I watch her from the shadows of the archway. Her movements are delicate, refined. A princess who was brought up in the comfort of luxury. She sweeps in and out of the crowd, their forms melding reds and golds along a pristine white floor. I don my black mask, lined with silver, and tread down the steps.
Surveying the vicinity, I spot her form, bedecked in the very same red as everyone else. Her long hair is nestled atop her head in an intricate braid, the edge of her dress rising a few inches off the ground as she spins. Who does she think she is?
The music quiets, leaving only the din of chatter and applause. Before the next piece can begin, I saunter over. I give my best smile, and hold out my hand, "Your Highness! I'd be honored if I could have the next dance."
She turns to me, and I can tell by her posture she's surprised to be so approached. The man who was her partner leers at me, "I asked her for--"
"No, it's alright," she replies, holding up a hand. "I'd be pleased to dance with you."
Once he leaves, I smile down at her. She returns it, a polite, frail thing that barely tilts the corners of her lips. Bowing to one another, she takes my hand, fingers twining over mine. A melody starts, almost lilting, as she takes measured steps. I hold her lightly, enough to be distant, enough to be secure.
"What kingdom are you from?" she asks, making conversation.
"One that's far from here, by the sea," I lie, easy.
"The sea? Really?" she asks, surprised. "It's not a simple journey to travel from there."
I give her a small laugh, "It was worth the trip to come to such a marvelous kingdom."
"You're too kind," she tells me. "I am glad to see that what my family has done has been for the good of everyone!"
Her response makes my heart lurch. Is she naïve, or cruel? The red swirling around the room tints my periphery, as red as the stains in the city's streets. I fight back a grimace, "Your subjects are content?"
"I would hope so," she says. "A kingdom's only as prosperous as its people."
Flashes of red cross my vision--
"I shall be queen one day soon," she says to me, a feathery whisper. "I want to do what's right."
My hand tightens at her waist, on her hand. I lean forward, my lips at the shell of her ear, "Do you?"
"Yes?" she says, her breath warm on my neck, unsure of what I'm saying, I know. She doesn't know who I am. No one does.
I am every faceless civilian who has been neglected by their leaders. I am every faceless father called to die by a king who sits above strife. I am every faceless mother whose anguished screams pierce the skies for her loved ones. I am every faceless child who is told their country will defend them, only to be needlessly killed to uphold the status quo.
I hear these lavish parties from the streets, as I listen to another neighbor tell me of someone's passing. I watch these lazy, contented beasts gorge themselves as my stomach twists with hunger.
With this mask, there is no difference between these people and I. A reminder that we are all equal under the stars and their unyielding silence: no one is above them. Yet we continue to believe that some humans should lord over others.
I lean back from her, staring at eyes shadowed by the mask, but I know their color. I've seen her before.
"I'm sorry... but..." she says, voice even quieter. "Do I know you?"
Who does she think she is?
The music swells to a powerful crescendo, "No, Your Highness. You do not."
As it ends, I bid her a gentle goodbye, my mouth tasting of iron, and melt into a crowd where I am no different from them. I dart past guards towards the highest floor, continuing my mission, and find who I'm looking for. My thumb brushes over the pommel of my knife, familiar and heavy.
She will be queen sooner than she thinks.
