Bastian fixed his hair for the millionth time, growling in frustration when it still didn't look right.
He didn't even know why he was trying to make himself more presentable. She'd clearly said that she would never, ever love him.
His steps slowed as his heart weighed down in despair.
Hastening again he cursed his attitude towards the entire situation.
He felt his eyes begin to burn again and he growled in anger. He stopped and rested his back against the wall of the long golden corridor. Taking a few deep breaths he tried to stem the tears.
He couldn't let her see him like this, she'd either scoff or have pity on him, he just knew it.
But his heart still stung with her words, her words that still echoed in his mind. He inhaled sharply as the emotion became almost too much.
But he'd be fine.
He stood up straighter and took a few deep breaths, fixing the ridiculously elaborate dress that all men wore to balls in Viskogorny. He watched the wall across from him for a few moments, trying to clear his thoughts.
A servant brushed by him and apologized in Viskogornian.
"No, no… that's quite alright." He muttered
He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He could do this; all he'd have to do was dance with her, and walk into the room with her.
He swallowed when he remembered their Union, so long ago. At the Ceremony of Feasting there'd been dancing, but he'd not danced with her, not cared to. No wonder she had no love for him.
He didn't know why he was surprised, and why it had still stung like a knife.
He rolled his shoulders and walked down the hall, his thoughts distracting him as he blinked sadly at the carpeted wooden floors.
When he arrived at the room that he'd been told Hydrangea would be waiting for him in, he stopped.
He could do this.
Swallowing hard he turned the handle and pushed down his emotions.
He released a shuddering breath when he saw her, but he still fought hard to keep the emotion from his face.
She was dressed in simply the most beautiful dress he'd ever seen her in. He could only make out her side profile, her ebony hair was braided into a crown that sat along the brow of her head, her pale skin shone as softly as ever.
Her dress was a dazzling scarlet, the sleeves were long and fitted to her slender arms. The fabric clung to her waist but separated and flowed down gracefully at the top of her hips. Elaborate stitching worked its way down the waist of the skirt and along the bodice of the dress.
He swallowed to clear his throat, "Well," He started, his voice taking on a mournful tone, "You're all dressed up."
She turned to him and his heart stopped.
She was wholly breathtaking.
The braid atop her head formed a beautiful crown that shaped her perfect face. Her lips had been painted a bright red that matched her dress. Her dress…
His gaze lingered on the dangerously low neckline. The fabric descended till it reached the crest of her bust, then fell, only to cover her breasts modestly, down to her mid waist coming to a point. Her alabaster skin was on show.
He inhaled and looked up to meet her eyes. Her silverescent orbs were as beautiful as ever. His heart ached at the uncertainty and agitation in them. He noticed that one of her lids was twitching.
He stepped forward, she did not step back. He closed the distance between them, leaving a foot.
He took another breath, then swallowed. This was harder then he'd thought it would be. His heart was crying out with his love for this woman, yet she would not accept it, or reciprocate it.
He reached for her hand, holding it near hers, his eyes never leaving her face.
She raised her bowed head to meet his gaze and then held his hand.
He raised his hand to brush her cheek—he couldn't help himself—she stilled but did not run.
"You look… beautiful."
She blushed and looked down at the space between them.
"The Tsarina made me wear this dress, she had a tailor make it for me." She said in reply.
"Well, I'm glad they did." He admitted. Although it was not the truth; it would've been easier to face her had she not been dressed so beautifully.
She raised her eyes to meet his, a determined expression in them that he so wished to see. An expression that he missed.
A knock came at the door.
Bastian squeezed her now clammy hand, "We're to make our entrance now." He felt as though he'd missed something; she'd wanted to say something.
She nodded and he led her out to the main hallway and to the doors that led to the ballroom.
"What were you looking at when I came in?" He whispered gently. She was like a scared doe, and he wished not to frighten her anymore than he already had.
"The ballroom." She answered, "Are we to dance?"
He smiled, "Yes. We've been asked to dance, this ball was hosted for us."
She nodded.
They arrived at the two white doors and waited for them to be opened. He carefully placed her arm in his, she let him.
"The Sovereign of Cadarama. And his Queen, Hydrangea."
The doors opened and a bright, warm golden light met their eyes. He stepped forward, leading Hydrangea down the marble steps with ease.
The people cleared a path for them, the women all smiling genially, the elder men bowing their heads. But Bastian caught a few of the younger men watching Hydrangea.
He tightened his hold on her.
They walked across the room and arrived at the base of the thrones. They both bowed and the Tzar and Tsarina nodded in acceptance.
"Thank you, Tzar Matvey and Tsarina Celestina for this ball. We shall enjoy it greatly." He said with a smile.
They both smiled in response. The Tzar stood spreading his hands, "Let the dancing begin!" He announced in Viskogornian.
Bastian released Hydrangea's arm and took hold of her hand. He led her to the dance floor that was cleared from people, all of them now standing along the sides.
"Bastian?"
Her voice whispering his name struck a chord within him, but he simply replied, "Yes?"
"What kind of dancing are we doing?"
He turned his head to look down at her, "I will lead, don't worry."
He saw her bite her lip and felt her hand clench his.
Arriving in the centre of the floor he turned so they were face-to-face, grabbing her other hand he moved it to his shoulder, he then placed his hand at the base of her back.
The low neckline was… difficult. He could practically see her breasts. He looked up almost alarmed when he made this discovery. He'd seen them before, it was not very easy to resist them temptation of looking at them. But looking up and meeting her nervous eyes made ignoring the temptation easier.
The music began to swell and he took one step, she followed, her eyes immediately falling to her feet.
"Not at your feet, Hydrangea. Focus on me." He said, because that was what his mother had always told him when she'd taught him to dance. Now, asking that of Hydrangea seemed a much more intimate request.
Her grey eyes moved to his.
He watched them, trying to keep the pain and sadness from his face as he focused on the steps and the music.