"May I have a word please?" Elizabeth asked the crown prince as soon as the curtain fell on the stage, heralding the end of the baile. It had been a whirlwind of red, black and golden frilly figures depicting the very famous legend of Warnia.

The legend of the first emperor of Warnia having being handed down the kingdom by God Plutus himself. The fairies that had come witness the 'blessed event', all dressed in bright colours of red and gold, different from their usual attires just to pay homage to the newly built kingdom.

The baile had been an ostentatious affair, and she would have loved to admire it in its true sense, but her mind was elsewhere. Or rather, busy in deciding all the possibilities of her next move.

The prince turned to her amidst the clattering applause that followed the end of the performance, his own hands pausing to listen to her. Elizabeth took a breath in, steeling herself for all kinds of bizarre reactions from him.

"Yes?" The prince encouraged, cocking an eyebrow.

"I want to propose a pact," she said, her face a picture of neutrality she had been taught since she were a child.

The prince's eyebrows hopped upwards in surprise. He shifted in his seat to fully face her, but the timing wasn't the ideal one. The King and Queen had risen from their seats, and so had the entire crowd to pay their reverences to the monarchs. Them being the only pupils sitting didn't pose a promising picture as such.

It was akin to scandalous. Elizabeth hopped from her seat, sweeping a swift curtsy to save face. The prince bowed to his parents, aware of the keen, wide eyes in the hall burning holes in his stature. But while a bashful red heat had risen to Elizabeth's face, the prince remained resolutely impassive.

She had caught the attention of the crowd. With the prince. Again.

The prospect didn't settle well with her. But she would think about that later. The candle of hope had lit after days. She wouldn't let it burn out. As she resumed her regular posture, she risked a look at the monarchs' faces. The Queen was making a show of not having caught the faux pas, the ice in her eyes the only evidence of her displeasure. But the King was an entire different tale. He was directly looking at her with a calculated look on his face, as if trying to glean her worth in just one look.

But contrary to what she had expected, the King did not look offended. If anything, there was an almost serene shade on his face. If serenity ever dawned on kings, that is.

"You were saying?" The prince started beside her, making her jump at the sudden invasion of her thoughts. She whirled around to face him, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were at the departing crowd, adopting a kingly demeanor as opposed to the earlier vocal prince. Elizabeth looked down to find the prince's arm held out for her, and she took it almost instantaneously.

They followed the King and Queen out of the theatre, the prince's eyes fixed straight ahead. But Elizabeth's traitorous eyes roamed about, watching the crowd watch her walk behind the monarchs, on the arm of the future monarch.

The though did little to comfort her. She watched all the eyes, the jealous ones, the spiteful ones, the curious ones, the analysing ones, and the worried ones. Elizabeth craned her neck to see her aunt, along with Catherine, standing in front of the crowd. A knot formed in her stomach at the look her cousin was giving her. It tightened even more as she went on to see her aunt's worry-etched face. She swallowed. It didn't look promising at all.

But this won't last long, she explained herself. She wouldn't be the center of a game she had no qualms to play. She wanted her lands. Nothing more, nothing less.

And she wouldn't stop till she has achieved what she has come all the way to Warnia for.

She averted her eyes and looked ahead at the approaching royal carriage, the royal Crest butting out of the roof. Her distracted thoughts gathered around the scenery in front of her.

A huge fountain taking the central stage, a number of shrubs surrounding it, the traditional Latin architecture of the theatre to ward off the heat, the sight was magnificent.

A number of carriages were lined along the short passage from the iron gates to the entrance of the theatre hall. The royal carriage before them at the moment.

A footman opened the door for them, while the prince lend his hand to help her inside. She took it absentmindedly and hopped in as the prince followed suit.

What she hadn't expected was for another man and lady to accompany them in the carriage.

Elizabeth frowned at the unannounced intruders, throwing a quizzical look to the prince.

But he seemed preoccupied already. He was looking at the pair which had seated themselves in their carriage, an unpleasant expression on his face.

Akin to one she would have when she had to swear. She looked at the pair again, this time more observant than accusing. They were dressed in finery. The man had a dark red jacket on, its embroidered sides gleaming in the moonlight. The woman was bedecked no less. Pale amber gown, its bust generous low, with pearls glistening around her neck.

They looked almost royalty.

The thought snapped her head back to the man. She looked more closely this time. Dark, dusty mane, chiseled jaw, and the eyes - the same emerald green eyes she had beheld in the corridors.

And all the evening.

Was he the prince's...

"Brother, won't you introduce us to the fine lady here? Where are your manners?" The man spoke, his eyes alight with mischief.

The prince had forgone all the pretences now. He was scowling at the pair of them, more glaringly at his brother.

While her disappointment stemmed out of not having the prince alone for the talk she wanted to have long since the baile, Prince Thomas's seemed to be because of a more ancient cause.

But he didn't speak a word. His eyes were the doing the talking. And as for the prince's brother, it was plain that he was having the time of his life riling him up.

The lady sitting across me coughed, pulling Thomas out of his glaring onslaught on his brother.

A grin had taken shape on the prince's brother's lips, something Elizabeth suddenly grew weary of.

"Uhm, this is His Grace Hagan Warrings, Duke of Ramlord, and his wife, Duchess Arana. And this is Lady Elizabeth of Demonire," Thomas said, gesturing towards her.

"Enchantada, my lady," the Duke said, kissing the back of her hand, for much longer than necessary.

Elizabeth's face morphed into a scowl as she attempted to pull her hand off. Hagan conceded, leaning back in his seat, a lazy, flirtatious smile on his face.

She looked at the Duke's wife, who was sporting a similar look as Thomas had but a minute ago, albeit the displeasure was directed at her.

Elizabeth's eyes wandered to the bodice of Arana, a growing belly protruding from the confines of her corset.

She looked outside the carriage, trying to control her urge to slap the insensitive prick across his face. She had seen lords treat their wives with little consideration. But none had the nerve of flirting with another women in front of his wife. And a pregnant one at that.

The air had suddenly turned stifling in the carriage, three of its inmates scuffling in their seats, wanting to get over with the drive as soon as possible.

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The ride had lasted for eons. And with the prince's brother eyeing her the entire time, it had been almost torture to not reach out and punch the living daylights out of him.

But she remained in her seat, gathering all the poise she had been taught over the years, biting back the frustrated yell that threatened to escape every time the prince's brother attempted to start a conversation.

But now that they were back at the castle, another worry clawed Elizabeth. She hadn't had the time to talk to the prince. And the more she delayed the affair, the more troubles would arise.

Worrying her fingers all the way, she reached her room and pushed the handle, but the door didn't open. She tried the handle again, banged the door, but it won't budge.

The door was locked from inside. But why would anybody do that?

"Verena! Open the door!" Elizabeth called for the maid. She reached for the handle again, but this time the door swung open on its own, revealing her maid bobbing a hurried curtsy.

Elizabeth pushed the door wide open and looked about, frowning.

"Why had you locked the door, Verena?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes scanning the length of the room.

"My apologies, my lady. I was merely cleaning the room," Verena said, her voice barely above a squeak.

"With the door locked?" Elizabeth faced her maid this time, the ice in her eyes sending Verena over the edge.

She cowered back, her body shaking with fear.

"The...the...jewels, my lady!" Verena let out. Elizabeth's eyes softened at the fearful maid, bobbing a stiff nod before entering her closet.

But she had not let her guard down. Catherine's words from the ball rang in her ears. Warnia has eyes, ears and hands everywhere. In the chambers of its guests as well.

She had forgotten that Verena was after all loyal to the Warnian crown.

Her demeanor stiffened as Verena entered her closet to help her out of her gown.

She exhaled as she watched the maid work. She would have to be watchful. Warnia is turning out to be the nightmare everyone had described it to be.

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