Chapter Twenty-One - The Solstice Ball
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Solstice Ball
THERE HAD BEEN arguments all the way to the carriage.
Dorian had continued to insist that the social rules of wearing each prince’s colours did not apply to him.
That was until Rowan had betrayed his master and confessed to Rosamund that Aurelian sent an outfit to his brother every year for his solstice ball.
“He just wants to humiliate me,” grumbled Dorian when Rosamund appeared with the offending item, Rowan almost in tears behind her.
“I think he wants you there,” said Rosamund firmly as she held it out to him, “and I think he wants to make it as easy as possible for you.”
The argument had gone on but eventually she had won.
She had known she had won when he did not immediately storm from the room, which was his usual way of ending discussions he did not like.
It frustrated her. Though, he had learned that even if he left, she would just follow to continue the discussion.
Their arguments felt different. When he growled or grumbled it did not send her into a panic anymore, it just irritated her. It would cause a flush to rise to her cheeks as her blood boiled. Sometimes it was just amusing, and she had to fight back a laugh or risk making the situation worse.
There had also been an argument with Gnash.
“Lady always goes without Gnash,” he had wailed from the stairs as Elira helped her with her ivory cloak, “Gnash wants to go to the ball!”
Rosamund looked at Dorian who was descending from the stairs, his own ivory coat wrapped around him. As he passed the little goblin he said, “No. Absolutely not.”
As the goblin wailed louder Rosamund rushed forward, Elira trailing behind her as she sorted the folds of the cloak, “We can have a ball when I come back, I promise.”
Gnash wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand, “Lady promises?”
“You shouldn’t have promised him that,” Dorian had said as they had climbed into the carriage.
“Why not,” said Rosamund cheerily as she sat back, pleased to see that the shutters had not been closed, “we should have a ball.”
“I don’t do balls.”
“You mentioned that.”
“We can’t have my brothers and a bunch of nobles crawling all over this place,” said Dorian firmly as the carriage took off down the road.
“Who said we would invite the nobles?”
He snorted, “a ball without any people…that actually sounds good.”
As they passed through the gates of Blackthorn Hall, she gestured out to the streets, “or, how about the people we actually want to spend time with.”
He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, which only made her grin widen. Eventually he folded his arms and looked out the window, “I’ll think about it.”
When they reached the wall surrounding the Veil, Rosamund leaned out the window to pat Leth whilst Dorian thew him a treat.
As the carriage trundled out of the East Gate and through to the Greymarket, she was met with a face full of hair as a gust blew it back at her.
As annoyed as she was, it had been worth it to hear a tumble of giggles come forth from the man opposite her.
“As there is perpetual rain in the Veil, Greymarket has a permanent wind that changes direction depending on the time of day,” explained Dorian through the giggles.
After a quick glare to Dorian, Rosamund quickly rearranged her hair.
Ensuring she had lost none of the little gold clasps that Elira had spent hours carefully placing between her long thick curls.
She lifted the hood of her cloak gently and peered around the side of it at the passing buildings.
In the dim evening light tall granite and limestone buildings towered above the street, each one a copy of the other.
She thought, perhaps, the carriage was going round in circles.
The streets were still bustling with workers, despite the late hour.
Bankers and clerks in their dark grey robes, and the sleek silver uniforms of the Grey Wings, Osric’s messengers and heralds. All of them in perpetual movement.
Before long they had left the monotony of the Greymarket district for the vibrant white marble and blue slate roofs of Larkhill.
Even in the twilight the light from the white stone caught and held the light.
Balconies and window boxes overflowed with flowers and Rosamund was surprised to see fruit trees lining the streets.
Music filtered into the carriage from every direction.
Sometimes from the houses and theatres, but often from people and small quartets on the street.
The people were an eclectic mix of those from Valdyr and further afield; acrobats, painters, storytellers, they lined the streets performing their arts.
This was everything the Velvet Tide at night should have been, full of music and joy, light and laughter.
She wondered if Aurelian had seen his brothers district and had endeavoured to improve it.
It was full of life and happiness, a mix of different peoples all working together to create their art.
As the music continued to surround her, she could feel herself relaxing.
Her aching joints relaxed, and the headache from all the hair pulling Elira had done earlier was not quite as sore.
Dorian had been watching her with an amused expression. She sat back in her seat and said sarcastically, “I can see why you didn’t want to come here, a truly awful place.”
He snorted a laugh, “I will admit that my brother is perhaps one of the more effective Duke’s of Valdyr.”
“Strong praise indeed,” she said, which earned her another small smile from him.
The carriage rolled through the large golden gates towards Lackspire.
Where Blackthorn Hall reached towards the sky, Lackspire sprawled outwards, stretching out under the last rays of the sun.
Long white colonnades ran along the front of the house, reflected in the various crystal blue pools and fountains that surrounded the large villa.
Along the blue and gold slate roof, and in the centre of fountains, were sculptures of people and creatures, all built to perfection.
They passed through the colonnade to a circular forum beyond, already lined with other arriving guests.
They circled around a large golden fountain with the sculpture of a musician raising a lyre towards the sky.
There was something familiar about the young man’s face.
Sir Emrys?
A clean-shaven young man dressed in a loose white shirt and trousers opened the carriage door and held his hand out to help her down.
“Your highness, Lady Rosamund,” said the young man, a musical lilt to his voice, “if you’d like to follow me please.”
The young man led them up the wide staircase to a breathtaking gallery beyond.
Detailed paintings lined the corridor whilst exquisite sculptures were placed between each one.
Rosamund was aware of the other guests on their way to the ballroom, their whispering drowned out by the music.
They were looking, they were watching, but she did not care.
Let them look.
As music grew louder, the young man led them towards a different corridor to the other guests. She heard Dorian groan beside her.
“What is it?” she asked, a little worry creeping in.
“Aurelian,” he grumbled, “everything is a bloody performance.”
The young man stopped in front of a smaller cream and gold leaf door and held out his hands to them, “I will take your cloaks.”
She thought Dorian would refuse but eventually he unclasped it and politely handed it over to the young man.
She let out an involuntary gasp as she took him in.
The ivory court coat that fell to his knees, tapering in at his waist. It sported his usual high collar and broad cuffs, gold embroidered thorns climbing upwards from the hem.
The top of a blue silk waistcoat was just visible where the coat was held closed with a gold and onyx button.
A long ivory cloak with charcoal coloured velvet lining flowed down from his shoulders, the one small homage to his own colours beyond his black riding boots.
Although far from his usual colours it was still quintessentially him; Aurelian had done well.
“What?” he asked as he looked down at the outfit with a frown, “I know, it’s ridiculous.”
“It’s wonderful,” she said quietly, and then more firmly, “you look wonderful. But still…you.”
She thought she saw a blush rise up in those white cheeks. She quickly looked down to sort her own cloak out to hide her own flush. But the clasp did not want to undo. Dorian saw her struggling, “May I?”
Dropping her hands to her side he stepped closer to her.
Gently, he leaned forwards and with his white gloved hands, delicately undid the clasp.
His hands paused as he held the two separated clasps, his gaze looking along the line of her throat, her lips, and then her eyes.
He cleared his throat and gently removed the cloak from her shoulders, handing it to the young man.
He turned back to face her, and she saw her own earlier expression mirrored back at her, “You, uh, you look very…nice.”
She had asked Fabricio to make something to match Aurelian’s outfit for Dorian, with one small alteration.
The Vesperian had almost fainted when she had told him when she needed it by, but he had outdone himself.
She smoothed the creases out of the ivory and sky-blue skirts, her hands running over the golden embroidered roses that crept up from the hem of the skirts to her bodice.
The sleeves draped down to the floor from her elbows, a mix of the same ivory and golden embroidery, lined with the claret red of House Valehart.