THREE

The party began at 7pm. It is 8:30.

My time to arrive.

The queen of timing is only late on purpose and definitely not as oblivious as she seems.

My dress is hidden behind a huge white coat. One that I fancy quite much.

I show my invitation to the man stationed in front of the venue. He smiles and nods before gesturing for me to walk in.

Unlike most guests, I am alone. But what distracts me is the beauty of the setting. It makes me take a deep breath just to make sure that I am not trapped in someone else’s dream.

A young maid takes my coat and I clutch my black purse tightly, now the only thing on me that agrees with this dress code.

Everyone is already seated, and the king seems to be giving a little speech at the other end of the large room. I can’t help the smirk that forms on my lips when I see the only empty table at the far front with a name card on it, showing that it has been reserved for me.

Perfect.

My heels click and clack dramatically as I make my way towards the table, dressed in a blood red dress that clings onto me perfectly and flows delicately behind me. My hair is up, revealing a small diamond neckless that rests perfectly around my neck, but a few strands of my dark hair fall to my face and ears, betraying and enhancing my look at the same time.

I adjust the pair of netty white gloves on my hands and act oblivious to the fact that every single person is now staring at me. Even the music has gone silent.

And once I take my seat, I look up and smile at everyone as if I haven’t just pulled the deadliest social faux pas they will see this season.

Splendid.

King Azriel has a new expression on his face. A mix of shock and amusement. And everyone else just seems horrified.

“I see Lady Hayes has decided to join us,” he says into the microphone, staring into my eyes.

“Let’s all give a warm welcome to the lady in red,” he adds, emphasizing on the last word.

There is a round of applause and I wave them off with a shy smile, knowing that I am all but modest today, and he continues his speech.

I look down to hide the victory smirk on my face as he drones on and on about the pride he takes in his nation. It’s exhausting, but the people seem to love it quite a lot.

Soon the speech is over and the man I recognize as Sylvester steps up to announce the next item.

“Now I will ask each of you to move to the ball room where you shall witness the first dance performed by Princess Lysandra of Ilta and her bethroted, Prince Aiden of Sorent."

So far, I have noted the presence of Queen Hilda and the princess, but no sign of their little Prince. The records say he’s only eight years old which makes me wonder how long until they will let him take over from his father. I scoff at the idea. I will never understand these rules and traditions.

I wait for everyone to proceed to the ball room before I make my way there myself. I am far from surprised when Sylvester walks over to me saying that the king has requested to see me.

“Not so busy now, I see,” I quip before taking his outstretched arm.

He leads me to King Azriel who is watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. I pull away from Sylvester and bow lowly as soon as I come face to face with him.

“Oh, please. This isn’t the 1800s. You don’t have to bow when you see me,” he says.

“Well, it is still customary where I come from,” I reply.

All eyes are glued on us now and nobody seems to care that the princess is dancing away with her prince. They care more about the strange lady in red who is now speaking directly with their king.

“Is it also customary to go against a dress code in Corvina?”

“Dress code?" I look around the room.

"I must’ve missed it. Perhaps it wasn’t specified on my invitation.” I give him a look that suggests that the lie is quite intentional.

“Either ways, I think it’s for the best,” I add.

“How so?”

“Now I have your attention.”

He smiles.

I see the Queen approach us from the corner of my eye.

“Your majesty,” I say with a bow. She frowns at me but doesn’t remark on it.

“I like this one” he says to his wife.

“Scarlet Hayes, is it?” she asks. “Yes. Pleased to meet you.”

“Well now that you have our attention, what exactly is it that you want?” Azriel asks.

Wasn’t expecting that question…

“Like any good ambassador, I'm here to seek an alliance on behalf of my king. And there is no alliance without trust.”

“King Brandon wants us to trust him?” his gaze is scrutinizing me.

“I’m hoping we can build a mutual amount of trust. But that shouldn’t be too hard once I make my company enjoyable enough,” I joke.

They both laugh lightly.

“Well then. We hope to see more of--”

He is cut off by a loud bang from outside the ballroom as guards rush towards the entrance and the room falls silent. Lysandra halts her little dance.

That was a gunshot.

It's as if time has frozen as everyone turns to see a young man holding a riffle, wearing an all black outfit that seems like some sort of gear and covered in blood. He trudges in with the gun hanging from his hand and walks towards us, stone faced. And heaven help me because he must be the most suffocatingly handsome man I have ever laid my eyes on.

“No need to worry, Father, I am here,” he says. He stops beside me and glances around the room and waves the people off. They turn away quickly and the music resumes.

“I see you’ve been busy,” The king says, frowning at his son in displeasure. His mother seems even more annoyed.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“Hunting. I had a few men volunteer to serve as target practice and we all got carried away,” he says, looking down at his bloody hands.

"Damian!" She gasps, horror evident on her face.

“I’m joking,” he adds with the same straight face he used to make the joke.

Then he looks at me. My breath hitches in my throat.

His eyes are blazing when they meet mine.

My mouth goes dry.

“You must be Scarlet." It's a very small moment of acknowledgement, it shouldn't mean anything at all. But my heart thinks otherwise.

"That’s a stunning dress," he remarks. It is? I even smile at his words. He really thinks so-

"Too bad it’s so inappropriate.”

My smile falls.

This is prince Damian?! He is certainly not eight years old.

This makes me wonder how many more errors there are in our records.

All I can do is hope that this man doesn’t make my job here any more complicated than it already is.