Bella was pensive tonight, and little wonder why. The days since the awful news of the late King’s death were a flurry of breathless, half-nonsensical action, but the nights seemed to stretch by and by and by. Dea, herself, had always held Glorianus in awe. It was a palace, to be sure: an awesome construction in the true sense of the word, as its intent was, indeed, to inspire awe. The effect was certainly achieved. Yet, as someone who had always felt most at home amongst trees and streams and flowers, it felt cold and austere. There was much, Dea was sure, she could come to love with time, but it remained more intimidating than comforting. Dea had no doubt her friend felt the same, though Arabella’s feelings must be significantly more complex, for this had been always the home of her father and even Dea felt the echoes of him everywhere.
Reaching out, Dea wound her arm through Bella’s, companionably. Dea missed King August, as well. Of course, he was not her father and her own grief could not, she was certain, begin to compare to Bella’s, but she missed him, as well. He always been good to her and, too, he had always been good to Avenia. Dea had no doubts that Bella would do his memory justice, but she also recognized it as a most daunting task. For all the gold and diamonds, Dea could never envy Bella’s new position. No, for all its stresses, she preferred her own position infinitely. She should never wish to have lives rest upon her shoulders.
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” asked Dea softly as they peered up towards the moon. A warm zephyr stirred their hair and the gossamer of their gowns, rifling mischievously through the leaves of those trees that stood in magisterial attendance upon the palace. “I think those breezes blow from home,” she added, cheerfully. “See? It’s always with us, isn’t it?”
At the sound of Arabella’s question, Dea broke into a wide grin. “I did!” she exclaimed. In truth, she probably would have raved about the evening just to coax a smile from her friend, but in this case, she had enjoyed herself. Dea loved spectacles and parties and lively interaction second only to similar joys in nature, but she was also devoted to every new experience she’d ever had. For all that there was much that was intimidating, Dea had found much to like about their new lifestyle, as well.
“Very much. Has there ever been so cheerful a night of dancing? And oh! Those tarts chef made were just divine. Do you ever recall feasting so well at Gloriet? I, for one, do not! I don’t think I’ve ever passed such a night! Tell me, Bella, what was your favorite course? Oh! And whom,” she added, eyes glinting with teasing mischief. “Did you best like as a dance partner?” She paused. “Prince Alexander - is that how we should call him? - seemed utterly mesmerized! I believe you could quite gobble him up and he’d thank you most assiduously.” Dea, inexperienced as she was, had yet to fully take in the differences between political courtesy and genuine inclination when both were well and politely executed.
Dea turned to lean against the railing at the sound of Arabella’s second question. She was pink and quite tickled with herself, biting her lip. “Oh, Bella, since everyone is quite asleep, I don’t mind telling you something I’d not tell another living soul! Much as I delight in making conquests, myself, I think in this instance a conquest has at last been made of myself. He is Thomas, Lord Langrave, and I fancy he is quite as much smitten with me as I with him. He could scarcely keep his eyes off me, all night! And we spoke endlessly. He is Prince David’s - are we to call him that? - second usher.”
Bella found her friend’s comment to be sad and comforting, all at once. She longed for home; for the other life once lived. No matter what happened now, she could never go back to that. That peaceful life was gone. And even when she returned to Gloriet (whenever that might be) she knew that it wouldn’t ever be the same.
“I miss it,” She whispered, softly, without meaning to. She didn’t want to be sad, just now, but it was hard not to watch what she said around Dea. She rarely kept anything from her. Still, she was determined not to dwell on things they couldn’t change and so she tightened her grip on Dea’s arm affectionately, “But one day this will feel like home,” She said, with a touch of optimism. She wondered, then, if it would, or if she would always feel slightly out of place here. She supposed time would tell.
They were talking of the ball now, and Bella was thankful for the distraction. “I can’t imagine there has been!” She agreed. Certainly not that they had experienced, in any case.
“My favorite course?” She repeated. In truth, she hardly remembered the food: only that there had been so much of it. She’d been trying to keep the conversation steered away from anything too sensitive which, as it turns out when you are hosting two families: one of which murdered members of the other, is a rather difficult thing to do. She’d hardly had a moment to breathe, let alone eat. “I hardly know,” She replied. And then, teasingly, “I suppose the wine was rather good.” In truth, she hadn’t had much of that, either. It had been strong and she needed to keep a clear a head.
“Oh, he was no such thing!” Bella exclaimed, when her friend made the comment about herself and the prince. Despite her better efforts, however, she still colored slightly at the remarks and was unable to completely hold back her smile, “He is a very fine dancer,” She agreed, “And rather handsome.” She knew very little of him, but she could tell that he was a good man. There was something about his eyes that made her certain that he was both kind and genuine. He would make a good king, she thought.
Bella wondered if they did end up marrying if she would grow to love him. She was sure she would, at least in some way. Regardless of who she married, she prayed that her lingering feelings for Arthur Foix would fade. Even as she danced with Alexander tonight, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might have been like to be held by Arthur instead. She scolded herself for thinking that way: her future held many uncertainties but whether or not her relationship with Arthur Foix would be anything more than a Queen and her painter was not one of them.
“Goodness, I’ve never seen you speak of anyone as you speak of him!” Bella exclaimed, her smile brighter than it had been in a long while, “Nor have I ever seen you as happy as you seemed tonight. Oh, Dea, I am certain that he as smitten as you say – how could he not be? When was it that he first turned your head?” Bella asked. It must have been before tonight, she thought, reflecting on how familiar they seemed together. But until now, she had not noticed.