The Emerald-Opal Heir - 8

Beckett was pretty sure he was just on display at this point. 

The glittering gems in the crown on his brow were as fake as he was. He hated how stifling hot the royal robes were too, and he even considered getting them resized to be more modern. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have people waiting on his hand and foot in the first place. 

A week and a half of absolutely nothing except for “princely duties”. Measuring, training, some more measuring, an occasional meal with a guest. Beckett was sure Baelle was just messing with him at this point. She had to be. 

True to their word, the Viridian blacksmiths forged Beckett a new sword, its blade as pure white as marble. They also worked ruthlessly at adjusting the Sacred Blade, which Beckett still had yet to see in person. Supposedly, it was being adapted to fit him perfectly, but Beckett wasn’t so sure nor did he want to wield such a powerful weapon. 

This was the fourth night in a row he was forced to stand stiffly on the steps leading from the courtyard to the palace itself, waving mindlessly at carriages that passed. 

The night was cooler than normal, the cool breeze something Beckett was immensely grateful for. He could feel sweat dripping down his back in a steady rhythm, could feel it soaking his robes. 

There couldn’t be too many more carriages, as the guest wing was almost filled already. 

“One more visitor is scheduled to come today,” Baelle said, as if reading his mind. Today she’d dressed in a gown the same shade of pink as the lotus flowers that bloomed in the lakes nearby. It was unflattering on her, making her seem innocent when she was anything but. 

Not that Beckett was brave enough to point that out. 

“How long will the ball itself take?” I swear to the goddesses, if I have to wear these robes for longer than a few hours… 

Baelle gave a small shrug. “I don’t know yet. It’ll probably go past midnight, but that’s when the heavy drinking starts so maybe I’ll send you to bed beforehand.”

Beckett scoffed. “You? Send a prince to bed? What a strange message that’ll send.”

Baelle didn’t reply at first, but her expression darkened. “I am a goddess, as I continually remind you. Goddesses outrank princes.” 

Maybe they did, but Beckett would never respect Baelle’s position of power for as long as he lived. The throne was his, and she was just keeping it warm for him. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

“Ah, there they are,” Baelle cut in, breaking the awkward silence. “Lord Alberto of Waelia, and his family.” 

The carriage itself was unimportant, Beckett knew not to judge the family based on their ride. Because while the carriage was nearly falling apart, the family that stepped out was nothing but perfection. 

A father, a mother, a son, and a daughter. A perfect family in the eyes of many. 

They all looked similar, too. Strawberry blonde hair that glinted red when the sun hit it the right way. Bright eyes that took in way too much. Beckett was thoroughly overwhelmed, already picturing exactly how cocky and rude these people would be. 

That was until the daughter stepped out of the carriage. 

Her outfit was one of a noble, not the crazy mess of tulle that Baelle wore but not a sack of cotton that was all too common in the slums. Even that wasn’t what caught Beckett’s eye. 

It was her face, those perfect lips and eyes that immediately went to his. Those lips parted in surprise as she took him in, as though she remembered him from somewhere, though that was impossible. 

“Lord Alberto, Lady Edith,” Baelle greeted, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. “Oh, and how could I forget Dillon and Alys.” 

The brother, Dillon, frowned as though upset not to be addressed by his proper title. 

But Alys’s eyes never left Beckett, and he knew his gaze never wavered either. Alys. What a fitting name. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, a voice whispered to him that it meant noble. 

Baelle cleared her throat and Beckett snapped to attention, straightening his back and dragging his eyes away. 

Yes, she was pretty but that wasn’t what entranced Beckett. Maybe it was the way she held herself like she was better than all the others or maybe it was the way all that confidence seemed fake. Whatever it was, Beckett really wanted to simply talk to her, but with Baelle watching his every move, it would be nearly impossible- 

“I’m sure Prince Beckett would be willing to give you a tour,” Baelle continued, sending a knowing glance in his direction. “Dillon? Alys?” 

While Dillon seemed absolutely disgusted at the idea of being led around the castle by a prince younger than him, Alys brightened and nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. As long as it’s fine with my parents.”

Beckett could feel the excitement searing through his veins as the lord and lady exchanged a look before giving a slow nod. 

Don’t make a fool of yourself, Baelle seemed to say as she turned to welcome the family inside. “I’ll show you to your suite-” 

Lord Alberto, Lady Edith, and Dillon followed closely behind Baelle and they disappeared into the maze-like corridors. 

“Milady,” Beckett said, recalling his various lessons in etiquette. He offered his arm and Alys giggled before accepting, her gloved touch harsher than Beckett had been expecting. “Would you like to remove your cloak? I’ll carry it for you.” 

“No, thanks. I’ll keep it on,” Alys declined, a hint of worry etching lines around the sides of her eyes. 

Odd, Beckett thought to himself. With the amount of layers she had to be wearing, wasn’t she as warm as he was? The rejection threw him off his game and he struggled to figure out what to say next, cheeks burning with shame. 

“Why don’t you show me to the kitchens? I’m famished,” Alys suggested, saving Beckett from any more embarrassment. 

“Of course,” he agreed, forcing a weak smile. “Right this way, milady.” 

He focused on his steps, trying not to feel flustered in front of Alys, which was nearly impossible when he was a mess compared to her perfection. His hair was a mess, his crown was too big, and his robes kept sliding off of his shoulders. He was a child next to her. 

At least he’d yet to trip over his own feet, but Beckett could sense that coming next. 

The kitchen was bustling with life when Beckett held open the door for Alys to step inside. None of the cooks stopped working, which actually made Beckett feel a little better. Even Alys seemed at ease as they slipped between people and counters and carts of food. 

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked, trying to be polite. 

Alys grinned, her smile like pure sunlight. “What would you suggest? Are there any … special dishes that you would recommend?” 

Beckett blushed. Suddenly his favorite meals didn’t seem satisfactory anymore. 

Why do you care if Alys likes your favorite foods, the rational part of him said. Did his guilty pleasure of things as simply as sandwiches really matter? 

“I … I like the chocolates,” he managed at last. “Argenti has the best chocolates of anywhere I’ve been.” 

Not that he’d tried chocolate elsewhere but it seemed to satisfy Alys. 

She gently tapped one of the chefs hurrying by on the shoulder, startling the man so badly he dropped his bowl of soup, spilling it everywhere. The kitchen fell quiet except for a soft gasp from the chef as he bent down to begin wiping up the mess. 

Alys frowned and Beckett wondered if she was going to flip out and attack the chef for his insolence. Instead, she pulled a thick handkerchief from one of the many hidden pockets in her cloak and set to work cleaning the floor with the chef. 

Beckett couldn’t believe his eyes. A noble? On her knees, cleaning up the floor along with a man far beneath her status? It was practically unheard of. 

“Sorry, ma’m,” the chef whispered hurriedly, distraught. 

“You’re fine,” Alys assured him. “I’m clumsy - it’s not your fault at all.” 

The chef glanced at Beckett, as if expecting the prince to yell at him instead. Beckett kept his mouth glued shut, unsure of what to say. 

Alys and the chef cleaned up the rest of the mess without a word, all the other cooks resuming their work. When the soup was cleaned, Alys brushed off her skirts and gave a small curtsy to the chef, thanking him for his understanding while Beckett stood and watched uselessly. 

They ended up leaving without chocolate. 

And while Beckett couldn’t fathom what Alys found so interesting about walking through every single corridor of the castle, he led her down hallway after hallay without complaint. 

“The history here is so rich,” she mumbled, eyes never stopping to rest on a singular item. She inspected every painting - asking Beckett who the people were and why Baelle had neglected to take the pictures down to which he didn’t have answers to either. Alys also asked about every vase, every table, every decoration that lined the hallways. 

Beckett couldn’t help but admire her enthusiasm. The way she spoke about the history of the silver palace with such passion made it impossible to ignore her. 

At last they arrived outside the Waelian suite and Beckett didn’t want the night to end. 

“Let’s do this again sometime,” Alys requested, her cheeks a bashful pink. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“Probably not,” Beckett lied, knowing full well that Baelle was giving him another set of lessons on ball etiquette. It would come back to haunt him the next day, but Beckett couldn’t bring himself to decline Alys’s offer. 

“Then we’ll meet at the portrait of King Alec tomorrow evening after supper,” Alys decided. 

Beckett nodded, forcing down the lump in his throat. “Of course.”

Alys blushed again, pecking him on the cheek before disappearing into the suite with a coy smile. 

Perfection, Beckett thought to himself as he wandered back to his own room. 

“If you step on my foot one more time, I might actually kill you,” Baelle threatened with a roll of her eyes. 

“Sorry,” Beckett apologized for the sixth time. He made an effort to avoid Baelle’s toes as the music reached a crescendo around them. He tried to match the beat of it with his steps but the pure magic of the melody evaded him. 

Beckett wondered if music was one of those things he would never understand. There was no rhyme or reason to how it made people feel certain ways, and perhaps that was why Beckett didn’t care for it. The rise and fall of the sound didn’t evoke emotion in him, didn’t make him picture a long lost family or a beautiful scene. He heard the notes but they didn’t seem to make a lasting impact on him. 

“Now you’re watching your feet,” Baelle chastised, raising a hand to silence the instrumentalists. 

“What else am I supposed to look at?” Beckett snapped. 

“Whoever your partner is,” Baelle answered curtly. “Whatever girl asks you to dance will expect that you know the steps well enough to meet her eyes and offer compliments.” 

“If you’re one of those girls, your expectations are a little high,” he grumbled in response. “Besides, you’re the one who glued the footprints to the floor.”

“To help you!” Baelle sighed. “At this point it may be better to let you plead sick or-”

A knock at the door sent both of them jumping. Beckett took a seat on the bench in the corner of the room next to a handful of musicians. 

Beckett was pretty sure the room was supposed to be used for lessons, but not dancing. The floorboards creaked with every step, making it hard to focus on the beat of the music and it didn’t help that Baelle had quite literally glued footprints to the floor where Beckett was supposed to step. He was pretty sure the musicians were hired entirely for his benefit, so he took care to thank them whenever he could for their service. All he got in response were petrified stares. 

“Alys!” Baelle cooed, sending a spike of fear down Beckett’s spine. “How nice of you to join us.” Her gritted teeth said otherwise. 

“I was wondering if the prince was with you. He promised he would walk with me after dinner, and yet he never showed up.” There was a hint of accusation in her words, and Beckett found his feet dragging him towards the door. 

Alys’s eyes widened when she saw him, but her lips broke into a smile. “Your Highness! I was wondering if you’d found a girl prettier than myself to occupy your time.”

Impossible, Beckett knew. And Alys definitely knew it too. 

“I was working on my dancing skills,” Beckett admitted, ignoring Baelle’s disappointed expression. “It’s taking longer than expected.” 

Probably because the room lacked windows and a clock. 

Alys gave one of her delightful giggles. “Really? I love dancing, and I’d be happy to help you learn if you’d like.” The girl looked to Baelle for approval. “If that’s alright with Her Majesty, I mean.” 

“I’m afraid our lessons were almost at a close,” Baelle said, cocking her head to the side. “If you would like to watch, be my guest. There’s only one more dance left to do.”

Beckett understood what Baelle was trying to do. The goddess either didn’t trust or didn’t like Alys and was trying to show her that Beckett was nothing more than a false prince sitting upon a throne of lies. Beckett wouldn’t have any of that. 

“Alys, would you like to be my dance partner?” he interrupted. 

Baelle’s mouth parted slightly, barely noticeable except to Beckett who had spent way too much time with her. 

Alys’s cheeks flushed with color. “I’d be honored, Your Highness.” She dipped into a curtsy before Beckett offered her his arm and the two made their way to the center of the floor. If Alys noticed the footprints, she made no comment. 

“Why don’t we try The Waltz of the Fae,” suggested Baelle. 

“It’s quite fast,” Alys noted. “Also one of my favorites,” she added when Baelle’s gaze darkened. 

The musicians obediently struck up a tune that Beckett already had trouble keeping up with. His feet stayed rooted to the ground and sweat dripped down his back. This was it - the moment when Alys would see what a loser he was… 

He placed his hands on her hips as Baelle had shown him, and Alys laid her gloved fingers atop his shoulders. Beckett froze at the touch before- 

Alys took a dainty step, and another. Slow at first, dancing at half the speed of the music. Beckett could feel his feet stumbling over every little dip in the ground, but Alys didn’t seem to mind. He kept his eyes locked on hers, not daring to let his gaze waver. 

It was obvious that Alys was doing most of the work. She practically lifted him off his toes and made him light enough to float. 

Maybe it wasn’t the music that people enjoyed, Beckett realized. Maybe it was the dancing. The tune was jolly and light, skipping through the air and twisting circles around the pair of dancers. He didn’t care for the sound, but it was clear that Alys was enjoying it so he made an effort to listen too. 

Before he knew it, the music dropped off abruptly. Beckett nearly lost his balance, but Alys turned him quickly so that he fell into her arms, only kept aloft by her strength. 

Her breath came in quick pants when she helped him straighten up, brushing an invisible speck of dirt off of his coat. “Normally the guy would do that move to the lady, but I’ll forgive that one mistake.”

“Only the one?” he asked. 

Alys raised an eyebrow. “There are no other mistakes that I noticed. I don’t see why you need lessons at all, but I do hope you’ll save your first dance for me at the ball.”

“Only if you save your first for me as well,” Beckett promised, earning one of Alys’s gorgeous grins. “May I escort you back to your room, milady? It’s growing quite late and the castle can be hard to navigate in the daytime, let alone at night.”

“It would be an honor, Your Highness,” Alys responded, hooking her arm through his. 

Just before they left the room, Beckett risked a look back at Baelle, still standing with her arms crossed. She was positively fuming. 

Beckett counted that as a victory for him.

Author's Note

New characters!