The Castle of Naltese

Royal Courtyard

Fireworks blazed the darkening sky, a burst of yellow, white, and green against a sunset backdrop that basked the castle in warm light.

An assembly line of carriages pulled by large shire horses lined up in the courtyard, where chauffeurs presented their royal passengers into the humble night. Glamourous guests flocked like birds into the castle, their voices loud and assertive.

"What an impressive display!" said one.

"It's too loud," complained another.

Two Naltesian royal guards welcomed the nobility and gentry into the grand entryway, an eight-foot arch lit by two round enchanted yellow lanterns floating in the air.

Each guest traversed through a grand foyer, directed by red carpet along a wide path that led beneath a large second-floor balcony, posted with two guards, and into the energetic ballroom.

The dancefloor was populated with partners waltzing to a serendipitous orchestra of flutes and violins. It was romantic and elegant with a bewildering charm. The imagery was almost dreamlike, a sea of wealth and majesty.

Dukes and Duchesses. Counts and Countesses. Princes and Princesses. It was a fantasy dream come true.

At the far end of the ballroom was the King's throne.

King Armose of Naltese perched on an emerald cushion, overlooking the delightful occasion, while two smaller thrones were placed at either side of him.

Princess Loné occupied one, her body clothed in a dazzling red dress and pink hair pinned into a flamboyant updo to showcase the golden hooped earrings pierced through her ears. A golden pendant dangled from her neck, her eyes sharp and vigilant as she assessed the crowd with a judgemental chin tilt.

King Armose looked at the empty chair to his right.

"Where is your sister?" he asked Loné, who rolled her eyes at the question.

She smiled as a young man approached her, offering a hand to dance. She squared her shoulders and stood. "Forget about Cerise, father." Loné took the man's hand. "Tonight is about me."

King Armose huffed and shook his head as the man led Loné to the dancefloor.

Above the commotion in the castle's west wing, Cerise eagerly prepared for the ball, tended to by her three maids.

She wore the dress from Madam Laroo's boutique, a simple indigo gown with a light blue fur collar.

A maid touched the fur with her finger and shivered. "Is it scratching your neck, milady? I can cut it shorter."

"Leave it, Odette," snapped another while fluffing out Cerise's long hair. "She's already late."

"Pink or silver earrings, your Highness?" asked the third.

Cerise stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, silent while humming herself into a trance.

"Pink, she hates the silver, Gloris," said Odette.

"What is with this girl?" Gloris asked as she pinched the pink earrings into Cerise's ear lobes. The princess briefly jerked and then relaxed again.

Cerise smiled. All she could imagine was Doran dancing on the stage of The Wandering Pixie, his infectious laugh and charming grin.

She suddenly jumped up from the vanity stool, catching the maids off guard.

Cerise twirled around her bedroom and started to sing.

I can see him dancing there,

A charming bard with dark brown hair.

I'm in love with an ordinary stranger.

The maids watched her with surprise.

Hurry now, but please don't rush,

A thought of him makes me blush.

I'm in love with an ordinary stranger.

Cerise wrestled her way free from the maids and ran towards the hallway.

"Wait!" said Odette. "You're not wearing lipstick!"

Her words fell on deaf ears.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Gloris said. She waved a hand and muttered something under her breath. Then, with a snap of her fingers, Cerise's lips glossed over with a burgundy shade.

Cerise waved goodbye to the maids and then ran down the west wing corridor, her voice filled with excitement.

What is this, I feel?

A desire that feels so real.

Tonight I have the advantage,

Because I sing with the love language.

Cerise ran through the castle and descended a flight of stairs to the main floor.

Oh, the language of love,

It's so very intoxicating.

A gift from the heavens above.

Pure and never fading.

Cerise smiled and checked the time on a tall oak clock ticking against the wall. It was nearly six. She squirmed with glee and danced across the white tile floor.

***

Doran's heart pounded as Fae tailored an old brown suit jacket around her torso, patched with yellow squares. His hair was combed back on the left side, the right messy and flapping against his face.

While mid-stroke with a needle, Fae dazzled her fingers and magically combed back Doran's hair to give it a consistent, formal style.

Doran sighed and pictured Cerise twirling in his arms.

I can see her dancing there,

A servant girl with flaxen hair.

I was in love with an ordinary stranger.

Fae finished the jacket and threw him a pair of leather boots.

"Put those on," she said.

Doran obeyed and continued to sing through the process.

But now I know the truth,

A royal princess in disguise.

Not just any ordinary stranger.

He finished his ensemble and thanked Fae with an embrace, then glanced at the clock above the bar and ran for the door without another word.

Doran burst into the lamp-lit outside world and skipped along the cobblestone streets.

What is this, I feel?

A desire that feels so real.

Tonight I have the advantage,

Because I sing with the love language.

He gripped a lamp pole and spun in a couple of circles before sprinting toward the castle.

Oh, the language of love,

It's so very intoxicating.

A gift from the heavens above.

Pure and never fading.

***

Cerise reached the ballroom but turned and ran through the front entrance into the night.

She bounced down the stairs into the courtyard, her figure illuminated by the setting sun.

What is this, I feel?

A desire that feels so real.

Tonight I have the advantage,

Because I sing with the love language.

She danced in the courtyard, now quiet and desolate.

Oh, the language of love,

It's so very intoxicating.

A gift from the heavens above.

Pure and never fading!

A movement caught Cerise's eye, and she turned to face the courtyard entrance. Doran walked in, dressed in his ragtag ensemble but confident and proud.

Cerise reached out a hand.

"Doran!"

They made eye contact, and the rest of the world seemed to fall away.

Finally, it was just the two of them, standing in the deserted courtyard of the Natesian castle, an anticipated rendezvous streaked with scandal.

The Naltesian princess brings a peasant boy to the royal ball.

Cerise could imagine the headlines, but she didn't care.

She had always been the royal rebel breaking tradition, a free spirit who refused to be locked up and burdened with expectations set by politicians that didn't understand her.

Leaders who didn't understand the world.

The age of the monarchy was dying. Naltese was one of the last great kingdoms left in the region, and people longed for freedom. For most, living under a King opposed that dream.

Cerise heard the whispers.

Besides, she was the royal spare. Loné was first born; she would inherit the crown and her children afterward. Cerise's fate would be to stand in the shadows, restrained and silent.

Doran was an invitation to a new life she craved and longed for every day.

Now it was here, and she would take it, no matter the cost.