The grand entrance to the ballroom loomed ahead, its opulent doors flanked by two guards who looked far too serious for the occasion. Alastor, Hale, and Rowan stood just outside, waiting for Daphne.
Hale adjusted his borrowed suit, a mischievous glint in his orange eyes. "You know, Allie," he said, striking a pose that would make any peacock envious, "I think I understand your love for black; don't you think my handsomeness has doubled tenfold?" He winked, his confidence radiating like a beacon.
Alastor, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, merely stared at him. "At least it makes you look presentable," he replied flatly, his tone devoid of any enthusiasm.
Rowan, standing slightly apart, felt a flush creeping up his neck. He cleared his throat, his voice slightly flustered. "Your Majesties..."
Hale, however, was too busy admiring himself in the polished surface of a nearby wall sconce. "Tsk, you're just jealous that I look more handsome in 'your' suit."
"As if," Alastor retorted, rolling his eyes. "My face has given me enough troubles, much less for me to be jealous of yours."
"Your Majesty," Rowan tried again, his voice rising slightly in desperation.
Hale, still oblivious, continued, "You and your superior ways of bragging."
Alastor's patience was wearing thin. He was about to retort when Rowan finally raised his voice, "Your Majesty!"
Both Alastor and Hale flipped their heads toward him, slightly taken aback. "Yes?" they chorused, their expressions a mix of confusion and surprise.
Rowan's face turned a shade of crimson as he stammered, "Why… why do I have to wear… this suit as well."
Alastor and Hale blinked at him, their expressions mirroring each other's incredulity.
"Because it's a ball, Rowan," Alastor said, his tone flat, as if that should have been obvious.
"Come on, Rowy," Hale chimed in, feigning a look of betrayal. "You're not planning to ditch us on the shame, are you?"
Alastor elbowed Hale in the stomach, a gesture that was entirely unapologetic.
"Uff!" he gasped, clutching his stomach theatrically, though the impact had genuinely hurt him. "You brute!"
"What's wrong, Rowan?" Alastor asked, turning his attention back to the flustered captain, who was now fidgeting with his collar.
"I… I cannot wear your suit, Your Majesty. It is not—"
"Appropriate?" Alastor interjected, his expression serious yet devoid of emotion. "Just wear it. It's not a big deal." He continued, his tone slightly exasperated, "There is no way I can let you wear what you have in that wardrobe of yours. Where the hell did you get such rags?"
Hale, having recovered from the elbow jab, nodded in agreement. "I have to agree with Allie on that. Those are some… unique suits you have there."
Rowan's face flushed deeper, "But I am not—"
Alastor, noticing Rowan's collar was askew, reached out to fix it, his hands moving with surprising gentleness. "It's supposed to be like this," he mumbled as he adjusted the fabric, his brow furrowing in concentration.
Rowan's face turned completely red, and he moved away at lightning speed.
"I—I shall go check on Princess Daphne," he stammered, turning on his heel, practically sprinting down the corridor.
Hale's playful demeanor shifted to one of concern as he watched Rowan flee.
Alastor, hands still in the air from fixing Rowan's collar, blinked in confusion. "He didn't look well," he muttered, turning to Hale, his brow furrowing. "Was he having a fever?"
Hale, still staring in the direction Rowan had gone, abruptly smiled in realization. "Of course... It must be that infamous 'fever'," he chuckled, the mischief returning to his eyes.
Alastor raised an eyebrow, confused. 'Has he lost his mind?'
"You're right, Allie," Hale said, turning to Alastor, with a grin. "Your face does cause you troubles." He laughed as he sauntered toward the entrance of the ballroom, his confidence restored.
Alastor frowned, his confusion deepening. "What…" he muttered, shaking his head. "What does my face have to do with anything?"
He followed behind, confused by Hale's sudden stroll towards the ballroom. "Where are you going? Daphne isn't here yet."
Hale shrugged casually, his dark blue hair swaying with the motion. "Well, she said not to wait since she'll be late." He continued walking, his hands tucked into the pockets of his borrowed suit, which, despite its slightly ill-fitting nature, he wore with an air of confidence.
"What? When did she tell you that?" Alastor's face twisted, incredulous. Because why the heck were they waiting here then?
"When I visited her before coming here," he replied, his tone as flat as a piece of paper.
"You...!" Alastor's frustration bubbled over, but he was too tired to argue. He threw his hands up in defeat. "You're impossible!"
With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the ballroom, striding ahead of Hale.
Hale chuckled, following behind him like a playful shadow, "Don't look so grumpy now, Your Highness."
As they approached the grand doors, a servant swung them open, announcing their arrival. The light from the ballroom radiated over them, casting a warm glow that made Alastor squint slightly. The laughter and chatter of the guests washed over him like a tidal wave, and he felt a familiar sense of dread settle in his stomach.
Alastor sighed as he stepped inside, the sound of his own voice drowned out by the cacophony of merriment. "It hasn't even started, and I'm already tired," he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the weight of his responsibilities.
Hale entered right behind him, his smile shifting to one of resigned understanding. "Well, it's a long night ahead," he replied, his tone knowing, as if he had already seen the future unfold in all its chaotic glory.