Chapter Two:

The Ball

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Her feet were already close to being covered with blisters but she had yet to even enter the ballroom, let alone dance in the little orange death traps.

Harriet was standing outside the doors of the ballroom, bored and nervous all at once. While part of her was dreading the whole affair, another part of her was a tiny bit nervous, but not because she wanted it to go well. Oh no, she wanted it to go badly, and that's what made her nervous. If her sister found out that Harriet had somehow caused the ball to not go to plan, Harriet could kiss her armor and training sessions goodbye.

But then again, Harriet thought, if she found a husband who looked down on women sword-fighting she'd have to kiss them goodbye anyway. Not that she thought her sister would make her marry someone she hated or didn't even love.

Standing outside the doors of the ballroom, Harriet listened to the sounds of the people chattering and the music playing inside. She was waiting for the sound of her brother-in-law to introduce her, but knowing him, he had got to talking and gotten distracted. She let out a frustrated sigh. Would she better off just going into the ballroom without the whole introduction? Clara would probably kill her, but her plan would be well under way.

She moved forwards and knocked purposefully on the doors, signaling to the doormen on the other side to open up the door. A split second passed before the doors opened gracefully, revealing the ballroom to Harriet and Harriet to the entire ballroom of people.

Every single face in the ballroom was turned up to look at her, and from her place at the top of the stairs Harriet could see where her brown-haired brother-in-law, Frederick, was smiling at her sheepishly. Her sister, on the other hand, had her hands on her hips, and looked incredibly peeved.

Harriet swallowed, and then proceeded to begin her plan. Looking around the ballroom, she made eye contact with as many people as she could and then proceeded roll her eyes and make her way down the stairs. She had honestly contemplated doing something like passing gas or belching loudly, but she figured bad manners would be bad enough. She didn't want to cause her sister to have a heart-attack.

Making her way down the stairs, she made sure to slouch unattractively and walk with her feet making as much noise as they could, which in the quiet and stunned ballroom sounded akin to thunder. Harriet had never been so glad that the only opinions she cared about were those of her family and friends, and thankfully, the majority of the ballroom was filled with just the people from the court.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs a small group of the only suitors brave enough, or desperate enough, to want to dance with her, were waiting for her. As she came up to the first one, he cleared his throat, his stubble covered face bulging slightly as he moved his beady eyes over the sight of her figure. Harriet had never wished for her sword more, or perhaps the opportunity to reprimand him or take him down a peg or two.

"Lady Harriet, you look simply lovely tonight, would you-"

"No," Harriet answered shortly, causing the man to flush.

"I didn't even finish talking!" He exclaimed indignantly, his squeaky voice reaching an almost ear-splitting decibel.

"I don't dance with leering liars," she commented coldly, giving him her best glare. She knew for a fact that her orange dress did not look very good on her, so she couldn't help but snap at him.

Harriet watched as he gulped, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that weren't there. Suddenly, the musicians began to play again, and when Harriet glanced over to the musicians she saw her sister there with them. Maybe she hoped the music would mask the sound of Harriet's words from being heard by most of the people gathered.

Harriet gave one more glare to the beady-eyed man before stepping around him purposefully. She had barely gotten another step away before another man was in her way, this time, one that had an arrogant smile on his pink lips. His grin grew even wider, to the point that Harriet hoped his face might split in half, but alas it did not.

"May I have this dance, Lady Harriet, I can understand why you might not want to dance with scum such as-"

"I don't think so," Harriet cut in, causing the man to tilt his head in confusion.

"Surely, one as well-known and handsome as I-"

"I don't care if you are the King of Marenta or more handsome than all of the men in the world, I don't dance with men with more of an ego than sense," she retorted, watching as the man in front of her widened his eyes as he looked behind her.

"I suppose that means you will not be dancing with Leopold then," a voice said behind her, and Harriet spun on heel to face her brother-in-law.

"Absolutely not,"she retorted, not wanting anything to do with that man, especially not that man.

"He would be better than the rest of this lot," Frederick suggested, taking her by the elbow to try and steer her away from the men still waiting to talk to her.

"That isn't saying much," Harriet said, pulling her arm from Frederick's grip. "There is no way you could convince me to dance with that idi-"

"Harriet! He is not as bad as you clearly think," Frederick admonished, his head swiveling around to make sure no one heard his sister-in-law try and insult his best friend who was coincidentally, also a king. Harriet didn't bother to look. She wouldn't be surprised if the whole kingdom knew of her ire towards Leopold.

"Anyone who so easily takes credit for someone else's hard work is not worth associating with," Harriet said, her voice dripping with malice.

"For the last time Harriet! He was trying to keep you safe!" Frederick placed a hand to his forehead, wearily having had a similar argument with her every time Leopold was nearby, but Harriet wouldn't let it go. After all, Leopold was the man who had tried to shatter her childhood dreams, and Harriet could definitely hold a grudge.

"And he couldn't have just said that I helped him? He couldn't just share the credit? Would it kill him to say that he had help?" Harriet said, her voice rising slightly in volume, glaring at anyone who dared to look at her questionably because of her tone of voice.

"You know as well as I do that he had to act quickly. He didn't have the time to think something through so thoroughly." Harriet snorted at Frederick's reply.

"Well, it hardly matters now, does it? The deed is done."

"Precisely! That means you can dance with him!" Frederick said, a smile stretching out onto his face, making his eyes crinkle at the edges.

"No it does not mean that. I would not dance with that man if he was the last man in the world. In fact, I wouldn't go near him, even if it meant saving the world," she declared, before walking away in a huff.

She was thankful that Frederick didn't follow her, but she was more preoccupied with her grudge on the King of Marenta, so that thankfulness took a bit of a backseat. Even after seven years, the wound over not being credited with her first true heroic act, her first act for the betterment of her country, still stung.

While she had been forced to seem him and talk to him, and gods forbid, sit next to him on numerous occasions, she still didn't like the man.

Harriet, in the haze of her thoughts, noticed that there was a table of food off to the side, and so she made her way towards it. Maybe a little of the food would make the ball not be as hard to handle. Once she reached the table, she reached for the ladle of the punch bowl, meaning to grab it, but as someone knocked into her from behind her, her hand somehow landed on the rim of the bowl, and trying to steady herself, she mistakenly put her weight on it.

As her weight was thrown onto the punch bowl, the side of it tipped, causing the contents of the bowl to go flying towards Harriet as well as whoever was behind her, and according to the high-pitched shriek and the loud yipping sound, Harriet knew exactly who it was.

Her hair was soaked in the punch, sticking to the sides of her face in gooey strands, while her dress was absolutely ruined but she was far more preoccupied with being too horrified to care.

Standing beside her was Lady Margaret de Panterlow and her little rat dog that she carried with her everywhere, and boy was she not happy. As Lady Panterlow caught sight of Harriet frozen by the punch bowl covered completely from head to toe in sticky, pink, punch, her shrieks increased in volume, her meaningless sounds forming into words.

"You terrible, awful, despicable, little wretch! Look what you have done! My poor, poor, Mr. Tearykins! He is covered in punch!" Lady Panterlow held up her punch covered miniature dog that looked more like a drowned rat than anything.

"I'm so sorry," Harriet cut in, feeling entirely honest. "I didn't mean to tip punch on either you or your dog."

"Well, you did! And you call yourself a Lady!" Lady Panterlow said, her plump face red with anger as her expression twisted into a scowl at Harriet and spitting in her face. Harriet's eyes blinked a few times in shock. The woman had actually spit on her! Spit on her! Harriet certainly wasn't one to talk about acting like a lady, but surely spitting on someone was the epitome of unladylike behavior?

"I'm sure it was an accident," the voice of her sister cut in, clearly playing the role of the ever patient and kind Queen and coming to Harriet's rescue.

"An accident! She has ruined my dress, my hat, and soaked my dog in strawberry punch! Everyone thought that she wasn't a lady in the slightest, and now they know it! No man will ever want the likes of her, even if she was the last woman in the world," Lady Panterlow snarled, clutching her still yapping dog to her bosom as she reminded Harriet of her own words to Frederick not moments before. "The day she marries will be the day I die from shock! Now if you will excuse me, I have no wish to be at a ball run by a bunch of peasants!"

Harriet saw Clara flinch out of the corner of her eye as the Lady referenced their upbringing. Even after seven years, Clara was still bothered by their past, and the shock of it being practically shouted in her face caused the ever calm and collected Queen to freeze as Lady Panterlow made her dramatic exit.

Someone must have been signaled for the dancing to start again, because the next thing she knew, everyone's attention had left them, and Harriet was dismayed to see that Clara's chin was trembling slightly.

"Clara-"

"No, Harriet, you have done enough tonight," Clara said quietly as her husband, Frederick, came up behind her to put his hands on her shoulders comfortingly, making to lead her away, but Clara didn't let him, her watering grey eyes meeting Harriet's own dry ones. "Please return to your room and get cleaned up. I had wanted to do this differently but you have left me no choice," Clara said, her voice trembling.

"Do what?" Harriet questioned, her stomach clenching with dread. She hadn't meant to hurt Clara by anything she had done, but she knew that her actions had brought Clara's judgement into question. If Clara wasn't able to raise her upstart little sister properly, how was she supposed to run a country?

"You will be meeting the man we are hoping that you are to marry in precisely half an hour. Please make sure to be here on time," Clara said, before being led away by Frederick who had looped a hand around his pregnant wife's shaking shoulders.

Harriet watched as they got swallowed up by the people in the ballroom, her throat feeling peculiarly tight. She stood there for a few moments before turning around and running towards the garden exit. She had almost made it when she stumbled into someone, but her tears were making her vision too blurry to see properly.

Whoever it was quickly grabbed hold of her arms, holding her close to them, clearly not caring that she was covered in pink and sticky punch, but Harriet didn't want to be comforted. She broke away from their touch even as they shouted after her.

"Harriet, come back!" A familiar voice called, a voice of a man, but Harriet didn't care. She didn't even take the time to think about who it was before she had disappeared into the hedges of the garden's large maze, her legs running on autopilot from years worth of hide and seek.

She could hear the sound of running behind her, the sound of whoever it was who had tried to comfort her chasing after her, but she took a quick turn and they ran past. Leaving her to run in a different direction all the while lost in her thoughts.

She had wanted the ball to go badly, but she had never wanted her sister to cry. She had never wanted for something to that extent to happen. Harriet had meant only to bat away all of her suitors with her sharp tongue and witty comments, but instead she had accidentally done something much worse.

Harriet stumbled as her foot caught on a rock in the path and a loud tearing noise filled the air as her dress ripped. Harriet laid there for a moment, catching her breath. She slowly sat up, rubbing away the blurriness of her eyes to inspect her dress. She should've known that running in a dress would only cause her trouble.

However, it was clear that the dress wouldn't be causing her any more trouble as it was ripped straight up the middle. She certainly wouldn't be having trouble running in the dress any longer.

As she got to her feet, a part of her wanted to laugh bitterly. In less than ten minutes she had managed to avoid her suitors, ruin her dress, create enough court gossip for a week, and caused her older sister to cry. The ball had gone far more terribly than she had ever thought it would, and now that it was all said and done, as she was definitely not going back, she didn't feel triumphant. She felt dreadful.

Harriet started to jog down one of the paths within the maze, moving in the direction she knew would lead her to the stables. She felt terrible over how the ball went, and she highly doubted that Clara would forgive her quickly.

As she got closer to the stables, her thoughts took an even darker turn. Clara would no doubt want her to meet her husband-to-be, regardless of whether or not she showed up at the ball. Her legs crumpled beneath her as she fully realized what it all meant, causing her to slump forward into the slightly damp grass just outside the stables.

Her dream of being a knight was no longer a reality. She would be cursed to be the ever ladylike wife of whoever her sister had picked for her, and Harriet felt as if her world had come to a screeching stop. Everything that she had worked so hard for over the past seven years would be for nothing.

For a moment she let her mind wander to the horror that would be her life once she was married. She would be stuck inside a shell of who she was, forced to be a trophy wife, but as the whinnying of one of the horses broke into her thoughts she was torn from them.

Harriet hurried to her feet, dashing towards the stable doors. She threw them open, letting them bang against the wood of the building, rushing in as the swung back towards her. Harriet grabbed one of the saddles of the walls, slinging it over the nearest horse as quickly as she could. With fumbling fingers she tightened the straps of the saddle and readied the horse as best as she could.

She would rather leave her life of a knight on her own free will than be taken from it forcibly. She would leave before anyone had the chance to take it from her. Finishing with the saddle and everything else she needed, Harriet put a foot in one of the stirrups and brought herself up onto the horse.

Once she was settled comfortably, she spurred the horse into movement, the stable doors banging open as they pushed through them and out into the night. Holding the reins tightly, Harriet glanced back over her shoulder as they began to head towards the forest, her eyes landing on the form of the glistening palace behind her, the place that had been her home for nine years.

She hadn't said goodbye to her family, she hadn't even taken her cloak or provisions, but all the same she turned her head back to the horse's path through the woods, telling herself that she would be back, but not too soon.

The horse galloped through the forest, and Harriet bent closer to the horse's neck as the branches from trees whipped at her face and hands, slashing them into a bleeding mess. Her hands burned with every brush of a branch, and she was about to try and make the horse slow down when she heard the sound of more hooves not far away.

Turning her head to the left, she glimpsed another horse and rider, but the rider wasn't sitting up straight on the horse, and as Harriet tried to look closer she realized he wasn't even holding the reins.

Thinking quickly, she did her best to get her horse to maneuver over towards the other horse, bringing them side by side. She slowly signaled her horse to slow down, and as her horse did, so did the other rider's, but as their horses came to a stop, the man slid down off of his horse, tumbling to the ground with a groan.

Harriet leapt down from her horse and rushed to his side, her blood thundering in her ears as her eyes widened in recognition.

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So, a lot has happened this chapter. Who do you think it was who ran after her? Do you think Harriet was right to run away? Who do you think the rider is? Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

If you liked this chapter, or at the very least, appreciated Harriet's attempts at ruining a ball, make sure to click on that little star at either the bottom of your screen (mobile app users) or the top right corner (people using a computer) to vote for the chapter!

(P.S. If you want to read more about Harriet and her whole family, make sure to check out the first book, Glass Slippers!)