"Royal balls are such a bore, aren’t they?"
royalty au: alt
"März!"
The panicked whisper is paired with a reprehensive smack on the arm. Quickly, Therese looks from face to face to gauge whether or not the comment was caught. Thankfully, they are standing a few steps behind his father while the Landgraf engages with the head of another family, (the conversation turned political ages ago which made it all that more painful to stand by without a word). Both men are, evidently, too enthralled to be paying the mother and son any attention. Still, they must be careful of the surrounding attendees. There is no telling how quickly nor how far gossip will spread.
Not that März is wrong. In fact, she’s just as bored out of her wits as he is. The main difference is that Therese has had years worth, (a whole childhood of lesson after lesson, after lesson) of more practice in hiding her displeasure. It’s almost easy for her to mask her would-be yawns with forced smiles. All the same, had they any choice in the matter she would relieve the both of them from the endless, mindless chatter and swirling, numbing dances, and (at best) half-hearted laughter. A book by the fireplace sounded a lot more appealing than this superfluous “royal ball.”
Nevertheless, their attendance is required without exception.
Sapphire eyes gaze dully over the glittering ballroom. Old and young alike are trying so hard to display themselves to proper status. Woman bat their eyelashes and giggle sheepishly; men boast of this or that accomplishment and tell jokes that in truth, no one finds funny, (and yet for some reason, they all laugh anyhow). It takes all of her effort not to massage her aching head.
And then, a somewhat mischievous grin grabs at the corners of her lips. Casually Therese flips open the decorative fan she’s brought, (more to occupy her hands than display the Landgrave’s wealth) and holds it over half her face. In a low voice, playful now instead of strict, she comments for only März to hear. "His daughters look so embarrassed. Do you think someone should tell Lord Albert of the crumbs in his beard?"
It goes without saying that for the rest of the evening, she proceeds to point out all the subtle faux pas that take place in the otherwise hilariously dignified environment.