At long last, after what seemed to be a week of merrymaking crammed all into one day, Prince Siegfried’s Festival was nearly over. The parade through the streets, the crowning glory of which had been Rue and Mytho’s smiles. The grand feast which had been paradise for Duck’s eyes and stomach. And now, it was time for the one event to top them all:
The royal ball.
Fakir stood at the far east wall of the enormous ballroom, watching the other people in the room make conversation with each other in small groups. He held a glass in one hand filled with champagne; in the other was a small sandwich.
“Fakir!”
He jumped as Duck appeared at his elbow. She was dressed in a simple, pale green gown; her long hair tumbled down her back in waves, loosed from its customary braid.
“I finally found you, Fakir! I had a hard time getting away from those ladies-in-waiting; they wanted to do all this weird stuff to my hair, pile it up on top of my head and everything. I mean, look at me, do I look like the kind of person who could pull that off? I think that with all those hairpins stuck in, I’d look less like a lady and more like a pincushion.”
Fakir looked at her, and kept looking, saying nothing. Duck started to fidget under his gaze.
“Uh… Oh! Is that sandwich for me? Thanks, you shouldn’t have!” With one motion, she swiped the sandwich out of his hand and crammed it into her mouth.
That seemed to snap Fakir out of his daze. “Hey! Idiot, show some manners here at least; people are staring!”
She gulped down the sandwich and glowered back at him. “Well, that’s something, hearing you talking about manners.”
“Me? I—”
“Fakir, Duck.” It was Mytho, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “I’m sorry, Rue told me about how you don’t like the spotlight, but… My advisors are getting very insistent that the Storyteller and Princess Tutu share the first dance together, since you two didn’t want to have the positions of honor at the parade or feast.”
Duck swallowed again. “Me, dance? Here? Now?”
“I’m sorry, Duck. It’s just that my people have waited so long for my return, and—”
She felt a hand envelop hers; looking around, she saw that it was Fakir’s. “We’ll do it.”
“We will?” She squeaked.
Fakir frowned at her. “Didn’t you go to a dance school? Weren’t you training and hoping for a chance to perform like this?”
“Well, yes, but I’m so out of practice… I haven’t danced in weeks…”
He gripped her hand more firmly. “Just follow my lead. Mytho, could the music…?”
At a look from the prince, one of the footmen went scurrying to where the orchestra played a soft, lilting piece. A few moments later, the music gracefully died away. Mytho took Duck’s other hand and led her and Fakir to the middle of the dance floor; people either bowed or curtsied as they passed.
At the center of the floor, Mytho turned to face the crowd. “My people,” he spoke up in a clear, calm voice, “Princess Tutu and Fakir the Storyteller, as the heroes who restored my heart, will honor us with the first dance of the evening.”
He drew away, nodding at the conductor, who turned and struck up the orchestra in the beginning of a waltz.
“Here we go,” Fakir murmured to Duck, placing one hand on her waist, the other still holding her own hand. “Remember, just follow my lead. If it helps, there are no other people here. It’s just us. Just a dance with the two of us.”
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Perseverance
Fanfiction“I love you, Duck.” His breath was soft against her ear. “I know you love Mytho, but… I need to know. Have you ever thought that you could love me, too?”
