Months pass so quickly that before I know it, it's been a year. I'm - well, Ophelia is - 17, halfway to 18 now.
I don't really have much interest in calculating the exact number of months I've been conscious in this world, so a year is fine.
Officially, Viktor and I are courting. I feel so fancy whenever I say it. Mostly it means an excuse to invite him to the manor, or to see him without injuring myself.
During social functions I always invite him, even if he won't be able to make it. When he does, we steal away somewhere quiet.
He's a very proper, demure man.
Who is surprisingly insatiable when it comes to kisses.
He's addicted to them, or so it would seem, because he never gets tired of them. We spend our quiet moments stealing them.
Whenever he can, he finds little moments to catch me alone and press a brief, feather soft one against my lips, always stealing away as if he is afraid of someone finding him out.
It's adorable.
Sometimes, he makes the mistake of trying to steal them while in public, and then becomes so adorably flustered when he realizes he's been so brazen in public.
A cloth fan smacks lightly into my shoulder to snap me out of my happy daydream. My mother is standing by my side, frowning at me, before she shakes her head.
"Ophelia. Don't slouch. If you want to show you are a lady, you must hold yourself upright."
I wince internally, and take a deep breath. I lift my shoulders and settle my features into a cool, emotionless mask. My posture is rigid, almost military.
Mother leans down to whisper. "You can be relaxed, but not that relaxed. I've been around long enough to know what it looks like when a young lady has been distracted by her sweetheart. Your father will not be so amused as I am."
She pats my cheek gently, smiling, before taking my arm and resuming our leisurely walk around the perimeter of the dance floor.
Anne and I have been invited to attend the masquerade ball hosted by Lady Esme Foster, youngest daughter of Duke Gideon Foster.
Both families are strong political rivals of the Weidemans, though Anne has not met Duke Gideon nor his eldest daughter yet. Anne is quite friendly with Lady Esme.
Mother and Anne had chosen to wear beautiful, sleek, sleeveless dresses in pale pink and blue, respectively, and adorned themselves with delicate, matching accessories.
Their hair is piled in loose, curling updos with artfully placed braids. I think they look stunning. I am much more restrained, my dress a pale, powdery blue, with silver embroidery and detailing.
I carry a fan to complete the look, and wear my hair in a tight bun at the nape of my neck.
Anne is dancing with a young man that she seems to have her eye on, while Mother and I sip drinks and watch her. I let out a sigh as I finish my drink, setting the glass aside, and wishing I could get another.
It's warm in here.
The room is full of swirling colors and masks and glittering jewels.
Father and a group of his peers are sitting at the poker table in the corner of the room. His white-tipped hair is drawn back, a black and silver mask hanging over his eyes. His lips are pulled into a tight smirk as he studies his hand, and there are stacks of coins, both gold and silver, in front of him.
I recognize some of the other faces at the table. I suppose these are the most powerful men in the Empire, many of them rulers or otherwise high ranking nobles. They seem to be having fun, although Father's opponent is probably suffering for it.
Bored, I return my attention to the dancers, scanning the crowd and taking note of who else is in attendance. There's the prime minister. The captain of the imperial guard. The Grand Duchess, and the Empress herself.
Her husband is missing, so it's likely he's out hunting again.
I freeze and whirl around at a hand on my back. My breath hitches.
Viktor.
I inhale slowly, fighting to keep my face from betraying the racing of my heart or the sudden trembling in my limbs. I school my face into a polite, bland, aloof smile, and turn to greet him. "You shouldn't be here." I hiss softly.
I was distinctly told Viktor wasn't allowed, not even as my guest, due to the presence of the empress!!
Yet-
I really do love to be surprised by him.
My words elicit a chuckle from him, his lips curved up into a coy smile. He holds out his hand. "Dance with me. It's a masked ball."
I pause for a moment, contemplating it, and have to stifle a laugh.
Although I can recognize him at a glance, it's true...most would have no idea a commoner was among them. No one knows the man behind the mask. It would be fine, yes?
I settle my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his hand envelop mine, and we move out to join the crowd. I try to relax into the flow of the steps, allowing Viktor to lead as we dance.
He is...so good at this...
"You've gotten better..." I whisper, trying not to smile too openly. I'd thought his dancing was just fine during the ball last year, when he'd apparently only just learned, but...he must have practiced between then and now.
My cheeks warm at the thought.
His green eyes meet mine. "Perhaps. Perhaps I did wish to impress someone, when the time came..."
I'm grateful that the heat in my face will just seem a flush from the exertion of the dance, and not the admission that's making me giddy and dreamy.
When the music stops, Viktor's hands settle on my waist and he lifts me off my feet effortlessly, holding me up before setting me gently back down again.
His lips press against the top of my head.
My breath catches as his hand caresses my cheek, and he holds up a tiny, gleaming gem, just in front of my eyes. It's a ruby, in the shape of a rose.
A pin.
He reaches around me to thread it into my hair, taking the opportunity to brush a stray tendril away from my neck. My hands are at my sides, useless.
He releases me. I swallow, struggling for the ability to formulate thought or coherent words, and breathe in deeply to regain my composure.
His eyes are lit up with warmth. "An accessory for my beloved. Though it looks dull nestled in such vibrant hair."
My eyes drop to his lips, and I can't look away.
My head is spinning with a pleasant, giddy, high. "You...you're trying to bewitch me again, Viktor. Such flowery, sweet words, they make me think you'll consume me."
He tucks my hand in his arm and guides me out of the crush of people into the hallway, stopping beside one of the marble pillars. It is not so crowded here.
His eyes search mine. "That is the aim, I fear." He raises my hand to his lips, brushing his lips over my knuckles. "Would you surrender yourself to me?"
I can barely hear my own words over the roaring in my ears, blood pumping through me. "I...yes. Yes, I..." I suck in a breath, struggling to force it through the haze. "Viktor, I..."
We're interrupted.
"Ophelia?"
My face turns a deep crimson, my lips pursing and brows lowering, eyes narrowed into angry slits as I whip my head towards the intruder. I glare daggers at my sister Anne.
"Yes, what do you want!?" I don't quite shout it, but I still earn a sharp rebuke from my mother, who stands by Anne's side. She jerks her head at me and beckons. "Come over here. And put away that face."
Viktor politely excuses himself, withdrawing quietly as my family's attention shifts to me.
I let out a soft sigh.
I really would rather keep spending time with my...sweetheart.