Chapter Text
Throughout every kingdom of Comida, Candia was known to hold the best festivals. Their balls were the most sought-after invitation in the lands, for their sweet delicacies, cola of all flavors, milk from the Dairy Islands flavored with the finest of chocolates, as well as all manner of sweet delights, fruits, and wines, spread across deep cocoawood tables, covered in vibrant spun sugar cloths. The floors were a beautiful purple made of grape stone from the Great Candy Mountains, candles of honey wax burning in the candy cane chandeliers to light the room. Nobles from every kingdom wore their finest clothes, gowns of beautiful milk silk of the Dairy Islands, prosciutto dresses and suits from the Meatlands, cloths of woven wheat from Ceresia, fruitskin leathers from Fructera, lettucecloth from Vegetania, and fine cotton candy fabrics from Candia. It was easiest to pick out Candians from the crowd in their strikingly colorful gowns and suits.
Caramelinda, Dutchess of Meringue, was not accustomed to the opulence of these balls. The House of Rocks did not often see fit to invite the Duke and Duchess of Meringue to their parties, and did not often host such large events, but the entire kingdom was abuzz with word of a war to come. Caramelinda knew that this was a ball to keep up appearances, a front to show their people that Candia remained strong despite the rumors.
Caramelinda smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin. Posture, child. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, feel the cane pushing her chin up and icy fingers pulling her shoulders into place. She knew her royal standing was nearly nonexistent, and, until war loomed on the horizon, hardly recognized, but her mother did not allow her to forget that she was to be dutchess, that she was above the common folk. Dutchess Caramelinda of Meringue , her mother would say. Do not dare forget it.
Caramelinda set her jaw, eyes fixed on the throne upon which King Jadain sat, Queen Pamelia standing at his side. A regal smile rested on the Queen’s lips, although the tightness around her eyes showed through. The King’s face was set in a serious frown, shoulders hunched forward with both age and anxiety. Only one of their children remained beside them, Prince Amethar. The prince was a tall, burly man, with the ghost of a green beard covering his sharp jaw, towering over his parents and speaking happily to his mother.
The Princesses of Candia were spread about the room, and Caramelinda took note of each of them. Primogen Citrina, the second-oldest of the four, wore flowing gray robes and a head covering rather than a ballgown, her royal circlet tied in the belt of her ensemble. The attendees of the ball stopped her repeatedly, asking to be blessed, and Citrina did so happily, placing her hands on their heads and praying over them with such devotion, it rivaled anything Caramelinda had ever seen. Her golden skin almost glowed against the dull color of her robes as she whispered words of worship, and Caramelinda considered how improper it would be to ask to pray alongside her.
General Rococoa, the oldest of her siblings and the heir to the throne, did not wear a ballgown either, instead donned her dark chocolate armor that shone in the candlelight. She did wear her circlet, resting on her cocoa-colored brow. She held a frown on her lips no matter who she spoke to, one hand on her sword, ready as her protective gaze swept the room, finding her sisters to be certain of their safety, over and over again.
Princess Sapphria’s gown was several shades of red, raspberry on the shoulder puffs of her sleeves, watermelon over her arms, and strawberry from her bodice to her skirts. Her necklace and circlet had cherry red stones, and both her belt and the metal of her circlet were a brilliant gold. The princess (the only true princess of the Rocks Sisters, her other sisters all holding higher titles than that of their birthright) had a warm smile, kind and gentle as she spoke with her people. She’d taken Caramelinda’s hand when they were introduced, and recalled the single time they’d met as children, when Sapphria herself was but a child of four. Caramelinda delighted in the memory, having mostly lost it herself, and departed from the Princess to allow her to continue her duties as host, as was proper.
Archmage Lazuli Rocks stood nearest the doors, dressed in the nicest of her wizard’s robes, just a touch darker than her deep blue skin. The collar and parts of her sash were a regal purple, and a small pair of glasses, connected to a chain, hung around her neck. Her circlet and necklace were a such brilliant blue they almost glowed, but the most notable piece of her wardrobe was the book she was attempting to hide in her robes. Caramelinda had watched her inch closer to the doors throughout the entire night, stopped regularly by the many attendees of the ball. Lazuli’s eyebrows were furrowed together, a frown was on her lips, and though she was a mere three years older than Caramelinda, the stress of her position had taken its toll.
Caramelinda’s gown was her mother’s, a chocolate milk silk thing with trumpet sleeves and golden trim. Her skin looked positively radiant against the brown fabric, a choice Caramelinda was quite proud of. The boning of her corset bit at the skin over her ribs angrily, but from the glances she’d received, she knew it was doing its job, bringing in her waist, lifting her breasts, and widening her hips.
Lazuli was stopped once more, and Caramelinda giggled to herself. Perhaps she was too near the Archmage for that, as the wizard’s gaze flicked over to her. Caramelinda held a hand over her mouth to hide her amused smile, a blonde ringlet falling into her eyes. It was a feeble attempt to mask her disrespect, and Caramelinda’s mother was most certainly frowning upon her from beyond the grave, but it was well worth the smile she earned from Lazuli.
Well, perhaps it wasn’t, as Lazuli excused herself from conversation politely, and despite her futile attempts to escape the ballroom, lost precious ground in order to approach Caramelinda.
Caramelinda’s heart pounded in her ears, her stomach filling with violent waferflies, their paper-thin wings tickling at her insides. She had already spoken to a princess tonight, and bowed before the King and Queen, but she had not expected to find herself before the Archmage Lazuli. She curtisied so deeply she was afraid she’d fall, heart skipping beats in her chest. Bulb above, what was this woman doing to her?
“Rise, please.” Lazuli urged her softly. “Tell me your name?”
“Caramelinda.” She blinked a few times to ensure she was not dreaming. “I am the dutchess of Meringue.”
“Yes, daughter of Lady Werther. I do remember you.” Lazuli’s perpetually furrowed brow rested, and Caramelinda did not understand the urge she felt to run her thumb over the space between her eyebrows, or to press her lips to it. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Caramelinda folded her hands in front of herself. “I remember you as well. I was five when we last met.”
“And I was eight. You did hate dresses.” A slight smile turned the corners of Lazuli’s mouth up. “I see that has changed.”
“You bickered with your sisters the entire time.” Caramelinda allowed herself the laugh that escaped her lips. “Much has changed, I see.”
“So very much.” Lazuli’s smile dissolved, and Caramelinda felt the weight of her station settle back onto her shoulders. She did not wish to be in Lazuli’s position, with heavier titles to carry. She did, however, wish to kiss that frown away from Lazuli’s lips, and to run her hands over the biceps that the robe did a poor job of concealing. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”
“Yes, very much. The food is wonderful, and the music is very nice.” Caramelinda felt a flush settle across her cheeks. “I do believe I would enjoy it much more alongside a friend, if you wish to accompany me?”
“I do wish.” Lazuli’s smile returned, and Caramelinda decided then, she would do whatever it should take to make Lazuli smile. The Archmage held out an arm, ever the gentlewoman, and Caramelinda took it.
She knew that despite the improper methods she’d used, her mother would approve of the princess by her side, and that the waferflies in her stomach did as well, refusing to settle in their excitement. Caramelinda was, of course, aware of the harsh difference in station, the strong Archmage earning sweeping bows from anyone they passed, but she felt her titles melt away as Lazuli led her to the center of the room to join the dancing.
“Might I have this dance, my lady?” Lazuli bowed, hand out, and Caramelinda did her very best to ignore the way her heart clenched in her chest.
“It would be my honor, Your Highness.” Caramelinda felt pop rocks erupt under her skin when their hands touched, her heartbeat racing like the hoofbeats of a galloping gummyhorse as Lazuli’s hand found the small of her back. The band continued on, the tempo of their songs quickening as Lazuli swept her across the room.
Lauli’s laugh was melodic, a smile spreading across her lips. Her azure cheeks flushed as they danced, joining in the merriment for the moment, even if they both knew the falseities behind it. Caramelinda’s arms held her close, and by the time the band slowed the pace of their songs, the two were laughing together, holding onto one another tightly. It felt as though they’d been dancing for hours and seconds all at once, forever and no time at all passing in their togetherness.
“I should allow you to return to your duties as host.” Regret settled into the pit of Caramelinda’s stomach, eyes falling to study cracks in the grapestone floors. “I apologize for taking so much of your time, Your Highness.”
“If propriety is your concern, my lady, I remind you how improper it would be to depart without release when in the presence of a princess, yes?” Lazuli raised a purple brow, and Caramelinda could not hold back the smile on her lips.
“I suppose you are correct, Your Highness. Do you wish to excuse me in order to attend to your subjects?”
“Are you not my subject, Dutchess? I do believe I am performing my duties as we speak.” Lazuli teased. “I assure you, it is in my family’s best interest to allow Sapphria to act as hostess.”
Caramelinda had heard many rumors of the Archmage Lazuli and her sisters. Sapphria was the sweetest of the three, kind and gentle, a true princess in her demeanor. Lazuli and Rococoa held a more serious reputation. They were known to be rather harsh at times, and Caramelinda studied the smile on Lazuli’s lips before deciding that her so-called “cold” presence was anything but.
“Although, if you do wish to take your leave, I would understand, of course.” Lazuli’s smile faltered for a moment, but Caramelinda took her hand (terribly improper, but perhaps Caramelinda was learning to love impropriety).
“If you’ll forgive my candor, Your Highness,” Caramelinda considered her words carefully. “I do not wish to leave your side until you grow tired of me.”
“It seems as though we are at an unfortunate impasse, my lady, for I do not believe I shall ever grow tired of you.” Lazuli’s hand around her hand tightened, and Caramelinda could feel it squeezing her heart.