Glass

Chapter Two: The Ball (Part I)

I waited nervously, praying to the Sun that mother would change her mind and stop the guards from opening the gates. Maybe now, of all times, a strike of paranoia from my father would be a good thing - an irrational panic that these women could be out to kill me and take my fortune, and thus he would have the entire function called off for my safety.

But I was never so lucky.

Just tonight, I thought, then I can be free of this place.

Of course, that would require me finding a bride. That night, I would have had to make a commitment I could not take back, and I was not in the right mindset to do it.

Mother had adorned me in a piece once owned by my father. It was an embellished waistcoat of indigo and gold, jacketed atop a black shirt with a stifling collar. My shoes were sleek and pointed - tailored specifically for dance - and were heeled with a gold plate. Emiliano insisted I was "simply dashing" - which wasn't much comfort given Emiliano was dressed head to toe in a bottle green coat inappropriate for the sweltering heat. Mother and father also repeated the notion, but I refused to look into any mirrors as I feared it would make me feel worse. Father took it upon himself to brush and slick my inky hair back, growing increasingly frustrated at the few strands that refused to go down and flopped back in front of my face. He had been sweating and quaking all day, and I could think of plenty of reasons for it. I was shaking too.

I waited in the ballroom, freshly dusted and polished after years of little use. It looked brand new to me; a giant chandelier glimmering down on the ivory marble below, each candle atop it shining through glass shards and hitting every corner of the room with light. Torches were ignited on the ascending pillars that edged the stairs, their heat much more welcoming in winter months than they were then. Their smoke rippled into the sky, getting lost on its way to the colossal ceilings, painted in white and gold. Three tiers of balconies watched over the ballroom floor, and my father appeared at the highest one to observe my inevitable discomfort and embarrassment. Mother and her guards eagerly waited at the grand doors - doors I never before knew were painted crimson on the outside.

One minute to the hour.

My heart was in my throat.

Thirty seconds.

Why was time moving so fast?

Twenty seconds.

I looked at my father.

Ten seconds.

Is it too late to run?

Zero.

The band played.

The doors groaned open.

And I was stood in the centre of a loud, echoing cavern, soon to be flooded with waves of strangers.

My feet were planted in the ground, my body stiff. One by one, Emiliano at the door announced the various names of seemingly every woman in the world, until the once-endless ballroom was cramped with people. Overwhelmed, I looked around, unsure of who to approach first. Before I could make a decision, it already seemed women were wanting to approach me first. My lessons in traditional etiquette did not prepare me for that.

"Your highness!"

A fair-skinned woman curtsied enthusiastically.

I had already forgotten what Emiliano read her name as.

I smiled nervously and bowed in return. At least she seemed excited to see me.

"May I have this dance?" She took my hand before I could even answer.