Chapter 8 Leoria

All Leoria can think of is how marvelous it is that the young Lady Cronies had agreed to the ball, she caught herself humming waltz music several times in the hours leading up to the dinner. Just before the ball, she sat in her family's estate gardens, picking up dew leftover from the calm springtime morning. Despite Anima's patterns for intense springtime winds, Rose house is never as gusty as anywhere else. She sits on a vine-covered stone bench, breathing in the warm, still air. It would be an understatement to say that summer would be just a little bit early this year.

Leoria heads back inside, drifting into her room begrudgingly.

"Darling, I've chosen your gown for the evening," her mother chimes as she enters Leoria's room. The Duchess is holding a soft pink gown with a high collar and skirt, it looks as if Leoria's mother would have worn the gown to a ball herself, that is, ten years ago.

"Mama, will there ever be a day when I choose what I would like to wear?" Leoria begs, running over to her wardrobe to pick something different.

"Deary, but what would you choose? You have no sense in fashion and I'd hate for you to be embarrassed," Leoria's mother says in a sing-songy sympathetic voice. The elder Duchess of Rose is wearing a gray gown with a pagoda skirt, that Leoria swears she's seen on her since 1857. Leoria rolls her eyes, sifting through her many gowns that her mother doesn't know about.

"How about I wear this? Mama," Leoria pleads again, holding a pretty red gown with lace details. It's fashionably flat in the front and would be much more flattering on Leoria's dark hair.

"Red is a seductress' color, dear," her mother replies. She taps her fingers on the side of the wardrobe with one hand, while the other calmly strokes Leoria's hair. "Darling, why don't we compromise, you can wear your blue gown you wore to your sisters' wedding last summer." The duchess grabs the gown and practically throws it at Leoria.

After her mother leaves, Leoria's lady's maid enters.

"Evening, your grace," the girl greets. Leoria doesn't know her name, even though the girl has said it multiple times in passing. It's been too long since their meeting that Leoria just can't ask appropriately anymore.

"Evening." Leoria replies, she sits at her vanity table and begins combing through her hair. Her maid follows and begins to braid and dress her hair in a heart-like low bun. Leoria smiles and thanks her after she dresses, and the Duchess of Rose enters the room again, this time dressed in a white and red gown with a gray shawl.

"Dear, blue is certainly not your color, Leoria," her mother says, her hands placed on her hips. Leoria doesn't respond, she just heads for the door.

"Sweetheart, are you still angry about the gown? It's just clothes!" her mother yells from behind, following her own into the yard.

"Mama, if it's just clothes," Leoria begins, still walking fast enough to keep some space between them. "Then why must I wear what you will me to wear?"

"Well, dear, that's because I care for you," her mother responds, moving closer to her as Leoria stops walking. "I could hardly hope for you to make a fool of yourself! Even if you must follow my wills!" She tries to hold on Leoria's arm, but her daughter jerks it away. They stand in silence for what seems like an eternity. The process repeats with an uncomfortable silence burning in the air as they sit for ages in the carriage that should bring them to the palace.

Leoria latches onto the younger Lady Cronies the moment they enter the palace, following her around and complimenting her skirts incessantly. She knows that Lady Cronies is less than pleased with this, but she also knows that she will easily avoid her mother if she remains attached at the hip to her newfound friend. Leoria, at least, hopes that they can be friends, Marrianne doesn't seem to dislike her, she just seems to dislike her mother, which is something the both of them share.

"Duchess, if I may, is it true that you've managed to earn the king's favor?" Lady Cronies asks halfway through the night. It was the first time she has ever shown interest in anyone's life but her own, and the first time she had ever spoken to her in anything other than an answer for the whole night.

At loss for words, Leoria blushes and says, "Well I doubt I could ever presume his majesty's preferences, but yes I enjoy his company, and I dare say he, well he tolerates me." She can't bear it that she most obviously lingers her eyes on the king. His majesty who's currently sitting at his throne at the head of the room, his father with his head clamped next to him, whispering things the whole night. Ellor looks tired, or maybe that's just how Leoria thinks he looks, he has a certain mysteriousness when it comes to how he feels.

"Your truth isn't hidden away in a heart-shaped locket, I see," Lady Cronies responds cryptically.

"What does that mean?" Leoria asks, puzzled. Lady Cronies pinches Leoria's sleeve.

"Hey! What was that for?!" exclaims Leoria. Lady Cronies waits for a moment before responding, looking across the room, lingering on Lord Elken for a moment.

"Everyone can see your heart on your sleeves, now you must make them blind or move your heart someplace else, someplace safer, for no-one will hesitate to use that against you, Leoria."

"I-I could almost thank you, Lady Cronies, if you didn't assume that I'm not already trying my best to hide my emotions. I commend you for reminding me of my failures." Leoria responds, she knows now that Lady Cronies cares for her, but she doesn't need her help, she can do just fine on her own. She doesn't need someone incessantly sharing with her their findings on her shortcomings.

Leoria distances herself from Lady Cronies, instead she stands across the room, with the two Lord Cronies. They both wear brown suits with green waistcoats, the only differentiation between them is that Ickabod is slightly taller than James. They both leave shortly after, one dancing with the old gjellu Princess, and the other disappearing into thin air. Leoria isn't sure which one disappeared, but she doesn't have time to think of that before an all too familiar, and disdainful figure, appears. Alvin, the Duke of Rankor Hart, is looming over her, staring at her.

"And how can I help you, Duke?" Leoria asks tauntingly. Alvin rolls his eyes, but doesn't respond, just standing next to her for a while.

"You know I'll always be here, when you marry his majesty, how shall you deal with that, Leoria?"

"I shall deal just fine."

"So you admit you think he's going to ask you." Alvin replies, a fox-like smile on his face. Ever since Leoria's father moved her here, this man has made it his life's mission to keep her as far away from the castle as possible, and if she was there, he made her want to leave. She cannot understand why someone like Ellor would be allies with someone like Alvin.

"I do not presume anything that his majesty does, Duke." Leoria replies.

"He said he would."

"You are a shameless trickster, you know."

"I take that as the highest compliment."

"Then you are the most clueless soul I've ever met, because.. well, it isn't praising. I bid you a good night." Leoria, once again, moves across the ballroom. She concedes and stands to her mother, who smiles and says nothing. Leoria swings side to side, her skirt looking like a swinging bell, and she chastides herself for wishing the bell just had a slightly larger and falter crinoline. Oh, how she wishes she could be as fashionable as the ladies in magazines like The Cronhill or Godey's Lady's Book, or maybe even wear a gown with as rich colors as those in painted plates. Maybe once she marries she can have the freedom to do so, and it is in that moment that Leoria vows to never marry an unfashionable man, for he would soon enjoy her being similarly..unfashionable! His majesty wears..sort of fashionable things, or at least when sporting, Leoria assumes the King wouldn't be caught dead wearing something worn for longer than a year. Maybe in the future people will make up fairy stories about fashion in 1866, maybe things that are simply untrue, Leoria hopes that those untrue things include never wearing the same gown twice.

"May I have this dance?" his majesty, or at least Leoria thinks it's his majesty, who asks. She doesn't realize it was her he was asking, before he spins her into a traditional Animan dance. He almost never dances at balls, always saying he'd rather watch others than enact it himself, especially considering his bad leg isn't entirely helpful on the dance floor. Lord Elken once told her that he went to war for the crown. Leoria had been made aware of it already but thought it was just a publicity stunt. The king's father told her that Ellor was nine years old when he went to war, and that Lord Elken begged for him not to go, but Ellor went anyway. At nine years old. Leoria isn't sure if she should admire him or feel repulsion at the concept. Lord Elken let his nine year old go to war for a silly bit of power. Leoria can't imagine sending her child, under two digits of age, to the wolves and the demons who prowl dead land. She can't imagine seeing her child bloodsoaked and distraught after being thrown into a war that he possibly doesn't even understand. She admires Lord Elken, despite his curmudgeonly old ways, he isn't a bad bird, he's just, the exception for him escapes Leoria's mind. She just knows that there's more to him, and he does have the capacity for benevolence and kindness. She hopes.

The dance ends as quickly as it begins, and his majesty leads Leoria into the gardens. They sit on a bench, listening to the soft pools and quicking of nocturnal ducks.

"Everyone in this palace is like those ducks, Duchess," Ellor says, standing up and kneeling down in front of them. "None of us sleep and we're all very loud." He then begins to laugh, and Leoria, feeling a little bit pitiful, joins in halfheartedly. His majesty sits back down again.

"What do you think of Lady Cronies?" He asks.

"I think, well she has a lot of opinions, but I admire her fashions, and her intelligence is exceeding," Leoria replies, tapping on her knees.

"You know, we were friends growing up," Ellor concedes, covering Leoria's hand. His own hand is burning, as if he had run an Olympic marathon just a minute later. For some reason, his brown is pressed down, in what seems like guild. Leoria is puzzled, how could his majesty ever feel guilt?

"I assumed, so yes."

"Well, we were really great friends," he concedes, again, as if it's an apology. "At one point, Leoria, I might've liked to marry her."

"At one point I might've liked to marry Rochester, your majesty, why do you think that would anger me?" Leoria asks, shaking her head.

"Will you do the honor of taking my hand in marriage, Duchess Leoria of Rose?" Ellor asks, the bomb he just dropped barely hitting the floor before Leoria covers her mouth and screams. This was not supposed to happen in her least favorite dress, when she just had a fight with her mother. This was not supposed to happen this soon. It's not like she even can say no, she just nods, and sits back down again, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Is that a rejection I see in your eyes, Duchess?" Ellor remains kneeling.

"Well you hardly did a good job advertising living in the palace." Leoria replies. She stares into his deep brown eyes, some say that they are blood-red, but Leoria never saw the color in his, nor his father's, which are described as almost pink-red. Tears almost pool at the bottoms of his eyes, like ice droplets dripping from icicles on a farmhouse roof.

"Your majesty, I could hardly deny you," Leoria says, putting her palm on his shoulder. How could a man who holds so much power be this way? He's like a puppy, staring into Loeria's eyes. Leoria's brow presses into her eyes, she's not sure how to feel about the King, he's been nothing but kind to her, but she's not sure if he knows what he's asking. Leoria is quite sure she's thought of marriage much more often than her now fiance has ever. She places her palm in his hand and lifts him off the ground, pulling him into an embrace afterwards, feeling the tears he's held in for so long drip onto the bodice of her gown.

"You should be the one crying, not I," Ellor says, wiping away his tears and sitting back on the bench. Leoria sits next to him, placing her hands in her lap and staring at him.

"There are no rules for who cries, your majesty," she says, reaching her hand towards his face to wipe away the last ice droplet. He holds it there for a time, her hand warm in his ice cold one. Leoria smiles and leans against the lapel of his coat, staring at the dark, still sky and watching for anything moving within it. Nothing moves, and Leoria and Ellor make their way back to the ballroom, arms locked with each other.