Protagonist Bound (19 page)

Since we were on the subject, I did concede that my ensemble wasn’t half-bad either. The drop-waist, dark seaweed-green gown I had on was beautiful. Its bodice was soft and slimming. The single strap over my right shoulder had black jewels that matched the sparkles on the cuff bracelet clasped to my left wrist. And the flowing skirt cascaded around me with such grace that for a moment it made me question if the dress had been sent to the right girl. Of course, one look at the back of the dress and I knew that it could only be meant for me.

Last week before we’d departed on our trip I had gone to the seamstresses back at Lady Agnue’s per usual and requested a dress with a zipper to prevent death via corset strangulation. Alas, I feared whatever comfort had been secured by this month’s alteration was counteracted by my dress’s fabric.

The stylish gown’s remarkable skirt was constructed of several layers of bustled taffeta. As a result, it was extra huge and heavy and completely messed with my equilibrium. Adding to that lack of balance, I was already being a semi-good sport by wearing my fancy, high-heeled ankle boots for this evening’s festivities instead of my standard combat ones.

That’s a major commitment on my part just so you know. I mean, taking on heels while handling ten tons of taffeta—can you say accident waiting to happen?

As impressive as the dresses were, the ballroom where tonight’s main event was being held was even more magnificent than all of our outfits combined. Walking in with my friends twenty minutes later, its grandeur absolutely took my breath away.

I had never seen so many candles in one place. They filled the room with a warm glow that made everything feel as if destiny, or true love—or better yet, fresh pastries—were in the making all around us.

But even these innumerable burning lights could not compare to the ones right above our heads. With an entire ceiling constructed of glass, Adelaide Castle’s ballroom offered a crystal clear view of a thousand twinkling stars that gleamed in the night sky like silver confetti strewn across a deep navy tablecloth.

For a moment—just a moment—I breathed in the intoxicating atmosphere.

Countless Legacies at our schools had parents whose fairytales had begun in rooms just like this. Myself included.

As ridiculous as such ideas were to me—love at first sight, wishing on stars, Prince Charming’s, and other such nonsense—I would admit that there was something in the air. Something that felt like . . . Oh, what was the right word?

Magic?

I paused and thought on the word.

Hmm. Yes, magic.

That was it.

It felt like magic.

So much so, in fact, that I started to wonder if maybe it wasn’t entirely our predecessors’ faults that they’d succumbed to stereotypes when trapped within the environment of a classic ball. The glowing energy in the room was clearly having a stronger effect on my classmates than if somebody had spiked the punch. Each one that entered seemed more entranced than the last.

The setting was even making
me
feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And warm and fuzzy were so not two adjectives I used to describe myself. Like ever.

But that’s what was happening. At least, that’s what I figured was happening given that I was getting a bit dizzy and my hands were becoming hotter the more I thought about the magical atmosphere of this place.

Wait.

Maybe it’s not the setting. My hands are actually really hot.

I came out of my ballroom-induced trance in that instant when I realized my fingers felt like they were three thousand degrees. More disconcertingly still, when I turned my hands over, I discovered that my palms were actually pulsing red as if burning from within.

Perhaps I would have (and should have) lingered on this peculiarity a bit longer, but Blue’s nudging me on the arm just then snapped me away from the subject.

“Look’s like the she-lion’s cornered herself a lone gazelle over by the watering hole.”

“What?” I stammered.

“Duh, it’s a safari metaphor.” Blue shrugged. “Mauvrey’s cornering Marie over by the punch bowl.”

I turned in the direction that Blue was indicating. Sure enough, my nemesis seemed to be closing in on Marie Sinclaire. It didn’t take me long to understand why. Marie was wearing the same purple dress as Mauvrey. Not exactly the same mind you, but similar enough to throw a self-absorbed, spoiled royal girl like Mauvrey into a tizzy.

Unfortunately, our friend Marie appeared oblivious to this oncoming conflict and wandered out of the room without noticing that Mauvrey and her villainous posse were right behind her.

No, gazelle. No!

“I’ll be right back,” I said as I moved to exit the ballroom.

“Crisa,” SJ interceded. “Maybe you should let this one go.”

I stopped short. “Come again?”

“Getting involved may not be the wisest thing for you to do here. I mean, do you truly want to get into it with Mauvrey
right now
? Lately, the two of you have been at each other’s throats more than usual. Perhaps it would be best if you just kept your distance from her for a while.”

I glanced over my shoulder and pondered the idea. But then I shook my head—sure of what I was doing.

“SJ, I can handle Mauvrey. I’m practically conditioned for it. But you know how some of the other princesses are. Marie, for example, is super sensitive. I’d rather it be me that absorbs whatever venom Mauvrey expels rather than someone like Marie, who she might actually hurt.”

SJ and Blue looked at one another for a second—both of them clearly confused by my statement.

“The things Mauvrey says don’t hurt you?” Blue asked, genuinely curious.

I considered saying no at first, but then flashed back to Singing with Nature class a few weeks ago and remembered Mauvrey’s awful words:

“I would just get used to being exactly what you are . . . no amount of Fairy Godmothers or magic is ever going to turn you into something else, Pumpkin.”

The statement had rattled me. Moreover, it hadn’t been the first time. Mauvrey had been taking shots at my self-esteem for years. And had it not been for my sassy overconfidence and capacity to retaliate with effective zingers, I would’ve for sure had some kind of nervous breakdown by now.

Even so, none of that seemed to matter at the moment. If anything it was all the more reason to go and help Marie.

“Okay, yeah, the stuff Mauvrey dishes out may sting a bit,” I half-heartedly admitted to my friends. “She’s been out to get me for a long time, so I ought to know better than anyone. But that’s the point. If I can keep anybody else from feeling that way, even if it means putting myself in the line of fire, then I’ll do it. I may not be able to stop her from coming after me, but I sure as heck can stop her from going after someone else. And I think that means I have a responsibility to, right?”

I paused and waited for SJ’s response. I assumed it would be some sort of lecture about my reckless, self-destructive tendencies, or how un-princess like my behavior was. Much to my surprise though, instead all she gave me was a small, sort of proud smile and a nod of approval.

Huh. Alrighty then.

“So do you want us to come with, Crisa? You know, help you out?” Blue asked as I turned to leave. “I’ve got a few throwing stars in my bra.”

“Nah, I can handle this on my own,” I replied. Then I hesitated. “Wait, your dress is strapless, how did you . . . On second thought, never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

“Oh, wait. I’ve got something else!” Blue said.

“Blue,” I grunted under my breath. “I don’t want any weaponry from your bra.”

My friend raised her eyebrows. “My dress has pockets too, Crisa.” Blue reached inside the folds of her turquoise gown and pulled out a ball of yarn—the enchanted one we’d been practicing with on the carriage ride over. “Remember, three squeezes turns it into rope. Then wrap one of the ends around your pinky finger and it will instantly become a ball of yarn in your hand again.”

“I got it, I got it,” I assured her as I took the ball of yarn and shoved it inside my left boot. “Thanks, Blue.”

“Be careful and hurry, Crisa,” SJ added. “Lady Agnue is not here yet and people are still arriving, so you remain permitted to enter and exit the ball freely. But it will not be long before the event officially begins and you know perfectly well that you do not want Lady Agnue to catch you wandering about without permission after that.”

“Noted,” I said.

And on that piece of advice—with yarn in my boot and feistiness brewing in my gut—I took a deep breath and marched across the ballroom toward the grand west doors.

My hand was inches from their handles when I felt someone’s fingers graze my arm. Without logical reasoning, I cringed from the touch and pulled away. Although, when I turned around, I realized that my first instinct had been spot on.

“Chance.”

“Crisanta.”

I didn’t know what was more irritating—the prince’s relentless pursuit of me, or his inability to look anything less than perfect.

Shouldn’t there be some kind of cosmic rule that says if you’re
that
annoying you at least have to have a bad hair day every once in a while?

I guess not. Because Chance Darling had been getting on my nerves something fierce as of late, yet in an all of our exchanges he’d never looked anything less than a ten.

Make no mistake; verbally kicking him in the shin was as natural to me as it was vaguely enjoyable. Nevertheless, I would have been lying if I’d said that it was not slightly more difficult to do when the prince—dressed in his sleek tux—was so close to me. His eyes alone were a force to be reckoned with, especially in the entrancing glow of this ballroom.

And I think he knew it, too.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked as he leaned against the door, blocking my exit.

“Getting some air,” I replied.

“You shouldn’t wander the castle unescorted, Crisanta. Might I join you?”

“If I wanted to warm up maybe,” I said. “Sadly, it’s already too toasty in here for my taste, so I don’t need any extra
hot air
following me around.”

Chance crossed his arms. He looked more smug than insulted, which perturbed me. I tried to mirror his detached stance. Marie was in trouble and he was blocking my only exit. I needed to terminate this little convo swiftly and the only way to do that was to outmatch him. Verbally, that wouldn’t be hard. If shrewd eloquence was a weapon, I felt sure I could have bested any of the heroes and princes here.

Regrettably, what Chance lacked in that department he more than made up for with his self-assured demeanor. Comparing his confidence with mine felt a lot like comparing a house made of bricks to a house made of sticks. Both looked theoretically sturdy from the outside, and could hold up equally well to certain conditions. However, while the former was unshakeable to all assaults, the latter was flawed. If someone found the right weak spot—the hidden, but ever present shortcomings in its design—a strategically placed huff and puff could very well blow it down.

Chance stood up straight and stepped closer to me. “You know you’re only prolonging the inevitable,” he said.

“Really?” I responded. “Because I think you’re only extending the uncomfortable. I don’t like you, Chance. Why do you insist on continuing to bother me? Haven’t you had enough?”

He sauntered around my left side and leaned his face so close to mine that I felt his breath on my neck.

“Would I be here if I had?”

I turned my head to look him directly in the eyes. His princely charms were strong, but my conviction in this instance was ten times stronger. And I wanted him to know that beyond a shadow of doubt.

While I may not have been as fearless as Blue, as flawless as SJ, or even as self-secure as Mauvrey, the part of my character that knew the difference between something I wanted and something I didn’t was as unyielding as steel.

“I’m not like the other princesses, Chance,” I said with a slow, hypnotic fluidity to my voice.

“I know,” he replied just as slickly.

“Good. But there is still one other thing you need to know about me . . .”

I reached up steadily, grasped his bowtie, and gingerly brought his face so close to mine that there could be no mistaking in his mind ever again that he had any power over me. I leaned in and lowered my voice to a whisper.

“You
can’t
have me.”

I released him and motioned toward the ballroom behind us as my glare narrowed. “
So
.
Pick
.
Someone
.
Else
.”

At first, Chance seemed a bit flustered by my tactic and my comment. The bemusement in his expression had hardened ever so slightly, and his cheeks were tinged with a touch of redness.

But, a second later he straightened himself, held up his right hand, and casually snapped his fingers. When he did, for a moment his pupils sparked gold like a beautiful, angry reflex.

The flash caught me off guard, so I didn’t react in time to pull away before his other hand made contact with the cuff bracelet on my wrist.

The instant it did, the bracelet began to change. Within the blink of an eye the magic that was his inherited birthright spread, causing the accessory to increase in both density and weight as it turned to solid gold. I yanked my hand away protectively—feeling strangely violated, irate, and kind of jealous.

Stupid King Midas. Why couldn’t my genetics be laden with magical awesomeness? All I had to show for my fairytale bloodline was a fondness for pumpkins and a talent for cleaning my room that I was ashamed of.

“Nice trick,” I commented, rubbing my wrist now that I’d gotten past the initial shock. “Overcompensating for something?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Chance countered. “You’re trying too hard to deter my advances, Crisanta. Meanwhile, I can see the classic truth residing behind your stubbornness as clear as glass. I’m a prince; you’re a princess. The math is simple; the outcome as novel as, well, a world called Book. Whether you want to admit it or not, our inherent destinies together are a lot like the gold in this bracelet—solid, resistant to corrosion, and a surprisingly strong conductor of
electricity
.”