The Last Royal--on hold

Ch 1 Arren

alright! so, first story on wattpad and one of my many failed attempts at a full length novel. kinda excited about this one cos i actually feel like i have a plot. problem is the characters seem a little flat. comments greatly apprectiated, 'specially critical ones :)

chapter 1: Arren

Music and voices echoed through the marble pillared halls of the palace. The kingdom of Linderwall was celebrating the five hundred year anniversary of its founding with great magnificence. In the great hall, bright torches blazed while the queen and most of her daughters danced and made polite, diplomatic small talk with all of the various noble guests who had been invited.

In the passages outside the great hall, six teenagers were laughing drunkenly as they stumbled down a hallway. One of them, with her arms across the shoulders of two young men and a tiara slanted on her black hair, was the queen's youngest daughter, Princess Arren.

"Slow down!" she laughed! "Slow down! Can't run in these shoes!"

Ryan, the boy on her right grinned, "Her highness is weary of walking."

"Perhaps she requires a litter," suggested Lyle, the compatriot on her left.

Swiftly they lifted her and ran down the passage. The rest of their companions followed suite, laughing and giggling. Just as they reached the giant wooden doors at the end of the hall, Arren sagged between them, giggling so hard that she couldn't speak. Lyle and Ryan stopped, laughing as well, and the others in the group caught up with them and passed around a silver flask of champagne.

Just then, the doors boomed open. One of them caught Lyle in the shoulder, provoking a uproar of derisive hoots from the rest of the company. Arren recovered from her laughter and looked up to see the Chamberlain Thomas frowning at her. She smiled at him, impervious to his disapproval, and stood shakily. She spread her arms in a exaggerated gesture of grandeur. Her words slurred as she spoke,

"Welc'm, Lord Chamberl'n, to 'e court of our royal maj'sty! What 's your err'nd here?" The youths gathered around her promptly sank to one knee and kowtowed.

Thomas shook his head in disappointment, "Her majesty the Queen summons you to make your appearance before the guests of this gathering. However, as you seem in no condition to do so, it looks as if I will have to make your excuses for you. Again."

Arren frowned, obviously concentrating very hard to make her words clear and precise, "Nonsense, Thomas, I am perfectly capable of pandering to a few nobles for a minute or so."

She straightened her crown and her dress and strode past him through the doors.

"Alright," Thomas warned as she went by, "Just don't get too close and breathe on them."

Despite her spinning head, the young princess walked, straight and confident, through the crowd of colorfully dressed nobility, giving polite "hellos" to those she passed. She skirted the dance floor where couples swirled and spun--and made her stomach flip if she looked at them too long--until she came to the dais at the front of the ballroom. There, cushioned on the red velvet, sat Queen Clarissa, stately and regal. She was dressed in gold and pearls and speaking diplomatically with a nobleman across from her. She looked the epitome of a highborn monarch. Arren felt a pang of unhappiness as she compared her mother's calm and collected demeanor with her own hasty composure.

'Oh well,' she thought, 'there's nothing for it now.' She stepped forward.

"Ah, Princess Arren!" the queen said, more to make the others aware of her daughter's presence than as a welcome, "How wonderful of you to join us."

The lord she had been speaking to turned to face the princess. He was very tall, broad-shouldered, and his skin was very pale. Dark eyes glinted under thick eyebrows. Something in his stance made Arren uncomfortable, but she put it out of her mind and dipped her head to the queen.

"Greetings, mother. My congratulations on the party. It is breath-taking." It was the minimal amount that she could have said in order to appear polite and yet not lose control of her voice.

"I am glad you think so," the queen answered with a smile, but her eyes were cold. 'Too bad you're seeing it double,' they said. Arren smiled back, but in her mind, she was giving the queen a rather tangled snappy comeback.

"Lord Rigel Devareau of Marchet, have you met my youngest daughter?"

The nobleman who had been speaking with the queen bowed, "No, I don't believe I have had the pleasure. I am delighted to make your aquaintance, your highness." He smiled. His eyes met hers in a way that said this was not just a meaningless pleasantry. It made Arren's skin crawl, but she blamed that on the champagne.

Arren smiled back at him and offered him her hand instead of curtsying; she didn't trust herself not to fall over. Still, she kept Thomas's advice in mind and held her breath as he bent in to kiss her hand. If he noticed the shakiness of her hands or the smell of alcohol, he made no indication. As his thin lips touched the back of her hand, she fought the urge to pull away. When he released it, she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her back, rubbing at the one he had kissed.

"The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure," she lied and turned to the Queen. "If you'll excuse me, mother, I must greet our other guests."

"Certainly," Queen Clarissa said. Arren dipped her head to her mother and Lord Devareau and walked away, concentrating firmly on each step to make sure she did not stumble until she reached a side door.

Ironically, she was so focused on walking quickly and in a straight line that she did not see the figure hurrying into the hall until she ran into him.

She began to fall backward and had a vague moment of worry that her whole charade was ruined before strong arms caught her and pulled her out into the passage.

"I'm sorry, miss! Forgive me! I should have been paying more attention!" said a man's voice that was noticeably full of mortification. Arren made sure her feet her firmly planted on the floor before looking up at his worried face.

Her eyes met a remarkably handsome young man who looked about her age. His brown hair was combed and straight, but a few locks fell into his brown eyes which were filled with shock and concern. She smiled at him flirtatiously.

"Don't worry about it, darling. Being in your arms quite makes up for it."

She had forgotten not to breathe on him. He recoiled slightly as the blast hit him, "I see my clumsiness isn't to blame after all."

Arren gasped, insulted by his lack of tact and embarrassed at her own forwardness. She stepped back, pushing him away, and almost fell again. She drew herself up and glowered regally at him.

"Really! I'll have you know I was doing just fine until you ran into me! If you had watched where you were going, no one would have known the difference!"

He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Yes, I'm sure the way your dress is falling off one shoulder is enough to distract them from how stumbling drunk you are."

Arren could feel her face reddening in rage and embarrassment as she tugged the strap of her dress back into place. Her mind fumbled for an appropriately venomous retort and failed, so she changed the subject, "Weren't you in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"Yes, indeed," he replied, "but if you require my assistance, I would be happy to escort you to your rooms."

She curtsied mockingly, "No thank you, I have a feeling I'll manage much better without you," and swept away down the hall.

The effect was quite ruined when she tripped over her hem and stumbled against the wall. Her face blushed again as she drew herself up and continued walking to the echoing sound of his laughter.