The Royal Ball
THE ROYAL BALL
W henever a royal ball was held, people far and near clamored for an invitation to the noble event. The Great Hall of the castle was lit with candles from the massive chandeliers overhead. Torches lined the stone walls, their orange flames adding to the grandeur of the evening.
A minstrel group was positioned off to one side, playing a merry tune as finely dressed couples danced.
Long banquet tables ran the length of the hall, adorned with gleaming silver platters piled high with pastries, fresh bread, roasted meats, and fruits. Goblets overflowed with ale and spiced wine, filling the air with a heady aroma of revelry. Laughter and conversation wove into the music, creating a festive celebration.
As King, it was Father’s duty and privilege to preside over the ball. A long table on a raised platform at the far end of the hall seated the royal family and high-ranking nobles.
Father, his golden crown gleaming in the warm light, sat in the center, his face a mask of unreadable authority. Alistair, his expression stiff, was on Father’s left. Beatrice, Alistair’s wife, sat beside him. Alistair had married a woman of nobility whose dour personality was the perfect match for Alistair’s uptight temperament.
Lucien sat on Father’s right. A ladies’ man, Lucien’s appearance was as polished as the silver candlesticks spotting the tables. He was relaxed and perfectly in his element as he laughed and chatted with the other guests, who seemed to be hanging on his every word, captivated by his wit and effortless charisma.
Tabian, however, had no place at the royal table. Once, Father had invited him to sit among them, but Tabian’s discomfort was obvious. Over time, the invitations had stopped coming. Whether out of pity or shame on Father’s part, Tabian didn’t know.
No matter.
Tabian was given the blessed freedom to move among the guests, unburdened by formalities. He surveyed the hall, looking for Arabella. His heart jumped when he spotted her near the food table. No surprise, she was surrounded by a cluster of squires who were vying for her attention. A stab of jealousy went through Tabian as he watched Arabella interact with the men.
She was so incredibly beautiful with her lustrous brown hair that curled playfully on her slender shoulders. Her brown eyes were ringed in gold that turned them rich amber when she was amused. Her cheeks were polished apples, and her lips—heat ribboned through him—her lips were soft and succulent. Her ivory skin was smooth as velvet.
A familiar ache twisted his chest. While he and Arabella had shared many kisses, and she promised that she felt the same for him as he did her, at times like this, he feared she would be forever out of his reach.
“Good evening, Squire Tabian,” a man said, drawing his attention.
Tabian turned to find Orrin, an older nobleman with silver hair and a distinguished demeanor. In his younger years, he was a famed knight. He’d spent the last decade serving as a member of Father’s royal council.
Tabian inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgment. “Good evening.” He tried to match the man’s regal tone, but the words sounded stilted and wrong in his own ears.
Orrin frowned. “That’s a nasty business with the golden apples.”
“It is,” Tabian agreed.
The man leaned in and lowered his voice. “Is the King any closer to apprehending the thief?”
“Unfortunately, nay.”
“A pity.” Orrin stroked his angular chin. “I heard that the royal gardener received quite the reprimand from your father.”
Tabian’s throat tightened. “He did.” Where was this going?
“If the thief isn’t caught soon,” —Orrin lowered his voice, giving Tabian a meaningful look— “your father is looking for someone to blame. He considers the thefts an insult of the highest degree. Someone will have to pay.”
An icy shiver ran down Tabian’s spine. “What’re you saying?”
“Only that you should prepare yourself … in case the worst happens.”
Tabian’s pulse quickened. Was Orrin insinuating that Garrin was in danger?“ He stepped closer. “What do you know?”
A soft chuckle issued from Orrin’s throat. “No need to get riled up, lad. I was just making conversation.”
Tabian forced himself to relax. Was Orrin intentionally baiting him? In a tavern, such a quarrel could quickly escalate. It would then be settled with blows of the fist. Things were much more complex inside the walls of the castle. Tabian had little patience for the endless politics playing out on a constant basis.
Orrin glanced at the royal table. “I thought you would be dining with your family.”
The disapproval in Orrin’s tone tightened Tabian’s spine. Alistair often remarked that the members of the royal council felt as if Tabian spent too much time roaming the forest and keeping company with those who were beneath his station. “You need to grow up and take on responsibilities more fitting for you,” Alistair had said.
If “growing up” meant becoming stuffy like Alistair, then Tabian would pass. He enjoyed going to taverns and interacting with the common folk. Tabian was exceptionally good at playing dice, and he could hold his own when arm wrestling, especially when facing an opponent around his same size and build.
Lucien was a champion of the joust, and Alistair was good with the sword. Tabian, on the other hand, was terrible at the joust. He could wield the sword enough to protect himself, but he probably wouldn’t be winning any competitions anytime soon.
Having no wish to explain himself to Orrin, Tabian gave him a parting nod. “Excuse me, but there’s someplace I need to be.”
Before Orrin could protest, Tabian hurried away. Was Garrin in real trouble? Surely not. Garrin’s father had served as the royal gardener under King Roderick’s father, and then the legacy passed to Garrin, who was as loyal as the day was long. Surely, Father didn’t believe that Garrin had anything to do with the thefts. Orrin was most likely toying with him. He relaxed, determined not to let Orrin’s antics ruin his evening.
When he neared Arabella, she saw him and offered a wide smile. Promptly dismissing the other squires, she pushed past them to get to Tabian.
“Hello,” she began. “Thanks for saving me.” She cut her eyes in the direction of the squires.
“Always,” he said with meaning as he held her eyes. Relief tumbled over him. Arabella didn’t care anything about those squires. They were nuisances. She’d been waiting for Tabian to rescue her. The thought pleased him immensely. He reached for her gloved hand, lifted it to his lips, and planted a soft kiss. She gave him a dainty curtsy in response. Everything about Arabella was graceful and measured.
His gaze flickered over her, noting the tantalizing hollow of her neck and the way the lace of the bodice fanned her soft skin. The emerald gown complemented her brown curls, which, tonight, had a copper tint under the flicker of the candles.
A smile tilted her lips. “Happy birthday.”
He rocked back, immensely pleased. “You remembered.”
She quirked a face. “Of course.”
He leaned close, wagging his eyebrows, his tone playful. “Well, since it’s my birthday, you owe me a gift.”
She lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Is that right?”
“It is,” he murmured. “You promised to dance the night away with me.” She smelled of flowers and spicy cloves. The scent was divine. His breath came faster. Everything about Arabella thrilled him.
“So I did.” She gave him a bewitching smile. Before he could take her hand again and lead her onto the dance floor, she glanced at the royal table. The corners of her mouth dropped. “Why are you not sitting with your family?”
His jaw tightened. “You know why.”
“We talked about this, remember?”
“Aye, I remember.” Arabella had been pestering him about not living up to his privileges. It was starting to sound like she’d taken her script from Alistair.
“You, above anyone, know that I have no use for the pomp and circumstance.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “If you don’t believe in yourself, Tabian, then no one else will.”
Her rebuke stung. “I thought you believed in me,” he pouted.
She swatted his arm. “I do, which is why I’m encouraging you to stop hiding in the shadows. You need to take your rightful place as a prince.”
“I can’t help that my family won’t accept me,” he growled. Arabella already knew his situation. He’d talked to her about it at length many times. “Why are you harping on me about this?”
She looked him in the eye. “Because I care about you.”
That’s all it took for the irritation to melt. A smile stretched over Tabian’s face. “That’s good because I care about you, too.”
He thought—hoped—the conversation was over, but she persisted. “Will you at least consider stepping up and taking your rightful place in your family?”
He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.
“For me?” She gave him a pleading look.
“For you … aye,” he finally said.
She looked at the table again. “You should go now.” She smirked. “Look at Lucien, always the center of attention.”
Was that a faint note of admiration in her voice? Lucien had a long list of hopeful maidens who pined away for him. Arabella would often make remarks about it in a joking way. She would then take an assessment of Tabian, eyeing him with a critical gaze, “You’re much more attractive than you realize. In fact, you’re strikingly handsome with your dark-blond hair and stormy-blue eyes. If you would dress and act the part of a prince, more maidens would take notice of you.”
Tabian would then insist that he didn’t care about other maidens. “I only care about you,” he would argue and would then smother her with kisses.
“You should go,” Arabella said again, cutting into his thoughts.
He grimaced. “Nay, I don’t belong there.” Seeing her exasperated expression, he amended, “I don’t feel like I belong there.”
“But you do.” She caught hold of his hand. “Let’s go.”
He stayed rooted to the floor as a grin tugged at his lips. “I’ll go under one condition.”
“So you’re making conditions now?” Amusement sparkled in her eyes.
His grin widened. “Aye.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Dance with me, and then we’ll go.” He longed to pull her into his arms and hold her close.
“Very well,” she conceded. “One dance.”
That’s all the prompting he needed to pull her onto the dance floor. The music shifted to a slower melody. As they moved in rhythm, he lowered his face and playfully grazed her lips with his.
“Not here,” she balked, looking around as if afraid someone was watching.
He was mildly offended by her behavior. “Why do you care if people know that we’re together?”
A breezy laugh floated from her lips. “I’m a proper maiden, and I want everyone to see that.”
“How could they not?” he uttered, caressing her beautiful face with his eyes.
After the song ended, Tabian was forced to keep his promise. Arabella took hold of his arm and led him up to the royal table.
When Father and his brothers saw him, their eyes widened in surprise. Arabella threw Lucien a bright smile. “Mind if we join you?”
Lucien hesitated a fraction of a moment as if he might protest, but then diplomacy took over. “Of course,” he agreed with a magnanimous smile. His eyes flicked over Arabella with a subtle appreciation that scalded Tabian’s blood. Lucien picked up on Tabian’s jealousy and threw his younger brother a taunting grin. Then he turned to the man seated next to him and asked him and his wife to scoot down two chairs.
Tabian and Arabella took their seats. Tabian made a point of sitting next to Lucien so that he wouldn’t have to share Arabella’s attention with his older brother, who was far more charming and handsome than Tabian could ever hope to be.
Servants immediately brought Tabian and Arabella plates loaded with food.
“See, that wasn’t so difficult,” Arabella whispered in his ear.
Perhaps not difficult for Arabella, but extremely difficult for Tabian. Lucien made no effort to hold a conversation with Tabian. Instead, he shifted away from him and focused on what Father and Alistair were discussing. Once again, Tabian felt alone and disconnected from the family. In that painful moment, his secret was exposed to himself. A part of him wouldn’t mind being included in the affairs of the kingdom. It was the act of self-preservation that prompted Tabian to develop his shell of indifference.
Finally, after they’d finished eating, Tabian excused him and Arabella from the table. They went back out to the dance floor and danced a few more songs.
“Would you like to take a walk in the gardens?” Tabian asked, eager to get her alone so he could kiss her until his heart was content.
Arabella touched her forehead. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” She offered a weak smile. “I’m not feeling like myself. I think I need to go home and get some rest.”
Tabian’s stomach clutched with concern. “Are you ill?”
“Just tired.” She graced him with one of her beautiful smiles. “I’ll see you on Monday—bright and early—in our Latin class.”
He nodded, reluctant to let her go. “I could accompany you in your carriage,” he offered.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Tabian. Thanks for a wonderful evening.”
He reached for her hand and pressed it between his. “It was my pleasure.” He leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips, but she drew back all too quickly.
He swallowed his disappointment as he watched her walk away.
Taking in a deep breath, Tabian glanced around. Now that Arabella had left, he no longer had any desire to be here. He wove his way over to the food table and grabbed a couple of pastries. Carrying one in each hand, he made his way outside, welcoming the cool breeze that touched his cheeks. He would go for a walk in the gardens even without Arabella at his side.
He strolled along the path as he munched on the pastries. Maybe he should take a turn guarding the apple tree. Tabian didn’t like the idea of a sword hanging over Garrin’s head. If he could apprehend the thief, then all of this unpleasant business could be put to rest.
After polishing off the last pastry, Tabian decided to make his way to the apple tree. He wasn’t sure who had been given the task to guard it tonight.
He rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks when he heard a woman giggle. She was on the other side of a tall hedge. The woman sounded like Arabella, but that was impossible. Arabella had gone home for the evening. A man was with the woman. They spoke in low tones of endearment.
Quickening his pace, Tabian spanned the length of the hedge and rounded the corner. His heart shriveled.
Arabella was wrapped in Lucien’s arms. Their lips met, slow and unhurried, as if they’d performed this same dance countless times before.
The sight of them cut through Tabian like a blade.
Lucien was the first to notice him. With a smirk, he drew back from Arabella, although he didn’t release her. "Ah, little brother," he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
Arabella’s eyes widened in horror. "I—this isn’t—" She extricated herself from Lucien’s grasp and took an uneasy step towards Tabian. “I’m so sorry; I never meant to hurt you.”
"Don’t," he snapped.
Lucien let out a low chuckle, thoroughly enjoying Tabian’s humiliation. "Don’t be so dramatic. Surely you didn’t think a woman like Arabella would be satisfied with you?"
“Enough,” Arabella warned Lucien.
He held up his hands, his voice pitching high. “Just speaking the truth.”
Clearly, Arabella wielded a great deal of control over Lucien, just as she had over Tabian. His pulse roared in his ears. He was a fool. A naive, pathetic fool.
“You should’ve seen the way he looked at you tonight, Arabella," Lucien continued, his grin widening. “He’s smitten. It’s rather sad, really."
Arabella cast Lucien a glare, her shame deepening, but she said nothing. Her silence cut deeper than any insult Lucien could throw.
Tabian’s mind was on fire. He’d spent half of his life loving Arabella, convinced she was different from the other frivolous maidens. Convinced that she saw him for who he really was. That she cared about him.
It had all been a lie.
“Tabian.” Arabella’s voice cracked. “Please try to understand. I love you like a brother.”
“A brother?” he scoffed. “Surely you don’t go around kissing a brother like you have me. Enjoy being with Lucien. The two of you deserve each other.” Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed off.
He didn’t stop, didn’t dare look back.
He refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.