The Hands of Fate

Chapter 8

The palace seemed to come alive with activity, even if the Royal ball was in a week. Farah barely managed to receive time off, and, on the rare occasions she did, she tried to split the time with Mr. Smith and Caspian.

Although Caspian himself was almost always busy, Farah always made sure to sneak a quick chat with him. Somehow, she had mastered the art of sharing a few words with the Prince before anyone else could really notice. In those few minutes, however, Farah and Caspian only continued to grow on each other. Both were unsure of their feelings towards the other, but with each passing day things never became clearer.

On the days that Farah visited the town, she would make sure to steer clear of Mr. Smith's shop, as it would be filled with lines upon lines of ladies waiting to order or receive dresses for the ball. It was times like these that Mr. Smith's shop flourished.

Even as Farah would smile, watching all the ladies busy themselves with choosing which dress would be the most flattering—a sort of sadness swelled inside of her. She wouldn't be attending the ball, she's be serving in it. She would have no gown, nor would she dance with a dashing man who would sweep her off her feet. She had no reason to be excited for the occasion. If anything, she should be dreading it.

Occasionally, Farah would help Mr. Smith with some of the minor designs on the more difficult dresses, thus making the tailor even more grateful for her presence; but she typically stay in the palace during her breaks, glad to get a few breaths of air in before work started again.

One day, Farah stood in the ballroom, cleaning a vase. She was the only one there, and didn't seem to mind. Rubbing the cool ceramic, she made sure the piece shined before she put it on display. Once it shimmered in the light, Farah placed the vase
on a long wooden table, then going to clean another piece of delicate pottery. As she was doing this, Caspian wandered by, talking to a royal guard.

As he saw Farah by herself, he dismissed the guard, telling him it was for something important. The guard reluctantly nodded, not seeing Farah, and headed off. With that, the Prince strode into the ballroom, his steps making little to no noise. He crept up behind Farah silently and, in a playful manner, patted her shoulder. At Caspian's touch, Farah jumped, almost dropping the pottery that most definitely cost more than her life.

"My gods, Caspian, you scared me!" She exclaimed, feigning anger as she hit his arm, placing the pottery on the table. He laughed, smiling down at her. "So, what brings you here?" She asked curiously, beaming at him, "because I know you aren't here for no reason."

"I want you to teach me how to dance," the Prince said, not even sure where he was going with the conversation.

Farah stared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Afraid not."

"But... didn't you get lessons when you were younger?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then you don't need my help! I can barely dance to begin with!" Farah responded sternly, throwing her hands in the air. Caspian merely grinned.

"Then I can help you!"

"There's no need to. I-"

"Why not? I could-"

Caspian was suddenly cut off by Farah who cupped her hand over his mouth. "If you'd let me speak, you'd know why." She pulled her hand away from the Prince's lips, and continued to speak. "I am a servant, I am not going to be coming to dance at the palace for the ball."

"What? Why not? Everyone should be invited."

"If everyone was invited then no one would be able to serve the ball, nincompoop." Farah joked, a smile on her lovely face, though her eyes spoke the truth: she truly did want to come.