2385 Iclis 14, Reshpe

The ballroom looked so nice with actual people in it.

April dusted her skirts which her maids had worked so hard to get ready for public viewing. Her blond locks tumbled past her shoulders and hung to her waist in luscious waves. A set of velvet curtains separated her and the marble-floored hall, blocking her from having the full view. From her place, though, she could already scan the crowd gathered there, each with their own agenda for today.

Sweeping dresses of different colors, vests and coats ranging from dark to an unflattering yellow, and the sound of heels clacking against the wispy floor assaulted April's periphery. A light cloud of laughter and forced pleasantries rang in the air, making the ambience both easy and heavy.

That's what summed Falkirta up, actually.

From a young age, April knew who she was and who she was supposed to be. This feast wasn't any different. She was the daughter of the High Queen, the highest Imperial power in all of Umazure, and the only heir to the crown. Her place in this city, in the midst of the bobbing heads of important people for the Imperial Race, was to be the next High Queen, the little Sylkrana.

And in this feast, she was expected to play that part and to play it well.

April checked her sleeves and her skirts one last time. Apart from the harsh digging of the pearls lining her collar and her bodice against her skin, her dress was pristine. It was a perfect cage to hide the brutish teen she had been becoming according to her maids.

She squared her shoulders, her mind already running over the weeks of etiquette and dancing lessons to get her up to speed for this very feast. She still remembered everything, it appeared. That's good. This feast was going to be a piece of ajilte tart.

She could do this.

So, with a feigned confidence rivaling a faux noble, April pushed past the curtain, the velvety softness brushing against her shoulders before dropping its hefty weight behind her. The throng of people gathered in the hall had never looked so thick now. With a trembling heart, April plunged into the fray.

Heads turned whenever she passed them by. Her smile didn't leave her face, forever stretched wide, graceful, and meant to look like she was pleased to see these people. The truth was she didn't even know any of their names. Faces, she could remember easily. But names? Never, even if her life was on the line.

Her own heels clacked against the floor as she flitted in and out of the crowd, exchanging pleasantries, asking about whose daughter and what tuscan. The words flew into one ear and out the other as soon as she turned her back on them. Did she actually talk to someone who said they're collecting zirloree as pets? Those insects, as pets? Unbelievable.

This was supposedly a feast to welcome some dignitaries from the other territories below them. Just a few halls from this one, the heads of those territories along with key members of the Falkirtan court would be discussing how to help each other in terms of trade and production. April ought to be in those meetings but she was shooed away to entertain the other guests in this feast.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Elami Caizu, the current Air Potentate and the head of the territory, chatting up a woman with straight pale blond hair. The Potentate was supposed to be the one spearheading the trade meetings but, like April, she was shooed into this paltry festivity to talk up other guests who might pose a threat or benefit for Falkirta's future.

So, April watched the Air Potentate. Elami, with her limp light brown hair tucked in a vain effort in styling it, flat face, and dry, beige skin, looked so plain next to the stately, blond woman she was talking to. Even the Potentate's slim-cut dress looked so flimsy compared to the woman's ballooning gown, making a pool of fabric around her feet.

For a second, April felt sorry for Elami. The woman was one of the most beautiful ones April had ever seen, with her smooth and pale complexion, slim curves, and somewhat angular face reeking of authority and determination.

Then, April's pity vanished just as quickly when she recalled how the woman had terrorized April with her lessons about politics and governance. Deep inside, April thought the woman was being exceedingly unpleasant to her because Elami secretly wanted April to give up and leave the matters of ruling over Falkirta to her.

Well, joke's on Elami. April had no plans on letting go of the chance to become the Air Potentate and the High Queen, whichever comes first. And the first thing she'd do? Make sure the Caizu clan wouldn't step foot in any government office near April.

Then again, it was possible Elami knew April was having these thoughts and was only preserving her head. With that, they're stuck in a vicious cycle of unpleasantness and bickering. What more, it wasn't like Elami was letting April near any court meetings in fear of April messing everything up.

A valid fear, to be exact. April had already lost count of how many vases she had shattered or how many feet she had stepped over in her carelessness. She was, after all, a work in progress.

When she finally couldn't take hearing about someone's son being pledged to be bonded to another powerful family's daughter, April aimed for the table bearing all kinds of dishes and pastries Falkirta was known for. Her eyes glazed over the trays of fairy potions, each vial containing a different shade of liquid, and no doubt, taste, and swept towards where the real, physical food was.

Racks of isdene cupcakes with their multicolored icing were set on the next long table. Sheets of maige—soft cookies with sticky caramel or cream filling—sat beside them, several metal cutters shaped like various things like trees, clouds, or stars lying nearby. It was a tradition for flower-children where they were free to take whatever mold they wanted and cut the maige however they saw fit.

April's eyes twinkled. As past her childhood she was, a little taste of the sweet cookies wouldn't hurt. She stepped forward. A sturdy weight slammed into her, driving her back. Something wet and dark splashed down on her. What in Pidmena's name—

"Oh, gods, I'm so sorry," a squeaky masculine voice bled in April's ears.

She tore her gaze from the pastry table and forced herself to look down at her dress—the only one her mother had bothered to send from Lanteglos. Her eyes traced the splashes of dark red liquid dripping from her bodice and down to her skirts. White. She wore white today. The smell resembling the fine wine, Gafragoza, filled her nose.

A multitude of gasps and muttered "oh dear"s rang in her ears. Only then did she dare raise her head towards a young fairy with faint yellow hair and a sheepish look on his face. He had an empty glass of wine in his hand, its contents were now bathing her like fruit-smelling blood. The worst thing? No amount of washing the gown would get rid of the red stains completely.

"I'll make up for it," the boy in front of her said. "I'm an important person in Helinfirth, see. I've got the funds you can reimburse in exchange for the dress—"

A blaze of red filtered April's vision. Her fingers closed around the first thing on the table she could grab and launched herself at the boy. "This dress is priceless, witch!"

Her form smacked against the boy in a wet splotch, giving him a taste of what he did to her. They landed on the floor with April growling like a cornered suncrown. She raised her hand in the air. Only then did she realize she held one of the maige cutters. Then, she swung her hand down, determined to saw the boy's head with nothing but that.

Chaos ensued around her. Clothes fluttered, heels clacked around in frantic paces, and heavy boots thudded against the floor. The gasps and laughs of amusement drowned April's rationality. These people would pay for making fun of her. They would not see the light of day. How dare them—

Strong arms wrapped around her arms, making her squirm. "Let me go!" She attempted to slam the cutter against a shoulder, or a stomach, or anything, but the flimsy metal bounced against its heavier kind making up the soldier's armor. Cursed, damned things.

The woman Elami was talking to earlier rushed to the boy's side. A shocked expression was plastered on his face, his eyes never leaving April's bared teeth and flailing arms as the soldiers dragged her away. One of his hands rubbed his neck like he was glad his head was still attached to it. That face. She'd remember it forever. She'd make him regret ever crossing her way.

The rest of the day was a blur. She was pretty sure she spent a good while sitting on her bed, staring glumly at her ruined dress. At some point, she started to cry. The maids' black skirts and nosy fussing flitted unnoticed around her, wiping her tears, tending to her white, feathery wings slumped against the mattress, and wringing the last of the wine from her skirts into a wooden basin.

This was one of her worst days. Not only did she get her special dress soiled, she managed to soil Falkirta's honor as well. The stunt she pulled on the ballroom for everyone to see would forever be imprinted in the attendees' memories.

Oh, what a lecture she would receive from Elami come tomorrow.