Alone, she approached the dais and stopped at ground level. Vhalla attempted to dip gracefully into a curtsy, just as Baldair taught her. She had no doubt that one day of training would not make her a graceful swan of high society, but she didn’t fall upon her nose. That was good enough. Vhalla began a mantra in her head to get her though the night, smile, grace, pose, float, smile.
“Welcome to our Gala, Lady Rose,” the Emperor boomed warmly, not unlike Prince Baldair she thought amusingly. Vhalla tried to find Aldrik in the muscular and weathered man. She tried to imagine Emperor Solaris without the closely cropped beard along his jaw, seeing if she could see any of the eldest prince’s striking features. “We hope you enjoy the celebrations.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Vhalla kept her eyes averted. She had just become accustomed to speaking with princes. The idea of exchanging words with the Emperor himself was still much.
“Baldair,” the Empress’s voice interrupted. “I thought you told me you invited this one yourself.”
“I did,” Baldair announced loud enough to earn some not so subtle stares from a group of ladies at Vhalla’s right.
“Did you not also inform her what was proper to wear to a gala?” the Empress sniffed in her airy tones. Nothing about her speech sounded like Aldrik. “Lady Rose, my son is well versed in fashions, you should have taken his input to heart.”
Vhalla opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. The whispers around her resumed, and her tongue had gone fat and limp. Cerulean eyes stared her down.
“I think she looks stunning.” Aldrik finally spoke and his voice was soothing to Vhalla’s sizzling nerves. Their eyes met and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly as he looked at her. Vhalla looked down again to hide a blush.
“Oh my, dear,” the Empress turned to the Emperor in a hush. “See, he is a bad influence. People will begin to think such dress is acceptable.”
“Come, let us relax and enjoy our evenings.” The Emperor dismissed his wife, as well as Vhalla, with a wave of his hand.
Pleased to no longer be the center of attention, Vhalla fled quickly to the outer edge of the room. People parted to make way for her, though no one addressed her directly. She dared a look back at Aldrik, who was greeting the guest announced after her.
He looked closed off again and sounded curt, but she savored the image of his face in her mind, replaying that stunned look again and again. If she went back to her room right now, the evening would be a success. As the sky grew darker outside, more of the finer players in society began to filter in. Vhalla pretended to be interested in their greetings to the royal family, but really it was an excuse to look at Aldrik.
He wore a long black, double-breasted coat. It fell to right above his knees and had a slit in the back for movement. It was unbuttoned at the top and a perfect triangle was pinned open to show a white-collared shirt with a wide, black necktie that was tucked into a vest beneath his jacket.
It wasn’t quite like the neck ruffles some of the men were sporting, but it did have a bit of volume to it. The jacket was stitched with patterns of the sun, all in black that caught the light perfectly as he moved. Golden rope decorated his cuffs and arms. Beneath he wore a pair of black trousers—Vhalla was beginning to grow suspicious if he actually owned any other color—with more golden piping down the sides. His normal boots were replaced with well-polished, black dancing shoes. Aldrik’s hair was the same as he’d always worn it, save for a golden circlet that was simple in design, a flat rectangular band across his brow.
She found she much preferred his fashion to the colors and pomp of everyone else. Even Prince Baldair had ruffles coming out of his sleeves and peeking out around his coat, ruffles that bounced when he moved; the Southern styles made Vhalla want to laugh.
From time to time, Aldrik would glance in her direction. She’d give him a small smile in reply and enjoy the heated darkness of his eyes. After the formalities had been exchanged and most the guest list was in attendance, the Emperor called for the Gala to begin.
The minstrels paused, adjusted their instruments, and picked up a new tune. Vhalla attempted to count the beat as the golden prince had told her to do, but she was hopeless at the technical aspects of music. Instead she simply hummed along to the instrumental of a classic Southern ballad and tapped her foot as the dance floor filled. She didn’t even notice the royal family had stepped off their pedestal until Prince Baldair was upon her.
“My lady, fairer than the flower of her namesake, will you grant me the honor of this dance?” All his charm was mustered as he dipped into a half bow. Vhalla blinked at the idea of a prince bowing to her. He looked up expectantly at her silence.
“The first dance?” she hissed nervously. Suddenly aware of how many eyes were on her, Vhalla quickly nodded. It was only the expected thing to do when a prince asked you to dance. “Of course, my prince.”
Vhalla curtsied and a calloused hand pulled her onto the dance floor. It was the dance he had taught her, three steps and repeat. Vhalla struggled to remember his steps but her feet did little more than clumsily shuffle along.
Luckily, Prince Baldair had years of training and was a stunning dancer. He guided her effortlessly, navigating her across and between other dancers as they turned. His showmanship made up for her clumsy feet, so much so that she actually felt like she could dance. His hands were gentle and soft as they guided her and his arms supportive to prevent her from falling.