The Colour of Dancing

My attempts to show some aspects of the Kingdom

The dresses flowed gracefully over the polished, marble floor as each man twirled the girl on his arm. Such occasions were normal in the palace, ceremonies dedicated to the marriages of the royals. None would ever refuse such an invitation as it represented the height of social standing within the city. It was a hierarchy, even within the dances. The royals themselves were allowed to wear black and white, yet any colour below that had a social class meaning. The merchants usually wore green; their wives would match with them accordingly seeing as it was frowned upon if classes mixed. Blue was worn by the soldiers and men of the sword. Yellow was for the craftsmen. Grey was for the lowest standing of citizen. Rarely would anyone wearing grey be seen at such an event, yet the colour scheme was in place for any circumstance.

 

The music increased in its pace and the dance started to become faster and faster. Talented dancers remained on the floor whilst most of the others flocked to the sides to observe and banter with each other. The King himself would at times partake in the dancing, however the city was not such a place that the King could dance amongst just anyone, never had the kingdom been that relaxed. It was however one of those rare occasions that his daughter approached him on the elevated steps on which his throne sat. Extending her hand to him, she smiled warmly as she looked to the floors. Each floor was awash with different colours, the highest one of them empty of people wearing black and white. Getting to his feet, King Anthon IX smiled at his daughter as he took her hand in his. The dancers clapped as the herald announced the King’s decision to dance. They music became more mellow and the disappointment could be seen on the faces of many dancers. Looking to the band, the King smiled and gestured for them to pick up the pace of the music once again. The shocked orchestrator replied with a nod as he turned and whipped his fingers through the air, launching the band into a fresh wave of music.

 

Laughing lightly, Princess Dalia shook her head at her father with a knowing smile. She twirled her body in a graceful arc, keeping only her hand rigid as she held onto the wrist of her father. Anthon laughed heartily as his daughter seemed to flow off his hand, only to return smiling. Dancing with her had always been a pleasure. Keeping in step started to become difficult, he had remembered a time when he completely forgot how to dance to a particular tune, yet the people adopted his interpretation of what he thought it was from that day forth. A funnier instance was when many of his royal guard tried to match his steps on that very night. Their wives had abandoned them to laugh at the sidelines whilst they imitated their King. The smile coming back to his face, King Anthon regarded the huge ballroom. The high arches reached from one side of the room to the other. Each floor was set at a different elevation, yet connected by stairways. They even had their own banisters with coloured carpets leading to them. Each carpet colour was to represent the dancers on the so-called podiums. Turning back to the task at hand, Anthon took two steps forward and clapped his hands in the air twice. The noise sounded through the room as each person echoed his movements. The booming of the drums seemed to flow to his steps as he twirled and stomped at each note change. Many of the men wearing blue smiled as they noticed the swordsman within the King, his steps betraying his knowledge of the sword. However, everyone else had their eyes on the Princess. Her captivating laugh was enough to ensnare the heart of anyone. As the music came to a slower finish, many of the remaining dancers took their leave of the stage, knowing that the following music would only be faster than that of the others.

 

Amongst the people leaving, was the King himself. His smile was apologetic as he let go of his daughter’s hand. Anthon locked eyes with some of his people when he returned to his throne. It was the only way to acknowledge people whilst respecting his position as King. Taking his seat slowly, he glanced at the empty throne aside his, knowing it would never be occupied again.

 

Princess Dalia lost her smile momentarily as she noticed her father regarding the empty throne. Her mother had died giving birth to her, yet her father had refused to remarry, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to bear a son. A part of her was proud of her father for such a decision, yet the other part of her knew that there was now a huge pressure placed on her shoulders to find a man worthy of the throne. It was not for a lack of suitors, of them, there were many. The Princess however wished to find true love as her father did. The man she would marry would eventually become King of the realm. It was one of the many things that made her reluctant to believe the words of the men that tried to woo her. If she didn’t chose, the line would end with her father... Princess Dalia knew what her fate was since she was a child, she had to give birth to King Anthon X.

Author's Note

Rip it to shreds if you want :D

Reviews

[Adeline]

This is so good! I really love the detail you put into it, and the description of the palace and the people was excellent. Nice write! :)

[Scott Free]

I'd find it hard to rip to shreds I think...it's really good.
This is a good beginning or setting for a story or whatever...the description was well done and well placed.
Well, for the most part. One thing; you begin with quite a bit of description, like with the dresses and dancing and all that. I would let that to the reader slowly if I were you. But that's my only criticism.
Good job!

[-Aurelia Mirella]

I love it! The King seems like such a lovely person! I'm so glad he isn't a rude and nasty one as most make them out to be, not all kings have to be bad.

I found only one thing wrong, you used 'they' instead of 'the'. Second paragraph, sentence number nine, I believe.

Great job!!

Always,
-Aurelia