Protagonist Bound (12 page)

I knew Blue, for instance, always cringed at the sight of her sister’s torn red cloak and, next to it, the tastefully placed axe that the hunter had used to save her. It still had some blood crusted on its edges.

Super classy.

SJ, meanwhile, tried to ignore the objects that haunted her when we passed them. But, every once in a while as we made our way by the Archives to get to class, I knew of at least one that bothered her—that dang ruby red apple. It was perched on a tiny glass pedestal in the center case and angled to show off the small bite taken out of it, which revealed the apple’s poisoned white flesh.

Then there was me and my shadow—my mom’s infamous glass stiletto.

On the one hand, the delicate treasure made me happy to think of the true love my parents shared and the triumph of their coming together despite the obstacles that had stood in their way. Then again, it was also a symbol of the role my mother and pretty much everyone else in the world expected me to fill. And it was an even greater reminder that no matter what I did, I probably would never be able to fit myself into it.

As Blue and I passed the Archives on the way to the ballroom, I saw the fragile shoe sitting in the center case as usual. The glass shimmered from every angle—beautiful, transparent, and unforgiving, like so many things about this place.

After a few more minutes, we arrived at the back entrance of the grand ballroom. It was a humongous space—large enough to fit four stables—decorated with gold-encrusted walls and glistening chandeliers. The centerpiece was a massive chandelier seven times the size of all the others that hung over the middle of the dance floor. This one’s pastel crystals numbered in the thousands and twinkled like clouds of gorgeous confetti high above our heads.

Far below the chandelier’s glittering enormity, I spotted SJ—one of only a few other students in the vicinity. She was the head of the ball planning committee and, as usual, she and her team of student volunteers, along with Madame Lisbon, had gotten here early to go over their final checklists before the main doors opened.

While Blue and I generally preferred to be late rather than early to these types of functions, we had decided to come down early to help our responsible friend with her final preparations for the first ball of the semester.

SJ was scurrying about the great room in her strappy, scarlet dress—its small train intercut with streaks of sparkling navy that swayed behind her as she saw to the orchestra, the food, and the ice sculptures. She made the work appear effortless, and retained a distinct aura of fabulousness all the while. The color of that gown was perfect on her, and I wondered if she noticed just how many people’s heads turned to admire her as she passed by.

Hers was not the only remarkable outfit this evening. Blue was looking lovely in her gown too. It was a simpler dress—the same rich shade of blue as her trusty cloak, which set off her eyes beautifully. The edges of the skirt were trimmed with a jaunty, black lace design that mirrored the single strap draped across her right shoulder. And she paired the ensemble with an assortment of dazzling onyx bracelets that gleamed on her wrists like the afterthoughts of dark magic.

While I knew she didn’t really like dressing up, I imagined she had to feel relatively pleased tonight wearing an outfit that made her look so naturally radiant.

I gazed down at my own dress for a moment and considered what I looked like to the rest of the world.

Did anyone ever see me as being that pretty?

And did I really care whether or not they did?

To be honest, I was not sure on either count. All I was certain of was that I was just as proud to be wearing this shimmering, silver ball gown as I was sporting my untamable, long hair and the combat boots beneath my skirt. Was it a contrasting look? Sure. But would I have had it any other way? Absolutely not.

A few minutes later, right as Blue and I finished helping Madame Lisbon set up the check-in table, SJ came over grinning excitedly to tell us that it was time. Our professor gushed with enthusiasm and gave the guards the signal to open the grand doors on the other side of the room.

In the next instant a sea of glittering fabric and fine designer suits came pouring in.

I watched our classmates enter one pair at a time. Almost all of them were coupled off like that—one well-dressed penguin for every extravagantly feathered lady peacock. It was kind of cute in a nausea-inducing sort of way. All of Lady Agnue’s’ girls and Lord Channing’s’ boys looked like the exceptional people the world expected them to be.

Music started moments later and a formal dancing circle formed in the center of the room. Dozens of couples began waltzing perfectly in tune with the rhythm of the forty-piece orchestra.

From dancing to punch sipping, our schools’ balls were traditional to the letter—with regulations to no end. I had always been able to get away with disregarding most of these rules, but some were harder to avoid than others. Take, for instance, the aforementioned dancing circle. Formal etiquette dictated that whenever any gentleman asked a lady to dance, she had to accept. She could only stop dancing when her suitor deemed their dance over, or if the pair had been dancing together for at least ten minutes and someone else cut in.

So unfair it’s best not to even get me started.

Typically, though, this was not something I had to worry about. No one ever asked Blue or me to dance, so the two of us (plus Jason) usually hung around the snack table people-watching and making sassy commentary throughout the evening. SJ, on the other hand, spent the night running around making sure everything was progressing smoothly.

Since she was technically working in doing so, she was the only girl allowed to refuse a dance request. And SJ got
a lot
of dance requests.

Lucky.

I mean in regards to refusing dance requests of course, not the getting them part.

Around half an hour into the dance, Jason found Blue and me over by the buffet. He was looking fairly fresh this evening in his dark gray suit. His tie was the same color as Blue’s gown so the two of them could’ve totally passed for a matching pair when standing next to each other like that.

I shoved another miniature quiche into my mouth as Blue pointed out the girls who were clearly wearing helper bras. Jason, in return, pointed out which guys were wearing lifts in their shoes.

As they went on like that, I smiled to myself. Those two were like a couple of peas in a pod. Like Jack and Jill, only more hardcore and far more entertaining.

An hour into the dance, it was turning out to be a perfectly normal and pleasant evening until his highness, Chance Darling, showed up and added an unexpected twist to my night.

Ah, Chance Darling.

What could I possibly say about Chance Darling?

Let me start by asserting that I think every girl has a different idea of what a “totally hot guy” is. But, I also think that there is a certain level of attractiveness a guy can reach that, no matter what a girl’s specifically into, she will agree that he is by definition a good-looking fellow.

Chance Darling was one of these good-looking fellows. He was the Prince of Clevaunt, grandson of King Midas, and most girls considered him to be the hottest thing since two-wheel-drive carriages. To put it in its plainest terms, he was a charmer, a ladies’ man, and a perfect young royal by all traditional standards. In addition, his physical appearance could’ve best been described as a cross between a fairytale’s ideal prince charming and a well-toned personal trainer.

So did I personally think he was handsome? Of course. However, despite his outward immaculateness, he definitely did not cause me or my friends to swoon on sight like so many of the other girls at Lady Agnue’s.

Why?

Because you could give a dirt-bag a pearly white smile and a fancy suit, but he’d still be a dirt-bag.

This punk, as Jason referred to him, was snide, conceited, and more self-absorbed than a kitchen sponge. Holding a conversation with him was like talking to a mannequin in a store window—if mannequins were endowed with a sense of self-importance and an impressive dose of narcissism, that is.

Appropriately, Chance was Mauvrey’s man. With their similar levels of superficiality, attractiveness, and their horrible personalities, the two of them had been a natural couple for years. So, knowing all of this, you can understand why the following surprised me so much.

“Good evening, Crisanta,” Chance said.

He bowed formally as I used the back of my hand to wipe the residue pastry crumbs from my face. “Uh . . . Hi, Chance,” I responded.

“Crisanta, would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?”

I glanced over at Blue and Jason with a “
What the heck?
” expression on my face. They shrugged in confusion.

I cocked my head at Chance, but he didn’t seem to be joking.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Completely,” he replied.

Chance extended his hand and I stared at it apprehensively. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mauvrey and her cronies across the room. Her face was so red with anger as she glared at me I thought steam was going to start pouring out of her ears.

As much as I really didn’t want to dance with Chance or create any more animosity between Mauvrey and myself, there were rules. I had to accept Chance’s invitation. Not because I didn’t like breaking rules. That was sort of my nature. But Lady Agnue and Madame Lisbon both happened to be within earshot at the moment, so if I chose to go rogue then and there, they would’ve surely gone ballistic. As such, I unfortunately had no choice but to accept the prince’s inexplicable offer.

I sighed, extending my own hand. “Sure, Chance. Why not.”

He took my palm in his firmly and twirled me onto the dance floor with great pageantry.

The couples were currently in the midst of a Viennese Waltz so Chance put his right hand around my waist and took my right hand in his left. We danced in silence for several minutes and I was shocked that his highness did not correct me on the mistakes I made with my footwork.

Finally, I decided to ask what anyone who saw us together was undoubtedly thinking.

“So, uh, Chance, just out of curiosity . . .” I began. “Why exactly
are
you dancing with me and not Mauvrey like you usually do?”

“Mauvrey grew over the summer,” Chance replied bluntly.

“Come again?”

“She is nearly as tall as I am now. If we were to dance together, she would block people from seeing my face.”

“You’re dancing with me because I’m sufficiently shorter than you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he responded without emotion. “Though do not let that bother you; you should still enjoy this time with me and be flattered I asked you nonetheless. Trust me, there are plenty of petite princesses at Lady Agnue’s who fit the bill. But, despite your impertinent nature and slightly masculine nose, I find you, Crisanta Knight, to be uniquely attractive. And as an added bonus, your hair and eye colors do not clash with my own. Therefore, I have decided that we are perfect together and you shall be my new heart’s desire from hereon out.”

I stared at Chance open-mouthed, processing the unbelievable levels of shallowness his answer had managed to achieve. Then, with every proceeding twirl, in the next several seconds my angry feelings began to boil for the idiot who was forcing me to twirl for him.

At that point I was ready to kick Chance in his crown jewels when, luckily, someone tapped me on the shoulder to cut in.

Thank you, thank you whoever you are for saving me from the second-most irritating person . . .

I turned around.

Excellent. The number one most irritating person I’d talked to today was here too.

“Can I cut in?” Daniel asked Chance rhetorically.

The prince seemed a bit annoyed to have to give up his carefully selected dance partner, and for a second he and Daniel had one of those silent, macho stand-offs. Reluctantly, after a slight hesitation, Chance did concede though.

With another overly stiff bow he thanked me for the dance and gallantly strode away like the impeccable prince he thought himself to be.

Daniel did not wait for my permission and took my hand, continuing the dance as if nothing of particular peculiarity had happened.

“Hey,” was his opening line.

“Uh, hey,” I responded.

Daniel quarter-turned me and smirked. “You looked so angry I thought your head was going to explode.”

Our dance escalated as the melody began to pick up, causing a problem for me. Between the size of my dress, the added speed of the tempo, and the uncomfortable nature of being so close to Daniel, mistakes became a lot harder to avoid.

I almost tripped on the hem of my dress at his latest comment. When I recovered, I gave him an expression that was two-thirds repulsion and one-third confusion. Based on that look, he explained himself.

“Blue, Jason, and I were watching you dance. I don’t know what Chance said to you, but whatever it was, you seemed angry enough to pop. Kind of like how you looked earlier today when you couldn’t handle the fact that I beat you so easily. Anyways, they thought you needed a lifeline so when Chance’s ten minutes were up I decided to do you the favor and cut in before you completely lost it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Shocker.”

I would definitely have to thank Blue later for letting this jerk make me his dance partner. She and Jason were probably in hysterics right now. I glanced over my shoulder toward the buffet.

They weren’t there.

Scanning the room, I finally saw them on the far right side of the dance floor . . .
dancing
.

It was weird. Blue hated dancing. But they seemed to be having a good time so I figured maybe he dared her to or something.

Daniel and I waltzed for a few minutes without saying anything more to one another. I would’ve liked to have said that at least this went smoothly, but that would have been a lie. Daniel stepped on my feet periodically. And he turned me the wrong way on more than one occasion, causing me to spin right into the line of dance traffic. Not to say that I was exactly Miss Fancy Dancey either. Despite a decade of training, I still made mistakes and tripped every now and again.