The woman flashed a smile, as gummy as it was wide. "And your name was?"

Zita tentatively lowered the glass.

"Nara. My name is Nara." the words eked out clumsily but Zita hoped it wasn't detectable.

"Nara," Harita repeated and then considered, "I've never met a Nara before. Who are you here with? Your parents? A date? Perhaps I know them." Her laugh was frothy but her gaze — hawkish.

"No parents. No date," Zita angled her body towards the servant who had just brushed past with a platter of canapes. "If you'll excuse me —."

"I love your dress." Harita stepped even closer, blocking the princess's line of escape, "I've been looking for a new seamstress. Who's yours?" she asked, rubbing the yellow silk of Zita's sleeve between her fingers.

"The royal seamstress." Zita dabbed her forehead again. She was desperately trying to remain cool under the pressure of Harita's mounting interest and complete disregard for personal space.