Scanning the faces of the ball, groups of nobles chatting away, laughing, drinking, some dancing. Then her eyes locked with Karsyn's again. The steel in them was unsettling, but there was nothing in the way he stared that told her what he was thinking or feeling. He was muted amongst the music and gossip, and for a moment she pondered the man who's battled her via parchment for the better part of the year.
"My Lady?"
A butler paused at her elbow and she handed off Regin's empty glass, before forcing her eyes to look elsewhere.
A burst of excited giggles flitted from nearby and Rhosyn noticed the lady's gazes flickering to herself. She composed herself and closed the distance.
"He's been staring at her all evening," Lady Dawnhart whispered, child-like excitement drove her words a little louder than intended.
"Ladies," Rhosyn announced from over Dawnhart's shoulder, causing her to jump with the freight of one being caught.
She could feel that they had been talking about her behind her back. It was the way the younger ladies stammered, gazes falling to their shoes as if they knew they'd done wrong. But Rhosyn was used to being talked about behind her back. It came with the territory of being so close to the Crown Prince.
"Oh, Lady Valewyn, we didn't see you there," Lady Bosmeer recovered, elegantly claiming innocence and Rhosyn took note that she was quick—someone to watch.
"I apologise for interrupting," Rhosyn chirped, a little too happy for what she's used to—but she had to appear unthreatening. "But I couldn't help but notice your dress, Lady Bosmeer, is that Qalāti damask silk?"
The other ladies zoned in on the pomegranate-and-tulip pattern as if just realising the fortune Bosmeer wore.
"It is." She raised her chin higher, elated by the attention the other ladies gave her. "Of course you have an eye for such things." Having such a close friendship with the Crown Prince, it wasn't spoken, but Rhosyn could hear the thoughts loud as day.
"So, what has got you fine ladies giggling? Rhosyn asked, light and with a gentle tilt of her head.
Lady Elloway, the youngest, glanced at Bosmeer and Dawnhart with a mousy disposition. The other two tripped up over each other to explain.
"The Duke of Harrowfen, My Lady," Elloway swallowed as if she'd be chastised for admitting it.
Peculiar.
"Duke Karsyn?" Rhosyn turned her head in the direction of the ladies, catching the duke glancing lazily in their direction. A butler came into view and she styled off the action as if looking for a refill. "And what about the man?" She turned back to the bashful Lady Elloway.
"Don't you think it's exciting?" Dawnhart bubbled up again, "It's the first time he comes to such an event."
"There's been many rumours of his… actions. But none told of how handsome he is," Bosmeer added.
"But some say he's looking to break from the king," Elloway fiddled nervously with the lace decorating her skirt.
Rhosyn could use the girl's bashful curiosity to her advantage. Bosmeer was newly married, but she understood trade. Dawnhart didn't have many ties, but she was young, excitable and a huge flirt. Where Elloway was probably the most useful. Her sister was married to Lord Athelric Vayne of Coldmarch—one of the last Royalists of the northern lords.
"And why would you say that, Lady Elloway?"
The young lady shrunk under the set of eyes on her. Damn, Rhosyn was too direct. She'll have to remember to be a bit more tactful with Elloway.
Rhosyn was always shadowed by her association to the crown. Lords and ladies either avoided her due to it, or flocked to her to feign friendship for hopes of tax relief and favour from the king—current, or future.
"I only ask because I thought the duke recently publicised the Common Charter," she thought fast and spoke purposefully. "Regulating tolls, maintaining their regulation and making bread affordable."
Most of these women wouldn't care for the politics of the kingdom. But if Rhosyn could frame it in a way that blurred the lines, the ladies might relax a little. Maybe she was being too forward. Maybe she needed to gossip like young ladies at balls did.
She giggled, a little self conscious. "I'm sorry, when I saw the duke yesterday, I overheard some lords talking," Rhosyn spluttered, feeling just as embarrassed for play-acting in such a fashion.
"You were checking him out too?" Dawnhart blurted, Bosmeer shooting her a hard look that had Dawnhart straightening.
Dawnhart seemed to be the impulsive one who liked to talk gossip—the juicer the better. And by the way the other two giggled earlier, they all joined in loose-lipped. Rhosyn just needed to set the scene again.
Awkwardly, that read shy, Rhosyn fingers picked at her nails, itching to be bitten. She wasn't used to acting skittish or bashful, but the anxiety she got from even contemplating this lie twisted queasily within her.
"Was it obvious?" Rhosyn ducked her chin down, stealing a look from under her lashes.
The ladies stilled, bewildered by the admission. There was no suspicion in their eyes, only awed excitement. Bosmeer and Dawnhart clutched hands, grins brimming across their faces, and Elloway blushed, a faint smile curling at her lips quietly.
"It's like a Beatrice Fairleigh novel!" Bosmeer breathed. "Soon, he'll come and ask you to dance."
The atmosphere instantly shifted from awkward line-toeing, to outright girly fantasy talk. Rhosyn was never one for Beatrice Fairleigh's novels. They were always too focused on romance and the daily drivel of ballroom politics that never delved any deeper than scandalous gossip of shared glances that lasted too long.
Truly, Rhosyn had no time for such indulgent reading. She spent most of her time reading over writ receipts to correlate lord's tax evasion guilt, or read endless reports of Ravelocke's business evaluations to hunt down the corresponding component.
"So, is it his strikingly handsome features, or his devilishly charming façade that you like most?" Dawnhart queried, with all the seriousness a question like that could hold.
It was outright ridiculous. Clearly twaddle that women gushed over—and she had to be one of them.
As if feeling the ghost of his gaze, Rhosyn tossed a look over her shoulder, catching the blatant stare of the duke. A lord babbled next to him, a nervous laugh catching his every other word. But the duke seemed just as disinterested in the conversation as he was with the person he had his gaze fixed on—her.
Dawnhart cooed next to her. Rhosyn turned back to the three ladies again, feeling a tightness in her chest that she chased down with a large sip of wine. And then regretted the choice of wine when the sweet heat burned in its place.
She had to say something, because her silence was saying all the wrong things. Or maybe it was better not to say anything at all. All three ladies smiled and giggled.
"Definitely his handsomeness—you don't get men that look like that in the south," Bosmeer giggled a little bashfully.
"I wonder what type of lady ends up in his bed," Dawnhart purred.
Rhosyn had heard whispers of Dawnhart's 'openness'. Other ladies despised her for how flirtatious she was with men, single or otherwise. She liked to be adored it seemed and luckily for her, she was a fair and pretty thing. If not a little brazen.
"What do you think, Lady Valewyn? I'm sure he's interested if you are," Dawnhart continued, leaning close and dropping her voice so as not to be overheard. But by the look on Bosmeer and Elloway's faces, they knew what kind of thing would come out of Dawnhart's mouth.
Suddenly, the wine didn't seem like a good idea. It was harsh and strong, colouring her cheeks deep red and making her fingers tingle. It felt like a rush of energy pounding through her body and the daunting feeling of regret sitting in her throat.
This was why Rhosyn hated drinking. Because she couldn't think straight on the stuff—and she needed to think.
"I—I," her windpipe clutched tight and she found it hard to breathe. Everything was warm. Her cheeks, chest, body, the hall—it was suffocating.
Dawnhart giggled, reading Rhosyn's sudden disagreement with alcohol and slight panic attack as bashfulness.
Then all the ladies straightened, their faces falling to one of utter alarm. But most of it was missed by Rhosyn at this point. Alcohol had a way of drowning out small details.
"Lady Valewyn, may I have this dance?" a voice asked politely from behind.
She froze.
Please don't say it's a Beatrice Fairleigh novel cliché, she prayed, eyes squeezed shut as she turned to face the man.
Crown Prince Edrien stood there and offered his hand the way a prince offers a choice and expects a yes, and she sighed in relief. His smirk gleaming, a singular brow raised questioningly.
"Of course, Crown Prince Edrien," Rhosyn greeted, with a quick elegant curtsy.