My eyes feast on the buffet table before me, my eyes devouring what my mouth is forbidden.

Festive tapestries cover the walls in a display of flamboyant beauty and class. Chandlers dangle from the ceiling looking like large diamond earrings. Concealed by the high canopy of the ceiling, ribbon dancers hover over us, waiting for the guests to arrive. Little do they know that dancers are the new soldiers. Cloaked by their ribbons and masks an arsenal of weapons lie, ready to kill at a moment's notice. High class killers for a high class introductory party.

Rhythmic clicking jars my from my skyward musings. Annalise stands before me, she is downright unrecognisable. Her only familiar feature is Monty, who stands by her side looking equally attired for a ball.

Annalise wears a red dress that looks like someone hacked it apart with a knife, her legs slipping in and out of the fabric with every step like some sort of erotic pic-a-boo. Her hair is yanked back into a tightly packed bun her face frosted with more make up than the ten layer cake. When I suggested to Ruspin that he should order a fifty layer cake in commemoration of his fifty flights of stairs, he almost laughed.

Monty is dressed a bit more inconspicuously. Though he seems stuffed into a black suit almost two sizes small and looks like he's wearing a men's corset... damn does he look fine. I think he'll have quite the challenge guarding Ruspin tonight, what with the gold diggers beating him with their shovels just to cart them off to their lady caves.

Vain or not, I look hot in my gold dress. Large golden beads take refuge across it's velvety surface, trailing all the way down to my toes, before dissipating. A thin, frilly strap holds the entire concoction in place and saves me from scarring the innocent bystanders. My hear floats around my face in an abundance of curls. I opted for just lipstick today... I've spent too long with my face masked in a layer of cement that's meant to make me look 'appealing.'

Cage and Celeste are milling around somewhere, they left Jesse with a babysitter so I'm pretty sure I'll be hearing about their devious behaviour all night.

Ah, the man of the hour, I still can't believe he managed to pull this off so believably... in such a short time-fame to boot.

Decked in a silver, form fitting suit, he glitters his way through the crowd, his air no less commanding... though he may have left a silver mist behind him. His silver and white attire match perfectly and with his pitch black hair, he appears to be some sort of majestic faery. He's schooled his face into a pleasant expression, his gaze not quite as demeaning and his frown not so off-putting.

Wordlessly, he stands beside me, folding his arms as he watches his slaves... sorry, the caterers, finish their last minute preparations like the overlord he is.

Turning, my eyes are forced to endure the radiance of his outfit. It's not anyone was expecting of him, but it does suit him well. His hair is brushed back and his face, cleanly shaven. He looks so... regal; like he's just been waiting to step into these shoes.

"Ruspin, you look dashing tonight." I compliment sincerely.

The tips of his lips lift slightly, and for me, it's almost comparable to the sunrise.

"Thank you, Angelica." He murmurs. I feel his eyes caressing my body past this layer of gold. "I like you even better in gold."

And boy do I catch that double meaning!

"Silver and gold." I hum back, "we're basically a matching pair."

Another beat passes before I self-control deserts me, "How did you plan this so seamlessly? I've been to royal balls before... and this is on par with some of the wealthiest nations. You act so poised, as though you have training yourself. You're acting like a real host."

Glinting blur-green eyes hover close to mine, so close that I can practically see his pores, a strange smell wafts off him, not bad... but enchanting, "I told you: I'm capable of many things."

With that he swoops into a low bow, producing a half-filled champagne glass. "Use this to prepare yourself Angelica, the hoard is arriving."

And as he waltzes away, almost giddily, leaving me in a statuesque state... my glass hovering near my nose... I smell it.

Rum... more specifically: champagne.

Ruspin's drunk off his ass at a party with hundreds of the most influential people in society. Whoop de fricking do.

I wonder why he didn't seek my precious advice about this idiotic decision.

It took me less than five minutes to detect his deathly level of intoxication, and that's only due to my limited palate when it pertains to alcohol.

The age old conundrum: to leave my glass or not, terminates my plans to mitigate the effect of his blundering error. Just as I'm about to pull him aside, the doors burst open. And he was right.

The hoard has arrived.

A wave of presumably starved people crash into the dining hall, sending the servers retreating to the safety of the kitchen. Sharks slash past me, moving in for the real kill. Utensils lay disregarded in their bed of napkins whilst the war of the plates has begun.

Those who neglect the lavish buffet of steaming shrimp scampi, lobster, and fish... those who aren't raiding the perfectly coordinated dessert area, chock-full of honey filled baklava, firm cheese cake, and speckled poppy seed cupcakes... well those people sit close to Ruspin's heart. They've already filled the bar stools and the once proud champagne tower lays in shambles, the only thing left is the damp spots on the otherwise impeccable white linen.

Like a pirate spotting a speck of land after an arduous and perilous day at sea, my eyes latch onto Ruspin gleefully. Moving purposefully, full speed ahead, everyone clears a path for me as I head towards him.

But of course, our conversation wasn't meant to be. I'm a few feet away... I can practically hear his newfound drunken mirth as he converses with the King's royal envoy.

Then dancers fall from the sky.

My boisterous curse is mercifully masked by the deafening, baritone beat of their music.

The hoard makes a parameter that much resembles a cage around the ribbon dancers. Hacking a path through their limbs is becoming more and more appealing with every person who jabs me as I shove them aside. Don't those buffoons get that I'm on a mission for the greater good?

As I get closer to the back, the crowd fringes and Ruspin comes closer and closer into view. The envoy is gone, that instantly chimes alarm bells in my mind.

Did he scare him off with his over joviality? I, myself, am on the verge of running away with the speed of a panther.

"Ruspin." I hiss, grateful that our confrontation goes unnoticed. The hoard is too engrossed by the deadly ribbon dancers to pay is any heed, but I refuse to take any chances.

Grabbing the sleeve of his silver suit, I manually haul his drunken ass out of the party.

The balcony I find is perfect. Even the doors lock from the outside. Good for me but not for Ruspin, especially if I decide to let him spread his wings and fly down to the concrete. Maybe the fall would knock some self-preservation into his steel head.

"Ruspin!" I hiss, "What's wrong with you lately?" I demand slamming him against the wall. He's so bloody lucky that I can't send him back inside with a rumpled suit. "You're jeopardising everything!"

"I'm protecting my assets." He slurs, propping himself against the wall. He continues staring at me through a hooded gaze even as the night hair sends a litany of chills racing across my body.

"Your asset is the crown." I say, tucking myself into a potted plant in an attempt to retain some of its warmth. "Why do you even want it anyway? Are you just that much of a workaholic?"

He rolls his eyes, stepping out of the shadows and into the strobe lights of the party. The thick, steel door does nothing to dampen the sounds of the revelry taking place behind it, not that it would bother him.

"Maybe you should just relax." He croons, his hands reaching for my shoulders.

He pushes me back so fast that the balcony and I became intimate in seconds. Beneath me is a grove of cultured bushes, secluded in the most darkened section of the layout.

Above me the moon has been held captive by dark, pregnant clouds; hints of lightning, fork the sky in the not too distant vicinity. But pathetic fallacy or not, all I can feel right now are Ruspin's fingers, battling valiantly with the numerous knots that have invaded my shoulders.

For someone with such a cold disposition, his hands are quite warm.

My muscles instantly unwind leaving me almost flopped over the balcony.

I'm so lost in the pleasure of relaxation that I almost miss the attack of his lips on my tender flesh. His hands trail down my back, massaging a path as they go... vacating my exposed shoulders in order to give his lips preference.

"Stop." I yelp, jumping away from him.

My face and my blood must be the same colour right about now. I should've stopped him from the get go dammit! He's drunk and not in control, I'm basically using him.

"Go inside." I command, pointing shakily at the door.

And just then I take in his demeanour in the fullest. His eyes are red, his lips chapped. His suit is the only salvageable part.

As much as I want to leave him and wallow in the consequences of my bad decisions, I signed up for a job. Advise him. Yeah right. I'm babysitting him.

...

"Sober yet?" I ask, watching him sip his third glass of water.

"Almost." He murmurs, keeping his eyes trained on the glass.

I glance away guiltily, "Sorry I let you get out of control."

He gives a dry, mirthless laugh, "I'm sorry. I practically assaulted you just now. You shouldn't even be around me right now."

"Come on Ruspin, you do remember that I'm a trained fighter." I chid, "And its not assault if I wanted it. It was just a massage and you stopped when I told you to. Just promise me that you'll never get that drunk at an event like this ever again, it's been quite a headache."

"Quite right." He agrees, pressing his temples harshly.

"So why do you really want to be king?" I question, sensing that the tension between us has dissipated by a reasonable quota.

With utter severity, he states: "It's my birth-right."