Alternatively

Plethora of Princes and Princesses (iii)

The ball was in full swing, all dark colors and glittering finery in the candlelight. The statement chandelier high above was only half lit to achieve such a dim setting and he readjusted his mask in order to see properly.  Jason had only prepared for casual wear, the one formal outfit fit for the party hanging weirdly of his frame. The prince was a rectangle, parallel lines and squared hips, but Percy's shoulders were broad and his torso tapered like a triangle; he didn't move his arms too much, just in case a seam popped.

Noblemen and such company danced and laughed in the hall, flutes of champagne dangling precariously in their loose grasps. He couldn't tell one lady apart from another, aside from the few he had made friends with in the past weeks, and he stuck close to Frank out of paranoia. The queen hadn't made her grand appearance and he was uncomfortable without her filling in the gaps in his lapses of etiquette.

The ambassador was just as grumpy, swirling his drink around as they stood off to the side. Marquess Levesque had to review one of the family mines and it severely put him out.

"I'm sure she misses you too," Percy attempted to console him.

Frank blew a feather out of his face, eyes downcast behind his mask. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Does she ever visit court in Vanderston?"

"No," he grumbled. "There's no reason to, the king hasn't accepted exports and makes my life a living hell."

He raised his eyebrows, though the feeling was weird against the felt backing of his mask.

"Relax, I'm allowed to say it, I'm his nephew."

"That's a fun fact," he appraised the man, supposing he seemed a little royal.

"It's no coincidence he chose me to step in as ambassador," Frank took a long sip of his drink. "No political training, no real reason to be doing any sort of government job outside of the military..."

"You're doing a great job, regardless."

"Tch. Thanks."

Party guests waltzed around them, silver and back gowns blending together and blurring. He tried focusing on fixed points on the walls, but each time he was distracted. There were only a few people standing still and he tried to figure out the identities of each one to remain sane. It was a task that proved concerning, his eyes narrowing as Lady Beauregard continued to shy away from a man in a black mask.

"I hate that guy."

Percy barely glanced at him, straining to keep eyes on the couple. "Why would Luke be talking with her?"

"Probably because he aims to make people's lives terrible," the ambassador spat, clear animosity unleashed as the alcohol flushed his face. "I have no doubt he killed my cousin, I have no doubt he tried to kill me, and I'm so sure he's plotting something now."

The lady was pulled to the dance floor as a new song began and her displeasure was palpable. Annoyance brewed in his gut and Percy handed off his glass, fully ready to intervene, when trumpets blared. All movement stopped, the guests looking to where the queen parted the crowd as she entered the ballroom. His mouth went dry when she spotted him, gray eyes nearly glowing in contrast to her black mask.

Her pace was leisurely and her curtsy before him was minuscule.

"I, uh," he snapped to bow and quickly accepted her ungloved hand. "Me?"

She smirked, settling her other hand on his shoulder. "You."

Dancing wasn't his forte. He didn't attend many balls, as it wasn't his place, and the only time he danced was in the village square during New Years when everyone was out and too drunk to care. He couldn't even hear the music, his heart was beating so loud, and he kept glancing at the masked faces around him. They stared, whispering behind hands and fans, eyes following his every fumble and mistake. His lungs ached, desperate for air as he took shallow breaths, and he-