The banquet hall is abuzz with the orchestra's lively melodies. The dancers are in the middle. On the dais in front, the King and Prince sit side-by-side, surveying the proceedings of the regal ball. To the left of them stands the military; to their right, a group of ladies participating in the Queen selection.
Try as I may, I can't help but search for Calais among the military. I stop a smile tugging at my lips when I see him sitting rigidly on a stool, together with the other soldiers.
He's got a darker tan now, no doubt acquired from his post along the kingdom's southern border. It's even more pronounced since he's sitting beside my brother who has a fair complexion.
"He's still as handsome as ever!" the girls beside me squeal.
"And his tan just made him sexier!"
I agree. I think, as I shift my attention to the other Queen participants. I am sure they are referring to my Calais.
