The Loneliest Ballad

There was little time to change her gown between the end of what had to be the longest pageant in the kingdom's history, and the start of Tobin's birthday luncheon.

Celia was still determined to do it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sweated so profusely.

As soon as she was able to slip away unnoticed from the baking hot parade grounds, she rushed to her apartments with Sabine on her heels.

Celia ignored the hasty bows of her maids in her rush to tear her circlet and veil from her head. As soon as she set foot in her dressing room, she began frantically tearing at the laces to the back of her dress.

"Careful, my lady! Let the maids help you." Sabine's soft voice tried to soothe her. "You'll tear the gown to shreds, otherwise."

"Ugh, I don't care at this point! I feel disgusting. I'm literally drenched in sweat!" Celia grimaced, then sighed in relief when one of her maids finished loosening the laces and the heavy gown could be peeled from her dripping back.

Stepping out of the gown as it crumpled at her feet like an enormous wilted bloom, Celia started pulling at the chemise that clung to her like a second skin. She muttered a string of curses that would've made her father proud.

"Please, my lady! Your language!" Sabine hissed.

"Sabine, I've been suffering in a dozen layers of satin all goddamn morning. Tobin is lucky I didn't start cursing while I was still in the pavilion!"

One of the maids rushed out of the dressing room and soon returned with a bowl of perfumed water and a clean cloth. Celia sighed with relief when the young girl started dabbing the cool, damp cloth onto her face and body.

She glowered, however, when she saw Sabine reaching for a fresh gown, one with its entire bodice encrusted in glittering beads. "No not that one, Sabine! I'll just swelter in that as well. Choose a lighter one for me to wear."

"But my lady! This is the only other gown you have in the right colour."

Celia looked at the lavish gown in Sabine's arms and groaned in resignation. Apart from beading so heavy that it was almost like wearing armour, she wasn't at all fond of the gaudy golden colour. It made her complexion look like it had been drained of all life.

But there was no avoiding it. She knew there was no option but to deck herself in the colour of her royal house.

Who cares if I look like a sweaty, pallid little drab tonight, she wondered? It's not like there's anyone in the banquet hall whose opinion really matters to me.

With another sigh, Celia raised her arms so her maids could replace her chemise with a fresh one, then lace her into another heavy, uncomfortable dress.

- - -

As expected, Celia ended up blending into the background at the banquet, being just another lady in a garish, orange toned gown. She didn't really mind. She didn't want Tobin to accuse her of stealing anyone's focus from him.

The prince was front and centre of everyone's attention, reveling in the celebrations. Celia couldn't fault him for that. She remembered how much she'd enjoyed celebrating her own past birthdays.

Speaking of which, she'd be turning nineteen in only a fortnight. She didn't intend to say anything about it, however, and just wanted to let the day pass quietly by.

Even if she wanted to mention it, she knew everyone would tell her that until she got herself with child, there was nothing about her worth celebrating.

She'd failed to conceive the previous month as well, despite using Thea's tonic without fail.

Tobin had punished her for it by burning a letter from her mother before she'd even had a chance to open it. Celia had cried herself to sleep that night.

She now kept a placid smile on her face, knowing any gloominess on her part wouldn't go unnoticed.

Tobin's crow of delight suddenly filled the banquet hall. He was standing in the centre of the vast room, next to a table stacked high with gifts. Almost all the kingdom of the continent had sent him birthday gifts and he was enjoying opening them all before his courtiers.

He lifted a hat from a box that had been beautifully wrapped in silver and deep green. Celia recognised the style as one popular in the colder kingdoms of the north. Not only was the hat made from lustrous dark fur, it was edged with enormous black pearls.

She smiled widely. To the casual observer, she would've appeared delighted for her husband.

Only she knew that she was struggling not to collapse into laughter at the image of him strutting around, the ridiculous fur hat crammed above his round face and pearls dangling.

Celia found many of the gifts sent to Tobin, rather baffling. Arrows made from rare feathers, a saddle exquisitely tooled with gold, even a pair of new warhorses. All were gifts that would enthrall a young knight.

But did other rulers not realise that Tobin wasn't a typical active youth? That he couldn't even climb the palace's central staircase without getting winded, let alone spend his days riding or hunting?

Unless…the gifts had been sent in a kind of mockery?

The Crown of Islia had been the one to send the magnificent saddle. Celia had no doubt at her her father and grandfather knew perfectly well Tobin would likely never enjoy using it, and sent it to needle him.

Celia was distracted from the troubling thought by Sarai's voice at her side.

"Ah, Lucas is finally back." Sarai sounded pleased. At Celia's puzzled look, the elder princess pointed a young man who had approached Tobin. The two men had started talking and laughing right away, obviously on good terms.

Celia could only really see the man's back, neatly draped in clothing typical for a Haviettenese nobleman. When he turned slightly and she saw his face though, she immediately knew she wouldn't be the only lady in the hall to stare in helpless wonder.

Oh my lord, she swallowed.

He was nothing short of spectacular.