The Princess's Servant

62. The Cousin

Sybil was caught in the slosh for at least four or five of the band's drawn out songs. But slowly, slowly, she shoved her way over to the outskirts of the crowd and had succeeded in regaining most of her personal space.

It was in these same outskirts by the snack tables and the honey wine that she met Edward. He'd spotted her from across the way and had sauntered on up to her. And just like that, Sybil had gone from being trapped in a mosh pit to being trapped in a conversation. A fate worse than getting trampled, Sybil soon decided.

The man introduced himself and the Emperor's cousin and hadn't shut up since. He was a middle aged man who wore his tiger mask on the back of his head and his white toga loose. His unshaved whiskers and curled pepper hair both bobbed up and down as he talked. And how the man could talk.

Seven. That was the number of times Sybil had tried to excuse herself, all of which had only seemed to make him talk faster. The princess thought about simply walking away from the man, but she was certain he'd follow her, and she didn't know where else to go. She wanted to find the prince, but he was long gone into the crowd, and she figured she had just as good a chance running into him out here as anywhere.

"And that's when Margerie told me that she hadn't been beneath the sheets. Anne had!"

Another end to another one of his boring — and vaguely concerning — stories. Sybil kept her arms crossed as she stared out at the crowd of dancing drunks. Still no sign of antlers.

"But I'm sure a virgin like you wouldn't know anything of such tales..." The man slouched.

Sybil stopped her searching and slowly turned her head to the man. "Beg pardon?" She asked.

The man held out a hand. "Why your costume of course!" He laughed. "That's what you are aren't you? A virgin?"

Sybil stuck her nose up at him. "I, sir, am a maid. I'm appalled that you'd insinuate anything otherwise."

"So you're not a virgin then?" Edward smiled a broad smile and pumped his eyebrows. Sybil recoiled in disgust. "Because I figured one dressed in white that pure had to be pure herself."

Sybil raised her eyebrows. "Is that what you'd assume? Are you perhaps speaking from experience?" Sybil pointed to Edward's own snow white toga. He raised his arms and looked down at it.

"Oh this isn't—" he chuckled, clutching the garment close to him. "On a man this means nothing! I assure you, if this white represents anything of mine, it certainly isn't my purity."

Sybil stared at the man. He stared back with this narrow-toothed grin and Sybil nodded once. "I'm finished here," she said, and she turned to leave. 

She felt a hand grip her shoulder, and in an instant she had the screaming instinct to grab the wrist and pull his body over her shoulder the way Marcus had showed her. It would be easy. Like lifting someone, but in reverse. Sybil had to tell herself to resist.

"No, you're not." Edward pulled Sybil to face him.

The princess's eyes lit with flames and she ducked her pointed chin. "Sir," she said, her jaw as tense as a snake about to strike. "Perhaps you weren't listening when I introduced myself. I am Princess Sybil of Lailoy, heir to the kingdom's throne and the future bride of Prince Holden himself. I would heavily advise against touching me again." Sybil went to shove his hand off of her, but he wouldn't budge. She tried again. No luck.

"Bride of no one," Edward said with a smile. Sybil could smell the honey wine on his breath and her brow furrowed. She tried to shove his hand off again."I heard about what happened with your wedding," he said. "You're single, now, aren't you?" Edward leaned in close and he brought his mouth to her ear. "Which means you're all alone." Shivers shuttered up the princess's spine. "You're fair game," he whispered.