Maria took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, repeating this exercise until the need to be sick was bearable.
Despite the quarrels of the nuns, Maria opted to wear one of the dresses she had brought with her from home. It was obviously a different style to the established fashion of Paris, but she believed she suited it and was more than happy to brush people off those who thought otherwise.
A clean sky-blue dress with a white ribbon stitched around the waist, created with short sleeves decorated with floral lace and baby blue roses, worn with white stockings and shiny black boots. While casual, the dress was one of Maria's most formal outfits.
After a knock on the door, Sister Wendy entered and announced her guardian was downstairs and asking if she was ready. "Almost," Maria assured running a brush quickly through her hair. She grabbed a hair tie and quickly weaved her hair into a messy tress.
Sister Wendy started fiddling with her hair, without a word setting small pearl-like jewels throughout her hair. Maria didn't object as Sister Wendy raved on about how beautiful her hair now looked.
Maria thought it looked inconsistent with the rest of her outfit, but before she could object, Sister Wendy started adding smaller details to her dress, adding a pink glittery shawl and a matching skirt wrap. Maria suppressed her urge to sigh.
"Now doesn't that look better?"
'True or polite? True or polite?' Maria considered. "Yes."
"Now then. Off we go or you're going to be late!" Sister Wendy scooped up her violin and snatched the pendant from the side table before ushering Maria out the door.
When Maria got to the courtyard, a man was speaking with Mr Vickers.
Mr Vickers was leaning on a hoe while he spoke to this new man. The man was dressed in a black suit, sleek brown hair and a pointed chin. The pair were amidst a funny conversation when Sister Wendy approached them.
"Mr Durand," the nun said.
The man excused himself from Vickers. "Hello, Sister. Is this the girl I've heard such wonderful things about?" He held a hand out to Maria.
Sister Wendy nudged Maria forward, "Yes. This is Maria Stephany. Maria this is Timothy Durand, but you will call him Mr Durand. He's the representative sent from the palace."
Maria forced a small smile and took his hand. "How do you do?"
Mr Durand kissed her hand politely, her attention on his bright orange eyes, comforting yet loud.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I must tell you, we were all very excited upon hearing the news," he informed.
Maria silently admitted he had a very charming smile and a striking face. While he was tall like she expected, he wasn't as intimidating as she had wanted. She was almost disappointed.
"You look lovely, Miss Stephany."
'True or polite? True or polite?' Maria gave a small smile, "Don't remind me."
He seemed to sense her hostility. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Maria felt her heart thus painfully in her chest, with each throb she felt nauseated.
"Fine," she assured, "If not a bit nervous."
He chuckled, putting his hands on his hips, his chuckle aimed at the sky. "Perfectly understandable. But you won't be by yourself in this, I'll help you out whenever I can. But this is first and foremost a Ball, so try not to get too wrapped up in all the politics about this."
Maria nervously laughed, "That's harder then you make it sound."
Mr Durand nodded, "I know this will be a hard adjustment. But just know I will always be around the Ball. My priority is entirely you."
Maria found that reassuring. "Thank you, Mr Durand."
"Are you ready to go?" he asked, "Have you got your violin and the pendant?"
Sister Wendy seemed to jump at this information, winding Maria with the violin. She coughed as she felt the pendent get slipped over her head.
"I do now…" she croaked.
The adults chuckled, Sister Wendy apologising as she forced Maria to stand upright. "The coach is waiting out the front. Please." He gestured, using his entire arm, towards the front door of the church. Maria nodded as she approached the door, a few steps behind Mr Durand and several steps behind him were the nuns.
Maria had a strange feeling of walking down the aisle and wondered if this was how she would feel when she got married. Nervous? Sick? Tempted to turn around and run away?
'Would that make Mr Durand my husband or my father?' Maria pondered.
Mr Durand was talking in length to Sister Wendy about what the evening would hold. Maria zoned out, standing by the gate quietly for Mr Durand to open the door for her. If there was one thing she remembered from the nuns drilling manners into her head all afternoon it was ladies never open their own doors.
She started humming All Day All Night, forgetting her posture as she leaned heavily against the fence and folded her arms. She remembered the women of her town singing this song to relax babies and new children. Her friend would often sing it by the old oak tree in the middle of the town, it was the first song they had ever learnt on the violin. It made the kids happy.
Maria's train of thought was interrupted by Mr Durand's hand, "Miss?" She jumped, seeing his hand extended to her again, "Shall we depart?"
"Oh, umm…" She blinked away her drowsiness, "Of course." She took his hand and was led to a black cart drawn by black horses parked on the sidewalk. "Wow…"
Mr Durand opened the back door and gestured for her to go in. "My Lady."
Maria shook her head, shuffling away from the cart. "This… This is too much…" she confessed hugging her violin case.
Mr Durand didn't rush Maria, which she strangely appreciated. Her eyes travelled over every detail of the cart, examining how shiny the black was, the sleekness of the horses, the Royal flag waving in the slight breeze and the focus of the coachmen with a fierce grip around the reins.
"Miss?" Maria looked at Mr Durand. "I know this may appear overwhelming, but we do need to get going." He took a glance at his gold pocket watch. "Please. I don't want you to be late."
Maria felt her teeth begin to grind. She felt heavy, unable to lift her feet, even drag them, closer out of sheer dread. In the end, she somehow took her guardian's hand and stepped into the carriage.
The inside of the carriage was cosy but cramped. Enough to fit four people skin to skin. The seat cushions were a deep scarlet and the walls the same as its exterior, with two windows allowing grey light to seep in. Mr Durand sat opposite Maria, taking extra care not to touch her knees with his own.
Maria peered out the window and saw a small group of nuns waving her away as the coach moved.
Mr Durand gave off a reassuring presence, but that hadn't made him a conversationalist. The pair sat in silence, Maria's hands on her lap, back erect, eyes darting between the window, the ground, Mr Durand and back to the window. Maria hated silence. Silence for her was deadly.
She tried. "So… you work for the palace, what kinds of things do you do?"
Mr Durand smiled and answered sincerely. "I'm part of the Royal Court for Her Majesty. I handle more social affairs, specifically escorting guests and helping the ones who might not understand certain customs and such."
"Sounds exciting," Maria politely said.
Mr Durand snorted. "Very boring."
"But still, to be so young and working for the palace must be rewarding." She had noticed his age, perhaps twenty, at the most twenty-two. Maria's attempts were met with snickers.
"My Uncle use to have my current job. He groomed me to know and understand the work to take over his job someday. I'm only a palace employee due to family," he explained, "Because you must admit, I certainly make you more comfortable than a fifty-year-old man, correct?"
Maria awkwardly nodded, since it was true. Mr Durand rested his elbow on the window sill and stared out into the grey world, suddenly looking unnaturally majestic. Maria, once again, didn't know where to look.
Maria made criticisms of herself during the coach ride. She knew she was a liar, she had already lied twice that evening and wondered how many times she would unknowingly lie for the rest of the night.
"What's so amusing?"
Maria jumped at the question. "Pardon?"
Mr Durand gestured to his own face, mimicking a smile. "You're grinning."
Maria's face relaxed at the mention of it, and shrugged, "Private joke."
He grinned, looking back out his window. "I hope to one day hear it."
Maria absently polished her necklace, staring at him for a long moment before finally saying, "Sure."
*
Raphael immediately noticed a difference between himself and the other guests; he had walked.
Raphael had never been so close to the palace before. The closer Anita and himself were the more isolated houses became, the less common people became. In the distance, the pair could hear the commoner's festival across the brook and see the various lights illuminated in unusually dark Paris.
Raphael counted twelve coaches drawn by horses, two drawn by donkeys, and four black polished cars. Each of them had one driver and consisted of two to four people per vehicle.
Anita babbled complaints about the fabric of her dress and the tightness of her shoes as they walked. Raphael barely offered a solution, just listened and gave a 'Really?' and 'Alright' comment every few sentences.
When they approached the gates, which Raphael assumed to be the gates as cars disappeared past them, the guards halted them with a demanding voice and told them to leave.
"I have an invitation," Raphael assured taking the paper out.
The guard sat in a stone tower connected to the tall brick wall that boarded the balance property. He was three meters off the ground and was barely able to reach the invite. Raphael had to pass the invitation to Anita and balance her on his shoulders in order for him to reach. The guard inspected the invitation, momentarily shocked that it was genuine and tossed it back, Raphael barely able to catch it. "Very well. You may enter."
Raphael nodded, placing Anita back on the ground and took her hand as they walked in. The gate was quite a walk from the front door. Anita expressed how disappointed she was with the front garden of the palace, Raphael was inclined to agree.
The entire front property behind the palace walls had no grass, it was made entirely of grey bricks, the most decorative it became were odd patterns of flowers or circular shapes and patterns. Aside from fenced off trees planted strategically to guide coaches towards the front door, the only colour was the red uniformed guards standing like soldiers on specific bricks.
Raphael heard the clickity-clack of wheels. Both jumped to the side in time for a coach and horses to quickly roll by, each getting a mouthful from the coachman. Anita stomped her foot and swore at the man, prompting Raphael to wrap an arm around her mouth.
"Lady-like, Ann. Remember, we are wealthy people who get invited to things like this." Raphael relaxed his arm, Anita's face tense with anger.
"I'm losing faith in humanity, Ralphie. I want them all to fall down a well," Anita confessed folding her arms.
Raphael laughed, "Insults in your head, kind words out loud," he instructed gently ushering her forwards.
"Oh, I'm being nice. If you could hear my thoughts you'd faint."
Raphael rolled his eyes as they approached the doorway to the palace. Raphael had been around his fair share of impressive architecture, large buildings and flaunts of wealth. But the castle subsided his comparisons as he leaned back to see the top, being so close however he was unable. Anita copied, leaning into Raphael but being unable to see the top also. "Oh my…"
Raphael nodded, pressing his lips together as he dropped his head, rubbing his neck.
"We got this, Anita," he said, "We are royalty, we were invited to this." He came down to her size, resting his chin on her shoulder as they both looked to a window inside the castle. "Remember? I'll be a King and you'll be my knight in shining armour."
Anita chuckled. "Not here though."
"Definitely not. Our castle will be filled with books and toys and trees to climb."
"And cats. Don't forget cats."
"What is with your obsession with cats?" Raphael asked straightening. He pulled at his sleeves and approached the door.
"Give me a cat and I'll stop pestering," Anita called following him, tripping momentarily on her skirt.