Besides, this year’s crop of candidates were exceptionally pretty. The more Zariffe was exposed to their company, the more likely it was that he would finally make a decision and claim a bride.
“Lady Alia is right, Lady Cannon, in her own… unique way. We are all here for a reason… and the candidates must display the right qualities, including those of a physical suitability that would ensure the future of the royal line.”
“I… I….” Lady Cannon almost hit herself in the face she was fanning herself so hard, her sleeve getting tangled around her wrist because of all the rapid direction changes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“In simpler terms.” Alia knew she should stay quiet but she couldn’t help herself. “You would never cover a timid little ill-equipped pony with a stallion, so we mares all better up our game and display our sturdy flanks.’
A lady to the left slid off her chair in a faint. Lady Cannon’s fan snapped in two. But the one thing that froze the room and captured everyone’s attention, the Prince’s bark of surprised laughter.
Chapter Twenty-One
Thwack. Alia watched as her ball sailed off into an overgrown wildflower meadow, that from personal experience, she already knew to be rather boggy.
“Terribly sorry, Lady Alia.” Lord Enron Sensch, brother of Lady Parkour, might have been apologising, but the smug little smile clinging to the edges of his lips telegraphed that it had been no accident…again. Green eyes, exactly like those of his sister’s, flashing with cunning and arrogance.
Alia sent him a not so genuine smile of her own. “The rules of quarry-hammer are not for the faint hearted or the weak of wrist, Lord Enron. Well, I’m off to claim my quarry ball.” Striding away, Alia had never been more happy that she was wearing boots and trousers. Better still, she knew how to walk over boggy ground. The surest ground being where the flowers themselves grew. So, like an uncaring beast, she massacred hundreds of flowers as she searched for her bright blue ball. Ah, there.
Turning, Alia noted the rather charming scene before her. Colourful tents, strewn with bunting, were set up on the grass just before the wide marble staircase leading up to the massive east entrance of the Palace. The Dowager-Queen, her attendants, and most of the candidates Mamas and Papas lounged about, taking advantage of the shady tents, and the food and beverages that passing waiters were providing. A smaller contingent of siblings clustered together off to the side, their numbers not needed to round out this afternoon’s game of quarry-hammer.
Shifting her focus to the designated course, Alia couldn’t find fault with the quaint scene before her. The bridal candidates having all rushed off to change into garden appropriate pastel gowns appeared as if the wildflowers themselves had come to life. Daintily picking their way across the lush lawn. The ladies trying to look like they were having the time of their lives, though their minds were clearly not on the game itself. Their not so subtle gazes constantly tracking every move made by Prince Zariffe, currently in what was designated as the third section of the sextant course.
The brothers, who’d been roped in to fill out the male gamester numbers, more than made up for the pre-occupation of their sisters. Alia’s quarry ball wasn’t the only one travelling a rather scenic route today… though it did appear to be the most favoured for sending to the outer reaches. How many times had she trudged out to the meadow so far. Five? Six?
Damn, Alia was growing thirsty, and if the ladies didn’t start paying attention, this game would never end. But how to get them to take it seriously when very few of them could focus on anything but the Prince, and his every blink of the eyes and breath he took?
Hah, perhaps it was time to introduce a little competitive spirit into this event.
Quarry hammer rules were relatively simple. The course divided into six sections. An iron u-shaped goal populating each sextant that the players must hit their ball through. Whilst strategically placed black marble blocks, both singular and clustered together, created puzzling mazes often obstructing the way. The obstacle blocks present in various sizes, some only reached to your ankles, so could be hit over, whilst some came up to your knees and had to be manoeuvred around.
Each sextant was ringed by assorted sized marble stones acting as the boundary lines, with different mazes and setups of stones within each section. The five teams currently playing were each made up of two men and two women. Who could decide to pair up or play individually. Strategy was considered important, playing either offensively, working to block the other player’s balls, or defensively, plotting courses around the other player’s balls using the marble blocks as shields.
Hah, and what had Alia just said to snotty Enron, that the game wasn’t for the weak of wrist, and the one thing Alia had never been accused of was weakness. Lining up her quarry ball she swung her hammer mallet back and followed through like she was taking the head off a sunlion going for her throat.
“Quarry!” She bellowed cheerfully in warning.
Screams, both male and female sounded as her ball sailed speedily through the air rather like a cannon ball. Heading for the third corner of the grid. Pulverising two outer rim boundary blocks on contact, it kept on travelling, knocking over two more rows of maze blocks, before coming to rest only five feet away from the goal the Prince was currently targeting.
Although groups were formed and made to start in different sections of the course, there was nothing in the rules that said you had to complete the goals in order.
Every bridal candidate froze in shock, staring at Alia, then looking to where her ball had landed… in the same section as that currently being played by the Prince.
Posing prettily and daintily flouncing about hadn’t gotten them any attention. Suddenly, languid poses were dropped, spine’s straightened and every bridal candidate began to plot trajectories, mapping the mazes like they were astrologers born to map the stars. The Prince the sun, their quarry balls asteroids.
Alia mentally patted herself on the back, returning to the playing grid, stepping over several small and artfully arranged clusters of blocks until she was standing beside her ball. The nearby players eyeing her with an array of emotion. Lady Evagene, now in a yellow waterfall of a gown looked distinctly put out, but was hiding it behind a small gritted smile. Whilst Miss Jacquene, who had swapped her earlier bridal white ensemble for a cream confection of lace that still shrieked – I’m bride material, look at me, pick me - couldn’t seem to decide whether to sulk or pout.
Brandth, leaning heavily on his mallet hammer, using it as a makeshift crutch, looked nothing but amused. And lastly, the Prince. Alia finally allowed her gaze to settle upon him, ignoring the sudden uptick in her heartbeat. Hastening to convince herself that he wasn’t startling magnetic, standing there with the sun turning his chestnut hair into burnished copper fire. His expression bland, with that alien edge of haughty as if emotions were illegal, and he was banned from displaying any. Except… that glimmer in his eyes that she’d come to know so familiarly. He was laughing as well, on the inside.
“Lady Alia, how wonderful you could join us.” Brandth made a gesture with his hand, indicating that it must be her turn.
Oh, right, ninny. Remember your plan to speed things up? There was no time for a leisurely game, chit chat, or providing amusement for Talac. Talac? Yes, it was official, she couldn’t think of him as Prince Zariffe. Damn, she shouldn’t be thinking of him at all. She was on a mission. She needed this game over, only then would the servants open the doors of the Palace, inviting all the aristos to join the bridal candidate festivities.
Regal.
Regal might even now be up there watching the quarry hammer game from a window, trying to determine which bridal candidate, or one of her sisters, would make the most advantageous, beautiful, wealthy bride for his new found position as Baron Soutner.
With that in mind, Alia quickly moved into position and smashed her ball through two blocks, rather than go around, sending it hurtling through the goal and onwards into the next section. Yes. Hurrying after it. No time to waste.
Frustratingly, the players languidly loitering about at the next goal were on go-slow mode. Hoping the Prince would join their group any moment. Alia watching on, frustrated, as they fussed about, each taking an interminable time. Only to nudge their balls forward in tiny increments.
