The Castle Naltese

Royal Ballroom

Vorne watched Cerise enter with her scandalous suitor and nearly choked on a grape.

He coughed violently, taking a frantic swig from his glass of wine to wash it down. It worked to his relief, and the grape dislodged from his throat and dropped into his stomach.

"I don't believe it," Monroe said with a devious smirk. "The royal princess of Naltese brings a street peasant to dance." She chuckled wickedly. "Finally, an overdue twist of delicious drama. Sit tight, Vorne. Things are about to get interesting."

Vorne slumped over the table to catch his breath and smiled. "About damn time."

Behind them, Rolts kept half his body cloaked in subtle shadow lingering at the back of the ballroom, behind the buffet tables, as he carefully paced around the outer perimeter of the gathering crowd until he lined up perfectly with an opening that revealed the young Princess Cerise and her charming companion.

A sly smile snaked over his lips as Rolts observed the guests.

They were horrified.

He softened when gazing upon the peasant that had entered with the princess. The yellow patching across his brown jacket and blazer was embarrassing, the needlework careless and crude, but the young man's slicked-back hair and squared shoulders extruded confidence and pride.

It reminded Rolts of a lamb going to the slaughter, and for what cause? Nothing but love, it seemed.

Rolts envied the look exchanged between Cerise and the stranger as they clung to each other tightly, moving into a dancing position.

After another long pause of silence, the band cautiously started to play a slow waltz.

Cerise and the stranger danced alone on the ballroom floor, their lips sealed but a passion blazing in their eyes.

Rolts was transfixed.

Ding! Dong!

Rolts startled and turned to find himself standing in front of a tall silver clock striking the evening hour. Eleven o'clock, to be exact. One hour till midnight.

Amidst the commotion, he suddenly caught sight of Chandrén, who dashed for the ballroom exit, her face hardened with determination. She looked around apprehensively and briefly caught his lingering gaze.

Rolts couldn't help but tense as she blew him a flirty kiss and disappeared.

Ding! Dong!

He looked back at the aristocratic mass assembling on the dance floor and couldn't help but process the tattoo he had discovered on Chandrén's neck.

"A slit hand with a crown above the middle finger," he said quietly. Rolts glanced around the ballroom and analyzed the throne where the king remained seated, paralyzed by his daughter's choice of company.

Then it hit him.

Rolts gasped. "The Free Hand."

***

Doran couldn't break the habit of looking over Cerise's shoulder at their bewildered audience as their waltz escalated. He tightened his hand on her waist, the other starting to sweat as their fingers began to slide apart.

Slowly, others started to join them on the dance floor, uncomfortable with the awkward stillness that had grasped the room with an iron fist.

"We don't have to do this," Cerise said.

Her voice was comforting, but Doran held his head high and continued to slide across the floor in an elegant fashion.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he said.

Cerise smiled. "Did you grow up in Naltese?" she asked.

Doran led her into a graceful twirl.

"No, I haven't been here long," he replied.

"Then where?"

Doran hesitated.

Cerise squeezed his hand. "It's alright. You don't have to tell me."

He grinned. "Vesna."

Cerise gasped. "Vesna? How remarkable. Were you there when-"

"The castle burned down? No, I wasn't," Doran said. His eyes filled with sorrow for a brief moment, then he smiled and sidestepped to the right, guiding Cerise away from oncoming traffic. "I heard the news a few days later. Terrible what happened."

"I can't imagine burning alive," Cerise said, her voice distant as she tried to put herself in the situation. Her skin crawled with a shiver. "What a horrible way to die."

The current song ended, and everyone was allowed to catch their breath and exchange partners if needed.

Cerise took a step back and brushed shoulders with someone pairing up behind her. When she turned to apologize, her heart skipped a beat with fright as Loné loomed over her with what felt like murderous intent.

Her cheeks were hot with anger, her eyes cold and callous.

Cerise began to think Loné was going to pounce when suddenly, the band re-emerged with another waltz, this time a little more uptempo.

The sisters were pulled apart by their respective partners and carried to opposite corners of the floor.

Doran noticed this and proceeded to lock eyes with the king, who glared at him while twisting his staff in a circular motion.

"Do you have family here?" Cerise asked, conjuring up a confident facade in hopes that it would keep Doran from seeing the growing fear in her eyes.

Doran cleared his throat. "No."

"You're alone?"

"Well, I have the tavern."

"The Wandering Pixie?"

"It's home," Doran said. "At least for now. I don't think I'll ever convince Fae to let me go. I'm too irresistible."

Cerise laughed. "I want to get out of here as soon as I can. Explore the world, Bepi and I. Two wayward souls searching for a fresh start."

"Bepi?"

"My best friend," Cerise said sincerely. "He's been there through every heartbreak, every disappointment, and..."

She stared into Doran's eyes. "Every wonder."

Doran beamed. "It helps to get away from it all. Truly lends perspective."

"What are you running away from?"

Doran sighed. "Everything."

The waltz reached its conclusion. Doran lowered Cerise to the ground, his hand firmly pressed against her spine. She wrapped an arm around his neck, the moment reminiscent of their first dance at the Pixie.

Cerise's eyes filled with tears. "Want to run together?"

Doran smiled. "I wouldn't want anything else."

They drew closer for a kiss.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

King Armose pounded his staff against the ground.

"Enough!"

The orchestra abruptly stopped. The dancing faded, and everyone faced Armose, who sat on his throne, eyes furious. He pointed at Cerise.

"You are a disgrace!" he said. "This game you play and the shame you put on this monarchy stops now!"

Doran lifted Cerise into a stance, who stepped forward to confront her father. Soon all eyes gazed upon the young princess, framed in light by the chandelier that hung above her head.

"Father, please," she said, approaching the throne. "You must understand that my actions are not to spite you but rather to  discover who I want to be in this world."

"You are a princess of Naltese. You and your destiny will serve this kingdom and its people for the next hundred years. I spoil you with riches, with balls and pretty dresses, yet you have the audacity to bring a peasant before us during such a prestigious occasion."

"Is this how you treat your people? With cruelty and malice?" Cerise asked. "I should remind you that a king who is cruel will whimper in defeat while a king of compassion will reap endless rewards."

"Do not lecture me!" Armose said. "You are a child. Stupid and ignorant. You think you know everything about this world and how it works, but you're wrong."

"I know enough to understand you are destroying this kingdom. You've created a paradise in these walls, consuming the fruits of others' labour. A cheat sitting on a throne."

A gasp escaped the crowd.

"Cerise, I've tried to understand you-"

"Do you know why the monarchy of Vesna was murdered?" Cerise asked him.

Doran arched a brow at her remark.

King Armose clenched his jaw, silent.

"They betrayed the people they served," she said, unleashing a wave of chatter that washed over the crowd. "They grew selfish, entitled, and spoiled until they couldn't see beyond their own desires!"

"This childish outburst is exhausting—a feeble attempt to make me the villain of this story. You brought the peasant here. You are the one going into town during the middle of the night, and you are the one discontent with this life," Armose said, his voice shaking with anger. "True leadership starts with recognizing your mistakes, not cowering behind them. That is why you will never amount to anything, Cerise. That is why you will always fail."

Cerise glared at him as Armose stood up.

Thump. Thump.

He bashed the staff into the floor.

"Guards!" he said, pointing the staff at Doran. "Arrest him."

Cerise gaped. "No, Father, please!"

Doran stood in shock. Suddenly three guards emerged from the crowd and grabbed him by the arms and waist.

He fought back, refusing to give in. "Let me go!"

"Father, what are you doing?" Cerise asked, quickly approaching the king's throne. "Let him go."

King Armose sat back down on the throne and caressed his staff. Cerise watched the guards beat Doran to his knees, a fist penetrating his jaw with enough force to splatter blood on the floor.

Cerise ran up to her father and knelt before him. "Please, let him go," she pleaded.

The king ignored her request. "You might not like them, but there are rules to uphold, Cerise. This man tried to kidnap you. Such a crime is punishable by death."

"Kidnap me?" Cerise said.

Footsteps approached as Loné emerged, climbing into her throne with a sinister smile.

Cerise panicked. "No, Father, that isn't the truth. He was helping me. Don't listen to Loné's lies!"

King Armose leaned towards his youngest daughter almost until their noses touched. His voice grew to a whisper.

"Perhaps his actions were noble, but he wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Therefore, an example must be made. To understand the importance of your role in this kingdom, you must first experience the consequences of your mistakes. Punishment for your disobedience will be his death."

Cerise grew pale and backed away from her father's throne. She looked at Doran, who struggled on the ground, wrestling the guards. One grunted and pulled out his sword.

The crowd had surrounded her on all fronts, closing in as her breath and heart rate suddenly accelerated. Cerise spun in a circle, watching the faces of Vorne, Monroe, and Rolts approach the front of the gathering until they stood inches from the king's throne.

Cerise came to a stop facing her father, tears streaming down her face. She boiled like a kettle. Her face turned beet red as hot air blew out her nostrils. She stormed towards her father and snapped.

"Sometimes I wish you would just die!"

When the last word left Cerise's lips, a red explosion detonated behind the buffet tables.

Vorne and Monroe flew across the room, lost in freefall, before hitting the ground.

Rolts raised his arms to shield his eyes as debris blasted him from the side.

Another explosion erupted behind the king's throne. Loné and King Armose launched into the air, tumbling forward.

Cerise screamed, pulled backwards. She landed with a thud on the floor and rolled to a stop.