Maren stared at the Prince for a moment, weighing her options. She knew there was no way she was going to let him get away with a comment like that and continue on like it wasn't information that could lead to the scandal of the century.
But then there was also the matter of his dance proposal.
She could not deny him so openly while the music began, in front of the peering eyes of the crowd. Maren straightened her back and placed her hand in his.
"While I haven't the slightest clue what you mean," she said, forcing amusement into her tone, "I could not deny a dance to the Prince who is so favored by my mentor."
Darrin's gloved hand closed around hers gently and he smiled.
"Is that so?" Prince Darrin asked, his eyes sharp. "Well, I suppose my intuition was wrong."
Then, like a burst of wind, Maren was whisked onto the dance floor in the middle of the crowd.
"That being said," he whispered, his eyes softening as he gazed down at her, "we all have ghosts locked behind closed doors. Should those ghosts escape, it's always good to have someone to lean on, and my own shoulders, broad as they are, seem to be quite empty these days."
"Hm," Maren hummed politely. "I wonder why that might be."
Prince Darrin let out an amused puff, and took Maren's verbal blow in stride.
She scoffed to herself, internally rolling her eyes.
She wondered if perhaps she wasn't wrong about him at all. If that arrogance she'd seen in him the first day of their meeting was in fact a part of him he concealed from her. She hadn't spoken to Cora of her supervised date with him or what she truly thought of the Prince of Forsyth.
But if his mother was making deals in the shadows, there was a good chance he could be in on it as well, or concocting his own plans.
Speaking of plans, Maren thought. Where is Selma?
Maren's gaze floated across the room with every whip and pull of Prince Darrin. She caught sight of Cora and her mother speaking to her friend, Prince Ariel of Avelle, and his mother, but only for a moment before the music pulled them in another direction.
"You seem distracted Princess," Darrin murmured, too close for her liking.
Maren jerked her head away slightly, "Just getting a feel for the room. You pulled me into this dance before I had time to talk to anyone else."
"Well a man needs to make an impression," Prince Darrin replied, his tone even but his eyes serious. "I am the first Prince you'll meet, but by the end of your Empire tour, I'll be the last."
Maren felt a sliver of sympathy for him. She understood the concept that these boys were pit against each other, painted and fluffed up, forced to act in a similar fashion to peacocks. After all is well and done, her and Cora were in a similar circumstance.
"Who are you looking for?" He asked, smiling down at her.
Maren peered up at him suspiciously, hesitating before she replied. "Your sister, actually."
Prince Darrin blinked, cocking his head slightly to one side.
"Selma won't be here tonight. She's bedridden with fever," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Why would you need to find Selma?"
Maren gazed up at the prince, wide-eyed and realizing that she may have said too much.
Suddenly, the music ended, and Maren pulled herself from his clutches, and backed away a few steps.
"I really must be finding Lady Twelve," Maren said, walking backwards. "She gets a bit raucous at parties when left alone for too long."
Prince Darrin stepped forward, a persistent look in his eyes that Maren didn't like.
"Let me help," he pressed, holding his hands out for her.
Maren's chest tightened as he stepped forward once more. She reacted, stepping back again, but this time, she fell into someone.
"Ah!" Maren exclaimed as she fell back, colliding with a maid.
The crowd around them gasped as they collapsed into a pile on the ground, small plates of hors d'oeuvres shattering on the ground around them, pieces of food stuck to the maid. The maid looked up at Maren with wide eyes that silently pleaded for mercy.
"Your Majesty!" She cried out. "I apologize deeply for my clumsiness! How can I ever pay for this great mistake?"
The maid bowed her head, clenching her fists in her lap.
Maren moved slowly to her knees. Not a single piece of food made its way to her gown or her hair. Her chest filled with sympathy as she realized the poor maid had allowed everything to fall on herself.
She reached for the maid, grasping her wrists gently.
"Worry not," Maren said softly. "No harm was done. Thanks to your rescue, my gown is still in good shape."
The maid hesitated for a moment, gazing at Maren. Then, a relaxed smile slowly bloomed, pushing the fleshy part of her cheeks up. Her hands slipped into Maren's, which struck her as confident, if not slightly inappropriate for a maid to do.
But then, Maren felt something slide between their palms — small, and soft.
"Blessed are the followers of Starlight," the maid whispered, her eyes dark as she gazed at Maren. "Damned are those that forsake the guiding light of Ia."
Maren sat there, unable to look away from the maid. Though the words were meant to be positive toward a Starblessed, Maren couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that toiled in her gut.
Suddenly, a hand was on Maren's shoulder, radiating a heat so familiar the tension in her body melted instantly. She turned, her eyes meeting Cora's.
"Cora-" Maren sighed.
"Are you alright?" Cora asked, scanning Maren for any sign of injury.
"I'm fine," Maren replied, grateful for Cora's presence.
The maid pulled her hands back, and Maren responded by curling her fingers into a fist, crumbling what felt like a piece of paper beneath her palm.
As Cora helped Maren to her feet, the maid bowed her head deeply in apology, and several other butlers and maids began to help clean the mess.
"Princess," Prince Darrin approached them, his eyes wide with worry, "I did not mean to startle you. Are you alright?"
Maren took a step away from him, unable to control her impulses, "I'm fine. I think I just need some air."
The Prince's face turned serious, but he nodded politely and watched as Cora escorted Maren away from the dance floor.
"What was that?" Cora whispered, guiding them through the crowd.
"A bigger problem than I thought," Maren answered, her voice low. "What did you think of Prince Darrin on your date?"
"Not much. Talkative, confident, and a bit sly." Cora responded casually. She paused, thinking to herself and then finished, "objectively handsome, I suppose."
Maren grimaced. She had a feeling that Cora was not interested in the clean-cut, Princely type. The moment she laid eyes on Prince Valen, she knew he was the perfect match for a Ruby Princess destined to lead her country through war and hardship. This was a man who could provide for her tried and tested wisdom, and fierce protection.
Unlike Maren, who could hardly heal a simple wound.
"Why do you ask?" Cora asked, shooting Maren a glance.
Maren did not meet her gaze when she answered. "No reason."
Cora moved them to a corner of the room, behind a large display of flowers, separated from the crowd.
"What happened with the Prince of Forsyth?" Cora asked, crossing her arms in front of her.
"Truly, nothing we have to worry about," Maren replied. Then, she opened her palm to reveal the paper, "But this might be. The maid gave it to me, which caused me to believe bumping into her was not by accident."
Cora was silent as Maren unraveled the crumpled bit of paper.
"It's a message," Maren said, "from Selma."
Cora's eyes widened slightly and Maren began to read aloud from the paper.
"Blessed are the followers of starlight,
for a Princesses hand, men choose to fight.
While fools rage on in furious brawl,
The wise grow still — listening for the call.'"
"Well, I suppose a religious studies major doesn't make a poet," Cora commented.
Maren shot her a look, "It's not a damn contest, Cora. It's a code."
Cora rolled her eyes, "A bad one."
Maren raised her eyebrows and Cora raised her hands in silent defeat.
"My mother spoke with the Queen of Forsyth tonight. She mentioned that Selma is sick," Cora said. "So how exactly is she going to start a fight if she isn't here?"
"Probably the same way she sent this note," Maren said, holding the paper between two fingers. "Or similarly to how her mother lets the Stranger make moves in the shadows while she calls the shots."
There was a brief pause between them.
Maren knew they couldn't stay here too long, but she already felt suffocated by the party.
What happened with Prince Darrin was too much for her. While he didn't seem malicious, he pushed far harder than mere acquaintances. Although, part of her understood his desperation.
The Prince Candidates were put under much pressure.
In their country, to become Emperor was the prize. Before the time of the Empire, the first born son of a King would inherit his fathers crown. But when the Empire was formed, the precious title became that of the Emperor — married to a young woman with extraordinary abilities.
In most cases, the oldest son would inherit the Kingdom, and the battle for the title of Emperor would fall to the second or third sons.
Recently, however, it just so happened that most of the Kingdoms had firstborn sons around the same age as the Starblessed Princesses.
The stakes were high.
Still, while she understood his desperation to make an impression, it didn't excuse his behavior.
Maren straightened her spine, and turned to Cora.
"We can't stay here forever," she said. "Are you ready to be thrown to the wolves once more?"
Cora blinked, surprised by Maren.
"I'm sure Prince Darrin is looking for you," Cora rolled her eyes.
Maren shot her a look, "Not that I'm interested, of course."
Cora hesitated for a moment, gazing at Maren. "You're not?"
"No," Maren said, her eyebrows stitching together. "What gave you that impression?"
"Well, he seems to be very interested," Cora replied.
Maren blinked, a smile blooming around her lips.
Was Cora…jealous? Maren asked herself.
Maren smirked, the expression soon transforming into a full blown grin. She rolled her eyes, interlocking her arm with Cora's, and dragged her out from behind the plants.
"Not all rectangles are squares, Cora." Maren mused brightly.
Cora returned her smirk, understanding her meaning.
"Nice dress, by the way," Cora said, averting her gaze. "If I were a Prince Candidate, the whole party would be in an uproar."
Maren grinned widely, "yes, well, I wanted to send a clear message."
Cora nodded, "message received."