The Dying Rose

Chapter Twenty Eight

The Prince waltzed into the ball room, looking desperately toward every person, as if one of him was the one who got away. When he realized that none of the females looking his way with lovestruck eyes was the girl he had been with, his shoulders slumped. With a professional little glance around the room, he walked toward the beginning of a parting through the crowd. Some of the girls were swooning over him, as if the could faint at any second. He, however, did not meet any of their eyes the way he would've tried to before. None of them felt special to him. There's was only one girl that caused a match inside him to light.

Oh, what was he saying? He had just met the girl. There was no way that he had feelings for her.

Or maybe he did. Maybe, somehow during one of their conversations, he had looked at her with more of a passion than he had to begin with. Something about how her eyes danced around from each of his made his heart flutter.

Okay, so maybe he did have feelings for her. But he couldn't do anything about it if he didn't find the girl. So, continuing down the parting, the only thing that raced through his mind was the girl he had fallen for.

Well, that is, until, his father appeared at the end of the parting with a forced smile, that looked fairly welcoming to those who first laid their eyes on him, but Vincent knew better. For his father hadn't looked at him lovingly for quite a while, and this was no exception. He looked at his father with a cold smile, but tried to make it look somewhat believable to the crowd.

"Hello father," Vincent said with a bitter tone, and much to his surprise, the guests around him didn't jump from that. "You look rather tired for this fine evening," he continued, taking in the dark bags under his father's eyes. But that didn't make much sense; his father had always slept in and got a good night's rest.

"Vincent," his father replied with a forced loving voice, that seemed to be sharp at the last part of his name. "May I speak with you in private for a moment?" At that, Vincent gave a stern nod toward his people and followed his father to the hallway, just by the ballroom where everyone slowly collected themselves and started dancing once more.

"What is it?" Vincent snapped coldly at his father as he crossed his arms across his chest. "You have a ball you need to watch over."

"The guards have it under control," his father said wearily before he glared at his son. "But you, I haven't noticed you in the ballroom for the past little while. Where have you been? Have you chosen a girl?"

Vincent rolled his eyes and would've spat at his father if his dignity didn't hold him back. "I have been getting some air, and as for the girl situation, you don't need to know."

"Yes I do," his father nearly yelled but gulped down last second before speaking lower. "I don't care if she's ugly, Vincent. Find a girl or I will choose one for you. I have mentioned this once before, and you still have never picked one. What is not to like about these fine women? The best of the best for you, son! You could treat her like a slave if that changes your mind!" Vincent eyebrows knit together at that and he glared at his father.

"You're a bastard. That's why you couldn't save mom. You never truly loved her." Vincent held his father's gaze before his father slapped him across the face.

"You don't ever say anything like that ever again!" His father was fuming, and smoke could've been coming out of his ears if this wasn't reality.

"I'll keep saying it for you until you admit it. She was your slave, father. Isn't that true?" His father raised his hand again, but instead of slapping his son, he took a step back and jammed his hand into his suit pocket.

His mouth opened slowly, as if he was trying to pick the right words, until a guard ran up to Vincent's father.

"Sir, there was an escape in the dungeon."