The Princess's Servant

61. The Frame

Moving through the crowd was like trying to move through thick forest — everywhere Sybil stepped, there was something to step over. The guests' bodies were like tree trunks. Their masks were like snagging branches. Sybil felt like she was in a herd that she couldn't escape from. How was she ever supposed to find the prince this way?

"Good Sir," the princess said, though the man in the horse mask ignored her. She grumbled, and tried again. "Good madam," she called, tapping a crane-masked woman on the arm. The woman turned. "I'm searching for Prince Holden. Might you know where he—"

The woman was jostled away by a man making his way through the crowd. Sybil grumbled a little louder. "You!" She tried, calling this time to a rooster-masked man in white robes. "Have you seen the prince?"

The man drew in breath to answer, but he and the princess were pushed roughly aside by a smaller man in a white fox mask. Sybil felt him hit her in the hip, hard. She fell forward, but caught herself with her two hands before she could find herself too embarrassed. She picked herself up, but not before feeling some antlers poke her in the back. "Hey!" She cried, whipping around barely in time to see a buck-masked man whisked away by the crowd.

The music blared. Drink sloshed and splashed. Sybil felt strangers rock into her. Was this really how the Wardians partied? This was madness. This was like how some heathens in the woods might comport themselves — not nobles. Nobles were supposed to sit up in their seats and pick at exotic roasted birds. They were supposed to take small sips from delicate wine cups and speak one-at-a-time at the table. They were not supposed to jostle around like hooligans.

Sybil felt her energy draining. Her throat was sore from the yelling. She allowed herself to relax just a little and to sway like kelp in the human sea.

"You there!"

Her eyes shot open. Holden! She thought. But no, the tone was off.

Sybil turned just in time to face some approaching guards.

They too were in masks — boars, Sybil noted — though they wore leather armor and swords at their hips. At their arrival, a small clearing opened up around the three of them and the princess was granted a moment of relief.

"We've received reports that you've stolen the queen's jewelry, your highness," one of them said. "We insist you come with us."

Curious on-lookers oriented their masked faces towards the scene. Sybil's nose scrunched. "What? No I haven't," she said.

"It wasn't a request," said the other guard. And he grabbed the princess and pulled her by her arm.

Sybil resisted and tried to get out, but the guard's grasp was too tight. His massive gloved hand easily wrapped around her willowy forearm and didn't let up.

But just as he was about to pull her into the crowd...

"Stop." An oaken voice. Sybil and the guard both turned.

Standing there in black robes was the man with the buck mask. His stance was firm and his chest was board. His hands were clasped behind his back and his head was held high. Sybil's brow scrunched at the sight of him. Something fluttered in her breast.

"What's going on here?" The man asked.

Sybil forced herself to breathe.

"Your highness," the guard replied. "There were reports that the princess has stolen your mother's jewelry."

"Her jewelry?" The man asked.

The two guards looked to one another. "Her signature emerald necklace, your highness," the other guard clarified.

'Your highness...' Those words rang in Sybil's head. Her eyes widened. She drank in the sight of robes like night, of ceramic antlers like branches.

"And where might these rumors have come from?" The man asked.

One guard opened his mouth, but only managed a "Uh..."

The other shook his head. "We picked up the rumor from the crowd, your highness."

"From the crowd? You harass a princess over a rumor from the crowd?" The prince motioned to the drunken sloshing masses all around them.

The stammering guard stammered still, but the other bowed his head. "All respect due, your highness. The necklace is missing, and so we must investigate. Come now, princess," the guard said, and he pulled Sybil.

"As your prince, I command you to stop."

The guard froze and obeyed with a heavy sigh. Sybil stared still at that mask of his. That shiny ebony mask that reflected back her own warped face on the surface of the lacquer.

"Your highness—"

"Here." The deer-masked man unpocketed dark gems that glittered in the candlelight like little green stars. The necklace. Sybil's eyes drank in the sight.

Even through the masks, the guards seem startled. One of them halfway jumped.

"Return it to my brother," the prince said, and he placed the gems in the gloved palm of the guard. The guard released Sybil. "Inform him that I was only longing to feel my mother close and did not mean to stir up trouble."

"Right..." said the guard, studying the jewels. "Our deepest apologies, your highness," he bowed. "There seems to have been a misunderstanding."

The man turned his back on the three of them and stepped back into the crowd.

"Wait—!" Sybil called, but it was too late. As the guards walked off, the crowd flooded back in and bumped and jabbed Sybil's small frame once more. She could see the tips of black antlers over the heads of the masked hedonists, but soon those too were out of sight. And Sybil was left feeling utterly alone.

"What do you mean it wasn't on her?" The prince's voice was barely above a whisper, but it had the force of a yell.

"Your brother had it, your majesty." Sebastian dipped his head.

Prince Thomas stared at that little white dot in a sea of black-robed debaucherers. His eyes lit up like glinting obsidian. "He's still protecting her," he said. The prince tilted his chin downwards and watched as Sybil was pushed and pulled by the crowd. "I'm going to need to turn up the heat."

A/N: Here's Friday's chapter ridiculously early 👀 Please remember to vote! <3

Bonus chapter likely coming out before next Friday!