Then suddenly he was there, stopping before her, gifting Alia a sweeping bow. Rising, he extended a hand. What? Oh, he wanted her to dance. Oh, no. But he didn’t give her a chance to voice a refusal, reaching out for her hand, grasping it in his gently but firmly and tugging her away from her spot against the wall.
“This is most irregular.” Alia hissed under her breath as the pirate carved a way through the crowd and she was given no choice but to be pulled along in his wake. “And I’m not in a dancing mood.” Attempting futilely to discreetly disengage herself from this impertinent stranger. Only for him to turn and embarrassingly, effortlessly, swing her into his arms and launch them on to the dancefloor. Acting like she weighed the equivalent of a feather as he twirled her about and then lifted… oh, cruddy hell. Staring down at him, the sparkle in his eyes behind the mask glittering brighter than gemstones, a pleased smile tugging up the corner of his mouth… a very familiar mouth. “Talac!”
“Not so loud, or you’ll give the game away.”
Her feet once more on the ground, as he swept them off to the left, twirling. “But… how? If you’re here, then who is that?” She referred to the man standing off to the side of the ballroom, the one doing a very good impression of a bored haughty Prince of the Realm.
“Let’s just say that I have required the use of a body double for various reasons in the past. Never fear, Miles is very good… and has many a trick up his sleeve to keep everyone at an appropriate distance.”
“To what end?”
“So I might drink. Mingle. Dance with beautiful women.”
Talac thought she was beautiful. Damn, Alia hoped her cheeks were not turning as crimson as her dress. Blaze. The creation named by Lastonne was turning out to be more apropos than she could have ever imagined. Her skin, even under the tulle and satin, where Talac touched her, prickled with heat and awareness of him. It was tempting to just get lost in the moment. Dance with Talac. Quietly revel in his strength and grace. But worry nibbled away at Alia. If he were to be unmasked, the aristos would be in high dudgeons.
“Relax. If anyone is looking our way it’s only because of how stunning you look tonight…” Talac lifted her again briefly, all too easily. “Like living flame come to life in my arms. Every woman is envious. Every man jealous of me right at this moment.”
“You’re taking an enormous risk. Why, it can’t be just so you can dance with me?”
“So suspicious. Tonight I’m just a man, attending a ball, complimenting his dance partner.”
“Well, you may get to play the part of an ordinary man, but I, am still a bridal candidate, all eyes remain upon me. Critiquing. Judging. Ready to run at a moment’s notice to your grandmother’s side to tattle if they deem I’m conducting myself in any way unworthy of our esteemed Prince.”
“My Grandmere has retired already. She hates the noise and crush at these types of events. Two minutes after the musicians began playing, she, and several of her cronies, escaped to her chambers to play cards and drink sherry.”
“Then they shall run to your parents.” As he swung her about, Alia caught a glimpse of the noble couple seated on a raised dais, sharing a cushioned divan. The Queen dressed as Lady Dread, in a swathe of dark purple, a faux glittering green snake wrapped around her shoulders. The King’s only nod to the night’s theme was to concede to wearing an old uniform and a small black mask.
“Have you met them as yet?” They twirled right, and then Talac spun her in close.
“Yes. I was presented to them along with all the other candidates upon commencement of the ball… they are…” Alia searched for a word other than daunting, scary or arrogant.
Talac laughed under his breath, continuing to hold Alia in close, mentally thanking the crush on the dance floor. “My mother is too vain to wear her glasses in public, so you, along with everyone else, are nothing but a fuzzy colourful blur. That’s why it seems like she’s looking right through you. Whilst my father is too stubborn to admit that his uniform, one he hasn’t worn for a decade, is too tight. Breathing is a challenge. The permanent scowl makes it a little easier for him to pant from between gritted teeth. They’ll slip away under the pretext of Realm business within the hour, mark my words.”
As the song they were dancing to wound down, Alia gave Talac a small push. “I can’t dance with you a second song. You may be a transient nobody pirate, I remain a bridal candidate under constant scrutiny.”
“Tell you what. Let’s head outside, there are entertainers performing in the garden. And if we keep on the move, there’s less chance of anyone noting our pairing and accusing you of any wrongdoing.”
It paid to be tall in a crush like this, better still to have a cloud of notoriety hanging over you. It meant people were more willing to get out of your way and elbow their nearest neighbour to do the same. Alia was making excellent progress through the crowd. Talac shadowing her closely, a step behind. Abruptly Miss Jacquene stepped into Alia’s path, blocking the way.
Naturally the woman was wearing white head to toe, surprisingly, it wasn’t a wedding gown. No, she’d chosen to attire herself as a milkmaid. One dripping in diamonds. Her cupid bow mouth currently curved up at the sides in a superior smirk. “Well. Well. If it isn’t Lady Firepants.” Jacquene’s hangers on, mostly her siblings, sniggered.
“A strange play on words, since I’m not wearing trousers this evening.”
Jacquene’s smirk dropping momentarily before returning full force. “That scar you flaunt is beyond hideous. I suggest you wear a scarf or a large necklace at the very least, to provide a distraction from such a glaring flaw.”
“Ah, now your rumoured exceedingly large collection of scarves and enormous necklaces makes sense.”
Two of Jacquene’s brothers had to smother their amusement whilst Jacquene sucked in a shocked, outraged, breath. “You don’t belong here. Everyone, the Prince included, is laughing at you behind your back.”
Alia smiled serenely. “You’re under the misapprehension that I care what you, or what anyone here thinks of me.”
“Even the Prince?”
“I…” Alia sensed a trap, and adjusted her words accordingly. “… do not presume a close acquaintance with the Prince. But you appear to be a confidante, as you have stated you know what his thoughts are…?”
The smirk was back in full force. Jacquene’s eyes glittering brighter than her diamond necklace behind her delicate white lace mask. “He has made his inner circle very aware of his thoughts and feelings on the matter of you, Lady Alia. Too bold. Too… provincial.”
“Really? Yet I can’t think of anything bolder than dressing like a bride for your first encounter with him. Talk about unsubtle. And if the Prince has such contempt for things considered provincial, I find it ironic you are dressed like a milkmaid.” With that final verbal jab Alia moved on, forcing the Hail siblings to fall back.
