Chapter Two: The Heroes Meet

This is the chapter in which, shockingly enough, the heroes meet. The event that acts as a catalyst to the initial conflict occurs in this chapter, as well.

            Raine was toying with the neckline of her gown, aflutter with nervous anticipation, when a queer feeling washed over her.  She couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t think.  White stars danced before her eyes.  The blood drained from her rouged cheeks, leaving her pale and quivering from a sharp stabbing pain that assaulted her skull.  “Mother,” she breathed, a short, simple warning.  She braced herself against the post of her bed and slid down the length of the polished wood, writhing.

            Vera dropped powder and brush to the marble vanity.  The contents spilled and choked the air.  She eased her daughter to her feet.  Raine sputtered.  Vera fanned her face and lowered her onto the bed.  Raine whimpered and curled into a fetal position as best she could with the restrictions of the corset.  Her hands went to her head.  She broke out in a cold sweat.  Her breath came in quick rasps.  Vera hovered, wringing her hands.  She stroked the hair from her daughter’s clammy face and rubbed her back while whispering soothing words to her.  “It’s all right, my dear.  It shall pass.  Sweet child, it shall pass.”

            Raine suffered for what seemed like an eternity.  In reality, the spell lasted a mere minute.  Raine’s tensed body unfurled.  Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she caught her breath.  Her fingers slid from her forehead to rest lightly on her throat.  The last vestiges of the  pains were fading, leaving no evidence of the powerful hold over her.

            Vera stroked Raine’s cheek.  “It has passed?”

            Raine nodded.  She righted herself with a wince.  Her hands went to her hair.  Strands had been loosened from the careful administrations of her mother.  “Oh, no,” she moaned  “I’m sorry.”

            Vera shook her head and smiled.  She unclasped the end of the braid and floated her fingers through Raine’s sunsilk tresses.  “Perhaps we should leave it loose for the evening.”

            Raine watched as Vera stood and retrieved the powder from the vanity.  She absently brushed the spilled powder from the slick surface and rejoined her daughter on the bed.  She dabbed at the residual sweat on Raine’s brow and dusted the powder over her skin.  She turned Raine’s face toward the fading sunlight.  “There.  You’re lovely.”  She stood and returned the powder to its place.

            Raine fisted the coverlet.  “Mother�"“

            Vera dusted off her hands.  “I will be sure to send for someone to help clean this mess up for you while you are at the Presentation.  You needn’t fret over it.”

            Raine bit her lip.  “About the Presentation�"“

            Vera turned to her in a rush.  “Raine Ulia Acadia, your absence or tardiness is quite out of the question.”

            Raine felt a surge of exasperation.  She took a deep breath.  “I am servant to a higher influence.  The choice is not mine.”

            “The Fates are unscrupulous.”  Vera glanced skyward.  “Do you hear me?  It has not yet been a full month; there is absolutely no reason why you should be so persistant.”

            Raine rushed to her mother and grasped her hands.  “Mother, don’t.”

            Vera scoffed.  She met Raine’s worried gaze and sighed.  “Very well.  No blaspheming.  But don’t think for a moment that I will allow you out of the gates of this estate until the morning.  Surely they can wait that long.”

            “I’m sure you’re right,” Raine said.

            Vera stroked her daughter’s hair.  “Just enjoy your evening.  Can you promise me that you will?”

            Raine ventured a genuine smile.  But, deep in her heart, she felt a familiar uneasiness.  Her mother’s expression was one of painful denial, the same expression she had had the first time she witnessed Raine collapse, the first time she had clawed at the ground and moaned, “Alshitar,” between waves of summoning.  The first day she realized her daughter was the Seer.

            Raine had attempted to keep it a secret.  Since her sixteenth birthday, when she was first called to Alshitar’s icy peak, she had strived to spare her family the burden of her duties.  For two years she managed to sneak out once a month when the flame in her parent’s room was snuffed.  But she was careless when she turned eighteen.  She ignored a summons to help her sister show horses at a fair that could triple their business.  When she had returned, she was three days late to the Reading, and the Fates punished her the only way they could.  They struck her down; exposed her for what she was and forever would be: The messenger of the gods.

            Her mother knew what it meant.  And, upon reflection, she had seen all the signs.  The broken arm that healed in a mere week; the flush of crops on their lands when the drought near bankrupted other farms; her furtive warning to keep Isabelle from going on a cattle run that would turn into a stampede.  She was the Seer, a powerful sorceress with the gift of foresight and the obligation of maintaining the fragile balance of power, and there was nothing she could say or do to make it go away.

            The summons had been as much of a shock to Raine as it would later be to her mother.  There had not been a Seer in centuries, not since he passing of Giulia Voraith.  She had been a daughter of royal Saladian blood, and the second-to-last reincarnation of the spirit of Diamond before the Golden Era.  The Seer had long since been declared obsolete, unnecessary in a world flush with peace and tranquility.  So when a whisper on the wind awoke her, beckoned her to read the stone of Alshitar, she was too awestruck to refuse.  Not that she had much choice in the matter, regardless.

            It rarely interrupted her daily life.  In fact, even after her exposure, she only travelled under the cloak of moonlight.  But when she was weary from working the fields and neglected her path, she was reminded.  Her mother had witnessed the spells only twice before.  Each time she reacted as though Raine had a mere migraine, seldom addressing the root of the malady.  It was a terrible burden, to know your daughter wields such good and terrible power, and even more difficult to bear it alone.  Raine had begged Vera not to tell Giorge.  She was convinced that he would forbid her from the long trek to Alshitar and bring consequnces down upon her family.  Vera consented, but Raine could see how it pained her to lie to him.

            Vera ushered Raine from her room.  She propelled her toward the parlor.  Raine affixed a meek smile to her face and allowed herself to be pulled this way and that.  Giorge stood in the hall, tapping his foot and staring at his pocketwatch.  He glanced toward the approaching rustling and footfalls.  His smile evaporated.  He grasped Raine’s shoulders and looked down at her.  “Oh, my.  I’m not sure I’m all right with this at all.”

            Vera slapped his arm.  “Don’t be silly, Giorge.  She couldn’t be more modest if she was wearing a veil.”

            Giorge smiled.  He touched Raine’s cheek.  His brow furrowed.  “You feel a bit clammy.  Are you well?”

            “Absolutely,” Vera broke in.

            “It’s the corset.  I’m not accustomed to the suffocating.”

            Giorge laughed.  He kissed his wife on the cheek.  Vera curtseyed and scurried off I the direction of the kitchen.  He offered Raine his arm.  Raine accepted with fluorish.  “I am a lucky lady, indeed, to be escorted by such a sharply dressed gentleman,” she lilted.

            “Your flattery, though accurate, will not excuse you from my scrutiny this evening.  If any so much as graze your lower back, I am to be informed immediately.”

            Raine scoffed.  “They may pull back a stump.”

            “That’s my girl.”

            Raine beamed.  Then, with a deep breath, she nodded toward the double doors of the ballroom.

            The air was heavy with a low thrum of voices.  Raine and Giorge stepped over the threshold into the glitz and splendor of the ballroom.  A crystal chandelier suspended from the center of the room, framed by velvet drapery.  It twirled ever-so-gently, shedding glimmers of light amongst the gathered.  Glasses tinkled in the din of conversation and laughter.

            Raine strived to keep her head high.  She didn’t recognize a single face in the crowd, not that she had expected she would.  Presentation balls were reserved for the landowners and political figureheads of the region along with their spouses.

            Giorge steered his daughter to the refreshment table.

A few feet away, a stocky man in military dress with a neat beard and shiny red face spotted them.  “Giorge!” he called, gesturing in welcome.

“General Fowler looks as though he began the celebration early,” Giorge cautioned.  “Have something to eat.  I will just be a moment.”

Raine nodded.  Giorge joined the semi-circle of men.  General Fowler clapped him hard on the back and said something that was drowned out by the miasma of sounds.  Raine turned and stared in awe at the remarkable array of offerings on the long tables before her.  From steamed sugar dumplings to lobster cakes to platters of freshly sliced meats and cheeses from their farm, it was a cornucopia of beloved Saladian cuisine.  There was no denying it: Vera was the best of the best.  No one else could have directed the preparation of such an extravagent buffet in the alotted time.  Raine pored over the offerings.  She nibbled at a few cheese slices and crackers, but her mouth was dry and prevented her from enjoying it.  She touched a hand to her parched throat.

            Several long minutes passed before Giorge returned to her side with a glass of champagne.  She accepted it with a grateful smile.  “I’m sorry, my dear.  He does run on so, especially once he has Rodonga wine in him.”

            Raine sipped the champagne.  It was more tart than their own sparkling wine, and infinitely sweeter.  The temptation to down the glass was great; with every sidelong glance and ill-disguised murmur it grew.  Thankfully, her father’s presence was enough to quell her overindulgence.

            “That’s strange,” Giorge said.  “I don’t see Lord Ellin anywhere.  He’s not one to be late to his own party.”

 

            Phinneus scurried alongside Phoebus’s long-legged stride, stroking stray hairs and dust from Phoebus’s coat with a small brush.  Phoebus nudged his fluttering hands away.  “Phinneus, would you please cease.  You’re making me nervous with all of your henpecking.”

            Phinneus ignored Phoebus’s thwarting attempts.  He plucked a bit of dried vine from the prince’s shoulder with a grimace.  “You’re late, you reek of the road, and the fool stagehand practically threw a shower of dirt over you when he peeled off to the stables.  You should be nervous.”

            “I don’t see why,” Phoebus murmured.  “It’s not as though I’m rubbing elbows with foreign diplomats.  They’re all Saladian.”

            “And nobility.  Despite your esteemed title, your highness, it is pertinent that you show the all the respect that you would show your father.”

            Phoebus scoffed.

            “All right, your mother, then.”  Phinneus stopped Phoebus to look him over and pursed his lips.  “This will not do.  You’re due a freshening up.”

            “Finn, please�"“

            “Ah ah!”  Phinneus took Phoebus firmly by the elbow and steered him away from the red-runner path that led to the ballroom.  Kitchen maids bearing trays of hors d’oeurves and tall glasses of pink champagne diverted their glances and paths as the pair bore down the corridor.  Phinneus navigated the maze of halls with expertise, finally stopping before a pair of guarded doors.  He whipped out the Saladian seal and thrust it forward.  The guards nodded and pushed the doors open.

            The pair entered the magnificently appointed chamber of the Duke.  Phinneus yanked the bell pull at the foot of the bed.  “My uncle is going to have a coronary,” Phoebus advised as he slipped out of his jacket.

            Phinneus laid the soiled uniform on the down comforter.  “His anxiety is no doubt peaked by now.  He can wait another thirty minutes.”

            Three maids bustled in, eyes downcast.  Phinneus gently gave orders, and the maids busied themselves.  One maid escorted Phoebus to the connecting bathroom.  He did not look at her face as she drew away and ran a bath.  He turned his back and disrobed, careful to set the clothes down neatly.  The maid poured a sweet-smelling liquid into the water.  Phoebus’s brow furrowed.  He glanced at the maid, but she had already turned her back to prepare his robe.  He shrugged off the eerie familiarity.  Breathing in the heavy air, he slid into the water and began to vigorously scrub his arms and neck.

            A silky voice whispered in his ear: “Allow me.”

            Phoebus froze.  The maid’s hands slid down his soapy arms.  The bathroom door lock clicked into place across the room.  Phoebus dropped the washrag to the water from his slack fingers.  He turned his face to see the smiling visage of the maid.  Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her facial makeup minimal, but he recognized the razor sharp edge of her cheekbone, the pillowed softness of her lips, and the feline slant of her sparkling black eyes.  “Alia,” he breathed.

            “Dear, me.  I’ve forgotten myself.”  She took hold of the washcloth.  Her slender hands caressed his chest, sliding up and down the slick, smooth surface.  Her hair unbound itself and settled about her shoulders, an obsidian tapestry.  “You rather do fancy my hair down, don’t you?”

            The scent and warmth of her skin and hair was intoxicating.  Her fingers weaved a spell over him, lulling him into a euphoric state.  He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the image of Phinneus’s panicked face popped into Phoebus’s mind’s eye.  He pulled away with a start.  He could hear Phinneus’s muffled timber through the door as he provided guidance for the maids.  “What are you doing here?” he murmured.

Alia frowned.  “You aren’t pleased to see me.”

“Not at all, it’s just…”  Phoebus looked across the room where the door was bolted.  “This isn’t really a proper time.”

Alia smirked.  She drew near.  “That’s the thrill of it, isn’t it?”

The pull of her words was strong.  There was no denying Alia’s allure.  Since the moment he had stumbled upon her after a night of flowing ale and male camaraderie, when the sweet-smelling maiden sneaked him and his companions past the palace guards using her gifts of shadow and illusion, he had been bewitched by her extraordinary beauty and cunning.  He had fairly begged her to return the next night, quite out of his senses.  He regretted his words the next morning, sure that she would not heed the imploring of a drunken buffoon.  He fully expected to never see her again.

But she did come.  At the stroke of midnight, as though in a dream, she drifted in through his open window, a vision of ethereal loveliness with silver moonbeams in her hair.  She stole him away into the night.  They travelled on the evening breeze, moving as swiftly and soundly over the mountains and trees.  For the first time, he witnessed the festival of lights illuminate the sky over the distant continent of Euphoria.  A week later, she spirited him to the United Isle of Eughno, where the newly appointed goddesses of Psylla’s Pillar performed a ceremonial fertility dance.  Every week, she swept him off for another breathless exploration of Polithia’s wonderfully vast cornucopia of cultures.

Soon, the meetings evolved from grand outings to romantic trysts.  Phoebus was a young man.  He had been with a woman.  Several, in fact, though not nearly as many as his reputation suggested.  There was something different about Alia.  Her long, unblemished fingernails blazed electric trails down his back; the sticky sweet smell of her supple skin lingered on his body and sheets long after she had taken her leave.  But it was her voice, the sensuous rasp of her words as she demanded his touch, that overwhelmed his senses even in the mere recollection of it.  He had never met a woman so extraordinary.  With all her regal bearing, it was difficult to imagine that she could be a simple maid.

There was the rub.  It didn’t matter to Phoebus, who wanted to shout of their love from the rooftops.  Alia was more grounded about their situation.  She had advised him not to speak of their relationship, not even to his closest friends and confidants.  She didn’t seem especially bothered by the impropriety or the risk of the king’s wrath as much as she didn’t want to be bothered by the inconvenience of the gossiping and difficulties maintaining her employment were they to be discovered.  Phoebus knew and understood her position.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit deflated, knowing that she accepted their inevitable separation.

It was the alteration of her covert modus operandi that left Phoebus speechless.  He drew a deep breath and moved her hands away.  “We can’t do this now,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry.”

Alia’s gaze steeled and her expression clouded.  Her tresses twisted into a tight bun.  Jaw set, she yanked the lever to drain the water and turned her back, arms crossed over her chest.

Phoebus sighed.  He hoisted himself out of the tub and shrugged into a robe.  “Don’t be angry.  I’ve told you how Phinneus can be.”

“Forget it.”  Alia squared her shoulders and turned back to Phoebus.  She smiled.  “I overstepped my bounds.”  She dipped into a swift curtsey.  “I apologize, my lord.”  She glanced toward the door.  The lock slid out of place just as Phinneus pulled the doors open.  “Come on, come on,” he urged, pulling a half-hearted Phoebus from the steamy bathroom.

Phoebus snuck several glances toward Alia.  She assisted the other maids in clothing him.  Her expression did not betray a single emotion; her hands lacked the usual magic of her fond touch.  She deferred the final duty of placing the jacket to another maid, the first clear sign of her displeasure.  Phoebus suppressed the urge to take her by the arm and demand her forgiveness.  After all, she was in the wrong for breaking the very rules she had set in place.  He couldn’t understand the sudden change in her.

Phinneus dismissed the maids.  Alia did not meet his gaze as she took her leave, which was characteristic of her.  She often treated him as a stranger if he glimpsed her in the streets while performing her duties.  Still, Phoebus had a hard time swallowing back the lump in his throat.

But as Phinneus escorted him down the hall toward the ballroom, freshly pressed and ripe for royal conversation, a thought occurred to him.  He smiled.  His heart felt lighter.  He would have laughed had Phinneus not been at his elbow.

She wanted them to be discovered!  There could be no other explanation.  Her sudden boldness in a situation that could only have led to suspicion if not accusations spoke volumes.  He chuckled before he could catch himself.  Phinneus shot him an odd glance.  “You’re suddenly, and unusually, mirthful about this, my lord.”

Phoebus’s smile would not be banished, no matter how somber he attempted to look.  He shook his head.  “Oh, Finn.  What’s the use of putting on a discordant air?  Might as well enjoy the party.”

 

Whilst some parties at or around the ball were aglow with the blush of amorous thoughts, Raine was merely miserable.  The beautiful ballgown, upon which Raine’s mother had taken great pains to perfect each and every detail, had had the train trod upon a half a dozen times.  With the Duke bringing about superior after superior, Raine had nary an opportunity to provide her rumbling stomach with more than a few morsels.  As for drinks, champagne flowed freely and was always within reach, unlike the water or tea that never seemed available when she forgot a name of title and her mouth went dry.  So she stood at the head of the ballroom: trodden, hungry, and a trifle dizzy from a few too many flutes of sparkling refreshment.  It was amazing that she managed to make it through the receiving line.

Duke Ellin, who had at last made his tardy appearance, stood at their side as the last of the glittering guests made their way through the line and filtered into the banquet hall.  He looked sharp across the empty ballroom.  He appeared chagrined.  Giorge took note of it.  “Something troubling you, Sir?” he asked.

Duke Ellin’s jaw set.  “Not troubling.  Merely irritating.”

Raine stared at the chandelier overhead.  She studied it so hard and for so long that the crystals began to tremble and double before her eyes.  “Hmmm,” she remarked.  She stumbled a step.

Giorge, startled, took hold of her.  “Why, thank you, father,” she said, a bit too brightly.  She winced.  “Oh, but I do wish the room would stop spinning.”

Duke Ellin chuckled.  “Perhaps you had best get some food in the girl.”

“I was thinking something similar.”  Giorge smiled at his daughter.  “Chin up, now, pretty girl.  You can rest once we get to your chair.”

Raine instantly righted her slumped posture.  Her eyes cleared, and the frown was replaced by a gentle upturn of her lips.  Giorge was not surprised by the sudden change.  If there was one aspect that stood out in Raine, it was her ability to make the best out of a potentially disastrous situation.  Tonight, that included feigning sobriety, at least until she was able to soak up the alcohol with some food.  Giorge led her firmly under the guise of close escort into the banquet hall thrumming with conversation.

Duke Ellin sighed.  He glanced once more toward the doors in the distance.

Two figures came into view.  Duke Ellin squinted.  They came closer in a hurry.  The Duke smiled, then frowned and tapped his foot.  “Nephew.  How kind of you to come.  And nearly on time for the second part of the Presentation, too.”

“You know I’d never miss a good meal.  It’s the frittering about before that I could live without.”

“When you’re king, you’ll be frittering away without much of a choice in the matter.”

“When I am king, parties will be outlawed.  Unless there is free flowing Rodongo wine and many young, pretty women to dance with who don’t care for the restraints of a corset.”  He waggled his eyebrow and nudged his uncle.  Phinneus rolled his eyes.

“Barbarian.”  Duke Ellin fought a smile.  “Well, might as well feed you, though you don’t deserve a bite of the sumptuous feast my cooks and farmhands practically slaved over.”

“All right, all right,” Phoebus laughed.  He pressed his hands together in supplication.  “I apologize, dear Uncle, from the deepest depths of my heart.  Might you spare me your wrath and allow me a seat at your table, so that I may look upon the faces of those who went to such pains to be duly presentable for this evening?”

“Get on with you,” Duke Ellin chortled, smacking Phoebus hard on the back.  Phoebus winced through his smile.  “Phinneus, please join us.  There’s always room at my table.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Phinneus said.  “I’ll be in the kitchen to lend a hand, if you have need me.”  He bowed and beat a hasty retreat.

“Is it too much to ask that man to relax?”

“Uncle, there’s no use asking the improbable.”  Phoebus gestured toward the banquet hall.  “Shall we?”

“Indubitably.”  Duke Ellin marched toward the doors.

Phoebus grinned and held his arms wide.  “Will you not escort me, my lord?”

Duke Ellin barked a laugh and gestured for him to keep up.

 

            Raine and Giorge had found their way to the head table, where four throne-like chairs lined up before an ornate wood table set with flawless pearl china and silver flatware.  Raine sat in her chair with exaggerated stiffness, partially from the sturdiness of the corset.  She managed to steady herself without looking as though she were bracing herself against the table.  Giorge passed a basket of warm yeast rolls to her.  She restrained herself, slicing the roll in two and gently slathering it with honey butter before taking slow, deliberate bites.  At least, in her mind’s eye it was a delicate procedure.  To all the eyes that were upon her, she appeared ravenous, consuming several rolls at once and relishing them.  Many who had passed on the rolls now eyed them with a strange desire.

            Giorge considered pulling the basket away.  He then considered how Raine might react to even the most gentle of reprimands.  He poured her a tall glass of iced water instead.  She gulped it down with fervor.

            Duke Ellin approached.  “My.  Those certainly do appear to be tasty.”

            Raine dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and turned her smiling eyes upward.  Her brow furrowed.  Giorge got to his feet in a rush.  Silverware clattered as the rest of the guests scrambled to do the same.  Raine looked about and rose uncertainly.  “Father--” she whispered.  “Shhh,” he soothed, eyes on Duke Ellin’s young companion.

            Duke Ellin gestured grandly to Phoebus.  “I am pleased to announce that Prince Phoebus will be joining us for the remainder of The Acadia’s Presentation.  Please, do be seated.  I’m sure he will make himself available to all of you during the drinks and dancing after dinner.”  Duke Ellin bowed to Phoebus.  The gathered mimicked his gesture.  Raine fell a beat behind the rest, catching Phoebus’s attention.  He grinned.  Duke Ellin straightened and nodded to his guests.  “Please, be seated.”

            A chorus of chairs scraping rent the air.  Raine plopped down unceremoniously.  Duke Ellin pulled back the empty chair beside Raine.  Before he could take a seat, Phoebus swept in to claim it.  “Thank you, Uncle.”

            It was strange to see Phoebus anything but somber at such an event.  Duke Ellin took the seat next to Giorge with some reservation.  He glimpsed Giorge’s face to see a wary look that only a father can have in regards to his daughter.  Before he could say a single word, the wait staff bustled in with the first course.

            Raine eyed the hot soup hungrily as it was ladled into the waiting bowls.  Her hands itched to grab at her fork as a bed of tender greens were laid on each small plate.  Every second she was forced to wait as they layered each salad with bright, carefully picked produce was maddening.  Had there ever been a salad in the world that had been crafted so slowly?

They moved on at least, freeing Raine’s restraints of etiquette.  She devoured the offerings, taking great care to use the proper utensils.  About halfway through the salad, she noticed Phoebus watching her.  Her temples throbbed.  She swallowed her mouthful and reached for her glass.  She touched it to her lips only to discover that it was empty.

“Here.”  Raine glanced at Phoebus, who took her glass and filled it.  He handed it back to her with a smile.  “I must say, I’ve never seen a woman enjoy food quite as much as you do.”

Raine laughed.  “You’ve probably never seen a woman who had to harvest the food for her own supper, either,” she teased.  “Let alone stand around with an empty stomach whilst engaging in mindless chatter for hours.”  Almost instantly, she gasped and placed a hand over her lips.

Phoebus considered.  “You know, I think you’re right.”  He poured himself a glass of dragonfruit wine.  Before Raine could protest, he had filled hers as well.  He tapped her wineglass with his own.  “Though, I can sympathize with the hours of mindless chatter.”

Raine knew that she should resist the call of the wine.  But the scent was spicy and welcoming, and the color so red and velvety, she couldn’t deny a few sips.  It certainly settled the butterflies in her stomach.  “I would imagine your majesty to be accustomed to these grand occasions.”

“Accustomed, perhaps, but not taken with them.  There are better ways to serve the day.  Farming, for example.  I gather you are Raine, the newly appointed manager of Duke Ellis’s estate.”

“You retain information well, your Majesty.  I wouldn’t have expected you to even know the name of a lowly farm girl.”

“I must admit to a lapse in memory of your surname, milady, but when the mention of your name is followed by a torrential downpour, it cements itself into memory.”

Raine’s nerves slowly dissipated over the course of the meal.  Phoebus was interesting.  He made a few callous comments throughout the meal, though he wasn’t aware of the bite of them until Raine returned with a carefully measured comment of her own.  Whenever she batted his words back at him, he smiled.  Every time he smiled, Raine took another small sip of wine.  She wasn’t sure why his amusement made her head throb, but the wine always soothed the ache.  As the dessert was being carted out, Phoebus watched in amazement as Raine poured herself a third glass.  “Extraordinary,” he said.

“What?” Raine asked suspiciously.  Then she rushed to add:  “Your Majesty.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Raine frowned.  “That question is in somewhat poor taste.”

“I only ask because, when dinner started, you were already a bit tipsy.  Any other woman would be on the ground by now.  Or being sick in a plant somewhere.”

“I’m not a simpering baroness, Majesty, nor a princess who loses her wits after a flute or two of sparkling wine.”

“So I see.”

“In fact…”  Raine smiled.  She leaned toward Phoebus and pressed a hand to her décolletage.  “I’m quite certain I could drink you under the table.”  She paused.  “Your Majesty.”

Phoebus quirked a brow.  “Oh, really?”

“Mmm hmm.”  Their waiter set pastries down before them.  Raine straightened.  Phoebus watched her eat, the sheer pleasure on her face as she truly enjoyed the food.  That this dessert that he had had a hundred, perhaps a thousand times, could bring such bliss to someone was unusual, to say the least.  He felt a trickle of warmth for the girl.

It was not a romantic kind of warmth, though the wine was making his judgment of his emotions hazy.  Her smile and laugh were so genuine, even as she strove to maintain the proper distance society required of her.  He wanted to free her of those constraints and see just what it was that she was holding back.  He wanted to see her soak up even more joy, for it was refreshingly awe-inspiring to behold.

The plates were emptied and cleared away.  Duke Ellin paused in his murmured conversation with Giorge to direct everyone back into the ballroom for dancing and more refreshments.  As Raine got to her feet, Phoebus caught her by the elbow.  A jolt went through her.  She stared up into his smiling visage.  “Save a dance for me,” he said.

Then he was gone, ushered by the Duke to head a secondary receiving line.  Raine leaned against her chair.  Color bloomed in her cheeks, and she was suddenly dizzy again.  Giorge touched her shoulder, concerned.  “Shall I take you to your room, dear?  You look flushed.”

Raine fanned herself and forced a smile.  “Not at all, father.  It’s just a little indigestion.  Nothing a little dancing won’t fix.”  She took her father’s arm.  “I hope you’ll be my first dance.”

“I don’t know.  My dance card fills up so quickly.”

Raine smacked his arm lightly.  They filed into the ballroom, last in line.  When Phoebus shook her father’s hand, he glanced at Raine.  She curtseyed.  When she straightened, he took her hand as well.  “Thank you, my lady, for all that you have done to make tonight a success.”

“We look forward to many successful nights in the future,” Duke Ellis added, pumping her hand as he often had her father’s.

Raine was quiet as Giorge led her onto the dance floor and began the first waltz.  He glanced at her face.  Her expression was quizzical, understatedly so.  He smiled.  “You wonder why they shake your hand rather than bowing to you.”

“No,” Raine said.  “It’s only strange.”

“You’ll grow accustomed to it.”

Raine nodded.

As the night progressed, Raine was passed around the room in the arms of several dukes, barons, and generals.  Phoebus was likewise occupied with the bejeweled ladies of the ball.  Though Raine waited for Phoebus to claim his dance, it seemed the evening would be over before he would do so.  So she maintained her composure, already half-sober and barely stumbling, in order to get through the remainder of the evening.  She was dancing with General Forsythe of the Giulian Border when Phoebus tapped him on the shoulder.  “May I?” he queried.  General Forsythe bowed and relinquished her.  Raine attempted to remain neutral, but she could not keep the irritation from seeping into her voice, “You’re a popular one in these circles, aren’t you?”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Such a ridiculous idea to entertain…”

“I’m not hearing ‘no’.”

Raine sighed.  ”Not jealous.  Just bored.”

“Would it help if I told you you’re the most interesting woman here tonight?  I should know, I’ve danced with them all.”

“How nice for me.”

Phoebus laughed, which only rankled Raine.  She set her jaw and looked away.  Phoebus twirled her.  She gasped and held him tighter.  He whispered in her ear: “How fast can you run?”

Raine’s heart pounded hard in her chest.  She struggled to pull back, but he held her fast.  He swayed her toward the open doors of the ballroom, out into the empty hall.  Eyes gleaming with giddiness, he pulled away.  “Come on!” he urged, grasping her wrist and running down the hall.

Raine raced along after him, grateful that her mother had decided on slippers rather than heels.  Her mind did not have a moment to process the drastic turn of events.  They slipped out of the palace, into the dark stables, where Phoebus quickly untied a horse from his carriage.  “Hurry,” he urged.

Raine mounted the horse, and Phoebus quickly hopped on behind her.  He grasped the reigns and snapped them.  The horse shot off into the darkness, carrying the pair along a path illuminated only by the meager moonlight.