Cigno

Scène Deux

The silence that held its breath was worse than the herald's announcement. Allegro tensed at the words, Lady Danseur sucked in a breath, and Madrigal prayed for mercy. She didn't care which Saints listened, only that one of them answered.

All ears were pricked for the sound of heels tapping against the marble, of wealth and power denoting its arrival. Click. Click. Click. The servants lining the outskirts of the ballroom murmured. Madrigal thought she heard a snippet of a prayer slip out from Lady Danseur's mask, but the thrum of her heart convinced her otherwise. Click. Click. Click.

"Oh for Saints' sake, hurry it up," whispered Allegro. Lady Danseur hushed him with a hiss. At that moment, the clicking stopped. More breaths were stolen, diffusing the air with unsaid words and worries. Madrigal felt Allegro's hand drift towards the front of his suit, so she pulled his arm closer, shaking her head once. His mask dipped in acknowledgement as his hand returned to its original position.

An arch overlooked the entrance to the ballroom, wreathed in the traditional blooms of spring. From the shadows hanging beneath it stepped the highest authority in the land: Prince Orlando Giovanni Arabesque the First. The Prince had chosen the guise of St. Romeo, complete with a bow and quiver strapped across his back. Antlers sprung from his leather mask, so realistic Madrigal thought he had cut them off a buck himself.

Two paces behind him were the true guests of honor: Lady Chiarina and Lord Luca. Sweat trickled down the nape of Madrigal's neck as she watched them sashay into the light. Lavender and burgundy; two shades of purple, two glittering costumes.

Lady Chiarina was a blossom of tulle and gemstones, her mask a pair of butterfly wings. Each wing was diamond-studded and a foot long, twinkling like the sky itself had descended just to grace her face. Her escort, Lord Luca, was the velvet thorn to her blossom. A pair of spikes jutted from each shoulder, holding up the fur-lined cape which cascaded off his back.

The Prince and his entourage encrouched closer, gliding over the marble. Madrigal watched the hem of Lady Chiarina's dress sway and dance with every step, suddenly self-concious about how form-fitting her own gown was. She forced her fingers to remain still despite their ache to adjust her feathers.

Unlike everyone else, Lady Chiarina had opted for a half-mask, revealing two dimples and a strong nose. It was easy to imagine what the rest of her looked like, all soft lines and full cheeks. Though they'd only just met, Madrigal felt less somehow around Lady Chiarina.

She felt...ostentatious. Over-dressed. Not like the Solar Goddess at all. More like a cheap, poorly crafted imitation. If this was how the rest of the night was to be, she wished the ball would end now.

Stopping before the dais, the Prince spread out his arms, showcasing the illustriousness of his suit. A masterpiece of silk and thread, Elio would have been jealous of the leaves sewn into the rich, jade fabric, of the way their silver outlines flashed and faded under the flickering torchlight. "Lady Danseur, a pleasure as always."

"Your Highness." The Lady curtseyed. "We are ever so honored you gifted us with your presence."

The Prince waved off her flattery. "But of course, my good Lady. I wouldn't have missed Lord Allegro's engagement for the world." Turning to Madrigal and Allegro, he said, "My congratulations, Lord Allegro, Lady Madrigal. I wish you the utmost happiness."

Warmth traveled down Madrigal's spine at the Prince's words. Lady Madrigal—he had called her Lady Madrigal.

Grateful once again for her mask, Madrigal curtseyed as Allegro bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness. To be blessed by Your Highness is a gift in and of itself."