Before she could ask a question, the fabrics she had lusted over moments prior were being held up against her skin to assess her complexion. Vhalla stood dumbly, a living model for the men surrounding her, prattling on about the Gala. It was the lilac silk on her cheek that finally pulled her out of her daze.
“Black,” Vhalla said suddenly, unaware she just interrupted the famous couture designer standing before her.
“Pardon?” The rotund man was startled into silence at her sudden interjection.
“I want something black.” Vhalla followed the thought that had possessed her to its logical conclusion.
“My lady, black is not a customary color for a gala.” Chater frowned.
Vhalla brought her fingers together, picking at her nails. She wasn’t a lady. Even though she had discarded her apprentice robes for the festival, she was certain Chater knew it also.
“Well, I suppose that, if it’s improper...” she mumbled. Vhalla glanced away wondering if Aldrik would be wearing black. She couldn’t imagine him dressed up like a peacock, even if it was a gala.
“Now, about the purples. They’re very Eastern, your complexion...you are from the East, right?” Chater was back to rummaging through bolts of cloth.
“Let her wear what she pleases,” Prince Baldair said suddenly.
“My prince—”
“It’ll be a special night, and the lady here has someone she wants to impress, I’m sure.” Cerulean eyes caught hers, and Vhalla could do nothing more than swallow.
“Well, I will need to get additional fabric,” Chater said uneasily, keen on the fact that his companions had some unspoken communication.
Vhalla’s eyes followed the round man out of the room, until the muscled form of the prince broke her vision.
“Vhalla,” Prince Baldair spoke softly.
“My prince?” she whispered. Just like the last time, his palm was on her cheek before she was even aware of the movement of his arm.
“Chater is right, it is unconventional for a gala,” he noted thoughtfully.
“How unconventional is black?” Vhalla made no motion away from the prince’s touch.
“Very.” She was vaguely aware of his thumb moving over her cheek as he spoke. “Vhalla, you’re a pretty girl, you know. You don’t need to go down the unconventional road to be noticed. Good men will notice you without all that, the men you want to be noticed by. I’m sure good men have already noticed you.”
“I-it’s not that,” her voice wavered. Vhalla struggled to find an explanation.
“I will show you.” The golden-haired prince smiled encouragingly. “You can have your black, but I will be the one who shows you how dazzling you are.”
The designer returned, and Vhalla’s face flushed red hot as the prince made no haste in removing his hands from her person. She took a chaste step away. Chater was unbothered by what he had seen and continued to talk on about silhouettes and skirts. Vhalla found herself focusing more on the prince’s easy smiles and his input during the process than the designing. What men did he think would be noticing her?
When Chater left, the sky was ablaze and she was uncertain what dress had been designed for her.
“Now remember, Vhalla,” Prince Baldair offered her his elbow. She took it and they started for the door. “Come back to the servants’ entrance around noon tomorrow. I’ll have someone there ready to help you prepare.”
“My prince, that isn’t necessary,” she denied with a shake of her head.
“It most certainly is!” Prince Baldair chuckled. “You don’t think I’d put you in a Chater dress and have your hair and makeup be left undone, do you?”
“No, of course not...” Vhalla’s free hand went up to her head, feeling the frizzy mass that was her hair.
“Don’t fret, you’ll be beautiful.” The prince smiled, his hand on the door latch. “Just remember to save a dance for me when every man of the Court is begging to be your partner.”
“I doubt that will happen.” Vhalla laughed, looking up at her companion with a light smile.
“Then I have a dance?” Prince Baldair asked again, as they stepped into the hallway.
“You’ve already had one.” Vhalla’s lips pressed together in a little grin.
“Another?” He leaned closer to her.
“How could I refuse?” She laughed lightly, beginning to grow more accustomed to his proximity and casual nature.
The prince’s footsteps paused, and Vhalla’s gaze swung forward. Standing little more than five steps across the hall was a tall silhouette that made her jaw slack. She felt Prince Baldair’s bicep tighten under her palm, trapping it. Aldrik’s eyes flicked from her to the golden-haired man at her side.
“Hello, brother,” Prince Baldair hummed sweetly.
Ebony eyes bore deep holes into Vhalla. If Aldrik had heard his brother, there was no response other than a twitch under his eye. Vhalla suddenly felt very small, small enough to fall off the earth. It was uncomfortable. It hurt.
“How did the war council go?” The golden prince seemed to be pleasantly unaware of the tension that resonated between his company and his brother.
“Fine.” Aldrik’s voice brought her cowardly eyes back to him. The word was as cold as it was curt.