Pollyanna was alert and looking for any signs of danger since she had arrived at the ball—including while she and Eory conversed with many of the nobles. Most of which seemed to hate them, but some of which were surprisingly kind and open-minded.
Pollyanna didn’t care how kind they were. Her only objective was to leave the ball safely. First thing when she had entered the room, she had seen the balcony looming above them. She strongly suspected that if the king had laid a trap for them, it would probably be through the use of archers set up and out of view on the balcony. She debated telling Eory her suspicions, but he would probably wave them away anyway.
She would just have to wait to see what the king’s next move would be, which annoyed her and worried her greatly. Especially since, in the meantime, she was forced to go about the large ballroom and try to make pleasantries with people she couldn’t stand about things she couldn’t care less about.
I wish I didn’t have to follow his orders…
It was the first time she had thought that in a long time, and she felt extremely guilty about even daring to think it.
His ancestors would have punished her for thinking that.
She supposed she couldn’t help it, though.
She hated all nobles who weren’t Arrozans; she always had. They pretended like they were better than everyone else—like they cared about the fate of peasants and every-day folks—but they didn’t really give a damn.
King Laurence probably paid for this ball on the taxpayers’ dime and pretended to throw it for their enjoyment, but I only see a few peasants who were invited.
Pollyanna thought to herself.
Eory approached another human couple. Some lord and lady of a far-off duchy who had probably come to see the king on political business, but stayed for the ball.
They turned their noses up at both Pollyanna and Eory, but Eory still insisted on being polite to them.
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” He bowed before the pair—lowering himself to one knee. Pollyanna crossed her arms and refused to lower herself.
The couple expected her to, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
That is, until she felt the familiar pressure squeezing her heart—informing her that she was disobeying Eory’s order to be polite during the ball. Her heart would soon be squeezed so hard that she would die if she didn’t continue to obey Eory’s order.
She gritted her teeth furiously.
She curtsied until she was as low to the ground as Eory was. She glared up at the nobles who were smirking at her until the pinching in her heart started all over again and she forced herself to smile.
For the time being, her actions succeeded in quelling the magic of the potion that coursed through her veins and her heart was released from the painful pinching. Eory climbed to his feet soon after and had a brief, blasé conversation with the nobles in which they made it clear they hated both him and Pollyanna.
“Despite your wretched ancestry and your backwards upbringing, you are behaving quite admirably!” The couple snickered.
Eory smiled insipidly and replied, “thank you! I think that dress you’re wearing is about the prettiest once I’ve ever seen, and that doublet is very handsome!”
The lady hid a mocking smile behind her mouth and said, “yes, you and your guard are certainly dressed… Interestingly. You did inform your guard that this is a ball, correct?”
Pollyanna bristled and nearly lost it. She stepped toward the woman in a threatening manner and the woman gasped in fear.
Pollyanna felt a sharp pain in her heart and had to pull back immediately. Eory looked at her with a judgmental and shocked look on his face as the couple backed away from her and went back to dancing.
Pollyanna felt a twinge of shame and guilt at his expression and then turned her back on him with heavy breathing and tried to control her anger as she walked further away from him.
I hate women like that. I hate them.
She thought to herself.
Eory followed her and grabbed her wrist. “Wait! Pollyanna—we were making friends, why did you--?”
She spun around and only just barely managed to say in an even voice, “we were not making friends. We were being jeered at and being made a spectacle of! Grow up, Eory. Can’t you tell when people are insulting you and making a mockery of what you consider to be kindness?”
Eory frowned deeply and realized the one thing he never wanted her to say to him was ‘grow up’. It was as if she was confirming that he was too foolish and too young for her; it confirmed that she was looking for qualities that she thought he didn’t possess.
But he didn’t let it get to him.
Show her you’re an adult. Show her you can play at her level.
Taylor encouraged him.
“A dress is a silly thing to be upset over, don’t you think? You’re the one being a little childish and vain.” Eory retorted.
The ancient warrior’s blood boiled with rage at the insinuation that she, of all the women, were vain and childish. She growled audibly and her muscles tensed in fury.
They were silent for a time as Pollyanna calmed herself down. With a deep breath, she managed to resist punching her charge in the face.
I can’t even remember the last time I considered disobeying orders. This brat pisses me off.
“I’m not angry about the dress, I’m angry that you just take abuse like that!” Pollyanna replied.
Eory took her by surprise and looked her up and down with the same passionate eyes Fjorn had so long ago and, without her permission, her knees felt weak.
“You look beautiful. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.” Eory assured her and ignored her statement of denial.
There was another brief block of silence between them; but in a moment, Pollyanna regained her sense of self and crossed her arms bitterly.
Eory held out a hand. “Why don’t we ignore the others for a moment and have a dance. Just the two of us?”
Pollyanna snorted. “Why don’t you dance with a girl your own age—perhaps from the nursery?”
Eory tried not to take it to heart, but it bit into his confidence greatly.
And that sweet and uncertain side to him emerged. Pollyanna uncrossed her arms and her muscles loosened when she saw this dip in his confidence. And suddenly, she wanted to dance with him very much.
She sighed. “Fine, we can dance.”
His face lit up and he placed one hand on her lower back and linked his free hand with hers.
There was an intense absence of noise in her mind as she had nowhere to look but his eyes as he gradually brought her closer to the other nobles on the dance floor and led her about in a rhythmic pattern.
She had no idea how to dance, but it wasn’t difficult to just follow his lead, and there was something soothing about giving over that control to someone else.
His fingers were warm when they were linked with hers—as warm as her cheeks felt from being in such close proximity to him—and her lower back felt secure under his surprisingly firm grasp.
Her eyes widened as the ball seemed to melt away before her eyes and her already quickened pulse seemed to speed up even more.
The warm, yellow light from the torches and the tile of the ball was replaced by the dark shade of moonlight in a torchless room. The noisy room, filled with chatter and music was replaced with heavy breathing, and the pleasant smell of fire and sweets dissolved into the scent of fresh, night air from open windows.
She felt warm, strong fingers tracing the side of her face; she felt smooth, flawless skin under her hands.
“What’s wrong, beautiful?” Fjorn asked her as he sat up and gently moved her hair which was disheveled from their passions behind her ear.
She wanted to say something, but her lips seemed forcibly sealed, and so she said nothing at all. Instead she just enjoyed his deep kisses and let him push her down as she began to relax again.
But the kisses became something sick and suffocating and she struggled beneath him—not because she wanted him to stop, but because she desperately wanted to say something.
She found her voice between kisses and begged him in a monotone voice over and over again, “please, just love me the way I love you.”
“Please just love me—”
“Please just—”
Please.
Please.
Please.
And Pollyanna shoved Fjorn off her, but it was Eory who stumbled backwards as the ball came back into full focus.
She breathed heavily as Eory stared at her in fearful suspense and her heart was stabbed with a sharp pain for even grazing her master.
Pollyanna murmured sincerely to him after a moment, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
Eory nodded a little hesitantly.
In a moment he replied to her earlier question, “when you’re in the room there’s no way I could possibly look at other women my age.”
All the nobles in the ball were looking at them—and especially Pollyanna—but in a moment went back to dancing.
Pollyanna hoped she didn’t ruin his chances with the king by making a scene and vowed to herself to behave for the rest of the night until the king made his intentions known.