I hit the ground with a huge thud, so loud that I thought that maybe I had broken the floor. If not the floor, then my head, which began spinning the minute I lifted it. Now that I was sitting up, I was at least expecting Kevin to extend his hand towards me to help me off the floor. But he simply picked up his dropped paperwork and began walking away. “Incredible,” I mumbled. “Thanks for the help. Really appreciate it.”
That stopped him cold. He turned and rolled his eyes. “Oh, forgive me. Your Royal Bratiness,” he said. Before I could even utter a gasp of surprise, he went on: “What are you, a porcelain doll that needs to be taken to the doll hospital? If someone knocked you down in your high school hallway, you’d have gotten up and dusted yourself off. No--let me finish. You need to hear this because if I don’t tell you, no one else will.” He took a deep breath before continuing in a growling, low baritone. “You went from teenager to princess overnight, but you never grew up. Never. And here’s the thing, Anya. You need to grow up. It’s inevitable, but better sooner than later. Because until you do, you’ll never rule.”
I looked at him for a millisecond before erupting. “What are you getting at? That I’m not an adult? Kevin, perhaps you could try and get your head around this fact, and I will understand if you can’t, but indulge me. My parents died when I was four, almost five. That meant not only that I had to grow up sooner than everyone else, but I also had to grow up without the guidance of my parents. So before you tell me that I’m a spoiled brat, maybe you should think about the day that your soul died.” This time I turned on my heels and walked off.
“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” he said behind me, and when I wheeled around he was gone; all that was left were the sounds of his angry footsteps disappearing in the distance.
I quickly returned the way I had come. The fight was over and I done exactly what I wanted to do. I spoke my mind. And the fact that it aggravated Kevin was an added bonus. Still, I knew that I was going to see him at the ball tonight, and he might still be raging. He would probably confront me with another angry outburst. Well, I’d just have to avoid him. If I could recognize him, that is. Great. It was time to get ready for a night of craziness.
* * *
Getting ready was the most painstaking experience of my entire life. The minute I walked into my room, I was bombarded by fifteen people trying to redirect me in a million different stations at once. The first station I had to put up with was my least favorite: Hair. I knew that this was going to be torture, but you don’t know the meaning of the word unless you’ve had your hair manhandled, or should I say women-handled, by two ladies-in-waiting working on your hair at once. The upside was, once your head goes completely numb, the hair-grooming process goes by much faster.
I’d never had my hair done in a really elegant style before. Last year for prom my hair stylist suggested an towering Empire style with the addition of false hairpieces, but I chickened out and asked her to just make my hair a little curlier than it already was. Then again, I wasn’t a princess getting ready for a ball. In the end, I really liked the way my hair came out, no matter how much it hurt.
After slightly curling my hair, the two women piled most of my hair up on top and held it in place with gold-and-pearl hair clips. Then they somehow contorted it into some strange bun-type thing that no normal human being could accomplish without major help. The rest of my hair was let down in wisps. As I looked at myself in the mirror I realized that this hairdo would fit the whole Halloween aspect of this party perfectly. There was a sense like I had stepped out of another century. Or out of a crypt. I wasn’t really into the whole eerie, vampire-slash-werewolf Halloween thing. On other people, maybe, but when I dress up for a party, I want to look good, not like road kill. But there was something about Halloween that naturally brought out the darker inner spirit in me. And because of this reason, I was very excited to get my makeup done.
So I was relieved that my makeup team didn’t paint a huge fake gash on the side of my face or put Frankenstein bolts on the sides of the head. By the time they were finished, I was amazed. They had somehow managed to make me look pretty.
Oh, did I mention my self-esteem issues?
They accented my eyes with a very pretty light-blue liner, and my eyelids were covered in an almost purplish eye shadow. Next they put on a thin layer of deep red lipstick, and for the final touch, they made my face, as well as any other visible skin, slightly pale, almost ghost-like. They finished up by added a bright pink blush on my checks for just a little bit of color.
When the women directed me towards a mirror, and I finally saw myself in the reflection, I was really shocked--and yes, maybe a little scared. I had never considered myself drop-dead gorgeous and had never dressed or made up to be. I was okay with the modest bit on makeup that I used and the occasional stylish hairdo, but that was it. Now that I looked at my reflection, I thought the mirror was lying. Or the light in the room was amazingly flattering. I looked…well, beautiful.
My trance was soon interrupted by Mari and Avery pulling me away from the mirror and pushing me into yet another station to get ready. Thankfully this part of my transformation was not as time-consuming, but it was the most important. It was the masking. I know that sounds ridiculous--I mean, it’s just a mask, right? All you have to do is just put it on. I thought the same thing, but once again I was wrong. The mask had to be able to stay on my face and cover it, but not be a hassle to pull of if someone wanted to unmask me. This was a heavy, decorative antique mask, not a streamlined, twenty-first-century model made for ease of wear. Tiny bits of adhesive backing had to be applied to make the mask hold, but not so much that it would be noticeable or remove my makeup when the mask was taken off. While I was trying to figure out exactly how they were going to accomplish this seemingly impossible task of making the mask fit, it was done.
Chapter 9
The Mistake
After the masks were put on everyone, and the finishing touches were done, such as gloves, makeup touch ups, and so on, we all headed down to the party. I was actually quite nervous. It was going to be my first appearance as the almost new Empress of Russia. LaGard had explained it to me earlier that day during the meeting that it was the most important ball of my life, besides the Coronation Ball, which would be held on my eighteenth birthday, when the whole world would know who I was. Tonight, however, only a few representatives from certain countries would know exactly what my secret was. This included ambassadors from the U.K., France, Spain, the U.S., and other nations that would be key allies during my rule. Oh, how I was looking forward to the stimulating conversations I would be having with them, probably all politics and economic discussions. Wonderful.
When I snapped back to reality, I realized I was in the hallway outside of the ballroom. I could hear the music playing as other members of my court slowly made their way out and then down the grand staircase. As I looked around I was aware that even though no one was supposed to know who I was, my outfit was slightly more elaborate than everyone else’s. I also noted that, at least in my court, I was the only woman in a deep purple dress. So I wasn’t as incognito as I thought I was going to be. But then I remembered that the ballroom was going to be darker, so maybe people wouldn’t notice. Or maybe it was one of LaGard’s idea to have me wear a unique color so that one of the V.I.P.s could find me and then bore me to death about stuff I wasn’t really interested in or even understood. No maybes about it, I thought; that was the exact reason.
Suddenly I felt someone pulling at me. Of course I wasn’t sure who it was, but the next thing that I knew I was making my way down the grand staircase. It was coated with fake cobwebs and other eerie Halloween items. They had even gotten each step to creak as you stepped on them. That was when I finally got the finished look of the room before me.
The room looked a lot better than it had this morning. The purple light actually darkened the surroundings slightly more, yet you were still able to see. All of the windows looked
as though they hadn’t been touched in years. So did the tables, which were cobwebbed from the edges to the floor, reminding me of Miss Havisham’s dilapidated dining room. Unlike that scene in Dickens’ Great Expectations, however, there was no petrified, moldy wedding cake, but a spectacular spread. Now I began to understand why Mrs. Rontes was all frantic this morning. She had really knocked herself out for this party. Finally, I was amazed by the guests on the dance floor.
They were really, really into this ball, and that attitude was infectious. As I looked around I saw that I wasn’t the only one who looked as if I had stepped in from another century. Many of the men were wearing suits that could have dated back to the days of Peter the Great. Others were wearing tuxes but an older-looking style, from the 1920s, maybe. The women were costumed in period styles ranging from Louis XVI to the Roaring Twenties. The band was even costumed to look like the court orchestra of one of the Esterházy princes--powdered wigs and all.
Apparently I had been so captivated by the sights around me because suddenly I lost my footing and I felt myself start to go down. Almost as soon as I felt myself falling, I glimpsed a hand flying out of nowhere and grab me before I was able to start a domino-effect mass accident on all the people in front of me. As quickly as I could, I regained myself and headed down the stairs. Thank goodness I was about ten feet away from the bottom.
Once I made it down the staircase to safe ground, I turned to thank my savior for saving me from my first public disaster. He was a very tall man in a black pinstripe suit that was slightly dusted, along with his face to simulate the zombie look. Part of the reason he seemed so tall was because of the top hat he wore, draped with cobwebs. Still, he was the best-looking masked dead man I had seen all night--so far, anyway.
Then quickly, before anyone noticed, he whispered, “I know I’m not supposed to speak, but miss, please don’t hurt yourself tonight. I don’t want to follow you around all night.” He started to walk away, and then with a little look added, “Unless you want me to…” And with that he was gone.
No sooner had he left and I was already trying to figure out who he was. Amazing how a simple mask can add such mystique to someone. I most definitely wanted to see him again tonight--or so I began to think as I walked through the crowd.
Based on what he’d whispered to me, he was obviously in the royal court. I also knew I had heard his voice before, and he was probably American. There were only eight Americans in my court--including Kevin, of course, but that certainly wasn’t him. My mystery man was far too kind and solicitous. Okay, I thought, who’s next?
I’d suspected the butler’s apprentice, Thomas, could be American, although I’d never heard him speak more than four words. That was the case with just about all the staff, because I hadn’t exactly been a chatterbox around the palace. Then I remembered that Thomas was about five inches shorter than me, so scratch him off my list of possibilities. Even with a top hat he’d never tower over me like my mystery man had. Not even in my highest heels.
I had found my dinner seat in the midst of my contemplating, and saw that I was sitting with who I thought at first was Mari and Avery. But would my ladies-in-waiting be invited to the party? Probably not. Still, I nodded and smiled as I took my seat. I noticed they were sitting next to two burly men. Antonio and Barnes? Definitely not. But then I noticed a lock of curly black hair that had slipped out of one of the men’s hats that identified him as Antonio.
I shook it off as I began thinking of my mystery man. Maybe it was Marcus, the head gardener…. No, his voice was too high-pitched. What about Lloyd, the night guard? That gave me a glimmer of hope (he was very good looking), until I remembered that he was visiting his girlfriend this weekend. And it wasn’t Paul, who had a mole on the side of his face that was visible from space. Still, he was about the nicest person I had ever met. Life’s unfair cruelties. He would be very handsome if it weren’t for that mole….
My thoughts about Paul and his massive mole came to an abrupt stop when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I slowly turned in my chair and saw my mystery man’s green eyes staring straight into mine. Now, I could go on about how his look fueled me with the fires of a thousand suns, but I won’t. It was more like ten thousand.
I struggled to look less eager when I saw him take a seat next to me. At this point I threw all my thoughts about who this man could possibly be out the window. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was that I had an opportunity to find out who he was.
Dinner was a distraction, it was that good. There was a delicious appetizer of scallops in wine sauce called Coquilles St. Jacques, followed by a prime rib and rosemary potatoes. When dinner actually started it was nearing nine-thirty and we were done around ten-thirty. The ladies I had thought might be Mari and Avery got up with maybe Barnes and Antonio. As I watched them slowly walk away, my eye caught sight of something sliding, then brushing against my hand. I looked down to see a small, crumpled piece of paper. I opened up to see a scribbled note written inside.
You don’t think writing notes is breaking the rules, right?
I mean, as long as I’m not talking to you…
- Your Masked Avenger
I quickly began to search for a pen to write back, when I saw one come flying in the same direction that the note had. I quickly scribbled something of my own:
No, I wouldn’t think so, but you don’t have to worry.
I won’t tell any one.
- The Masked Mistress
I slid it over, only having to wait about twenty seconds before receiving a reply:
Ah, good. I wouldn’t want to be taken away by one
of the bodyguards the princess has here. They look
kind of scary. What’s your reason for being here?
- Me again
I scrawled back:
Aw, those men aren’t that scary. They’re big teddy bears.
And as for me, let’s just say that I’m a member of the court.
-Just Me
This went on back and forth for probably an hour and a half. In that time I learned a few things about my mystery man, and vice versa. We learned about each others favorite music, color, most embarrassing moments, and secrets that no one knows about us.
His favorite music was anything that’s wasn’t orchestra, or boy bands. Mine was similar, except I did have a bit of a more appreciation for the latest boy bands. He laughed at that and then told me that his sisters were into boy bands, too. Another note told me that he had five siblings and that he was the youngest. His favorite color was green, mine was baby blue. My most embarrassing moment was when I danced in front of a security camera in only my bra and underwear on a dare. I saw his eyebrows lift up as he read that admission and I snickered under my breath. His most embarrassing moment was when his sisters would dress him up like a fairy princess and put him in their skirts and makeup. I could not hold my laughter and almost fell out of my chair.
The last topic was secrets that no one knew about us. I felt so comfortable with this man that I was able to tell him how I hadn’t had a birthday party since I was five. I failed to mention the reason why I never had one, though.
When the note was returned I quickly unraveled it to see that it read:
My secret is that it’s three minutes till midnight
and I still haven’t asked anyone to dance with me…
I held my breath as I sent a note back telling him he’d better hurry because it was almost midnight and he would have to unmask someone soon.
Again the note hit my hand.
Thanks for the advice…
I stared at the note a moment, then looked up in bewilderment. He responded to that with a smile. How could he smile when he clearly had upset me by not asking me to dance?
Then he made a gesture that seemed to say, “Turn it over.” Either that or his hand was cramped from all the note-writing. But turn what over? Oh--the note.
I turned it over there it was, exactly what I had hoped for:
So may I
have this dance?
I looked up to nod and saw that he was already standing in front of me, hand outstretched. I smiled as graciously as I could manage and took his hand.
Very slowly we made our way to the dance floor. The band was playing the Lacrymosa from Mozart’s Requiem--a glorious, heartbreaking piece of music, but a strange choice for dance music, I thought. But after the first eight somber bars, the tempo picked up and it took on an irresistible, insinuating beat. Soon I was twirled and turned by my mystery man. He was the kind of dancer every non-expert dancer dreams of--confident, attentive, and not too challenging. As we glided across the floor, I felt as though I was floating on clouds. He made it seem so easy! Everything became a blur and all that mattered was that I was dancing with him and he was dancing with me. And all the time that we were gliding and turning, we never broke eye contact. I just kept staring into his deep green eyes as he stared into mine. It’s a hackneyed expression, I know, but we really were poetry in motion.
All of a sudden, in the middle of a dip my mystery man held me in, a chiming sound was heard. Midnight already? I turned my head from the old clock in the corner to see him still staring at me. Gradually his hands made their way towards my face as mine did towards his. I felt his fingers lightly brush my cheek as he grasped my mask. My fingers grasped his, too, but I sensed some resistance. What did he do, put Super Glue on it?
I felt my mask come off as I was finally able to pull off his. Abruptly I heard a sudden gasp, then I let go of mystery man’s mask and quickly looked up at his face. He looked disappointed and slightly angry. I couldn’t begin to describe how I felt at that moment, though I did wonder if this was some kind of perverse fairytale that ended, rather than began, at midnight.
God Save the Queen Page 5
