Rowan had been moping for the better part of a week. He’d been in the nobles’ courtyard almost everyday, but had yet to see anyone… interesting. He had asked Madame Matilda if she’d heard of anyone matching the stranger’s description, but she was no help.
“Sorry, Love. There are so many courtiers to remember, I can’t be expected to know all of their extended family. What are the names of the people he’s staying with?”
Rowan leaned against a pillar and sighed dramatically. “He didn’t even say that before he scampered off! He must have realized I’m completely loathsome when he figured out I belong to the royal family.”
Matilda tutted at him gently. “Well, do you blame him for running off? The man was probably in shock. It’s not everyday that someone gets to converse with the crowned Prince of Gallan. He was probably just nervous.” She moved to put a warm hand on his shoulder. “But you may get to see him at the soiree I’m throwing for you tomorrow night. Every courtier in the town has been invited. It’s set to be quite the social event.”
A number of scenarios flitted through Rowan’s mind. Walking on glass, drinking spoiled milk, eating a toad… they all sounded better than spending the night socializing with people he did not want to see. “You’re going to make me spend an entire evening socializing when you know I’m already feeling awful?”
“I’m throwing it because you’ve seemed so glum lately. You haven’t even been painting or playing your music. Maybe that ray of sunshine will come and cheer you up,” she winked.
Rowan’s cheeks glowed red. “He’s not even a friend, and he’s only staying in town for the next few months,” he mumbled.
Madame Matilda smiled. “Of course he is, dear. Anyways, I think we both have a bit of work we’ll want to do before tomorrow. I’ll see you at the party.”
-
Madame Matilda had completely outdone herself. The party was a true celebration of spring. Spritely daffodils had been woven into garlands that hung over every surface. Backlit by the crystal chandeliers in the palace, it gave the effect that sunshine itself was dancing across the ballroom. The air was perfumed with their cool, fresh scent, which Rowan would usually find calming. Unfortunately, nothing was able to quell the tickle of butterflies he felt in his stomach.
It seemed that every courtier in the surrounding towns had come to the party and the room was completely packed. It was difficult to see everyone in the crowd, but so far Rowan hadn’t caught sight of any long raven hair.
It didn’t help that Rowan was constantly being cornered by random aristocrats. All of their conversations blended together in a refrain of, 'you’re so brilliant your highness', 'I agree with you, have you always been so smart and handsome and perfect?', and a painful amount of forced laughs. It was absolutely mind numbing.
Rowan was attempting to get drunk on champagne when a woman with perfectly coiffed hair and toothy smile appeared in front of him. “Prince Rowan," she bowed, "I was so pleased about your decree on book buying. That was very progressive of you. I love reading, so I find it’s such a blessing.”
“Oh really?” Rowan looked over. Finally, the potential of an interesting conversation. “Your Beatrice Carpenter, right?” She nodded and gave a curtsey. “Lady Beatrice, what would you say your favorite book is?”
Beatrice’s face went completely blank for a moment “Uhhhh…” she started. “I would say... the Bible, yes definitely the Bible. Is there a better place to find wisdom?”
“Sure,” Rowan replied distractedly, having completely lost interest. Damn, so close. Rowan nodded along, feeling rather bored, as Beatrice continued talking at him.
His heart leapt when he noticed a caramel skinned woman with waist-length brown hair enter the ballroom. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said while pushing past Beatrice and booking it towards the other side of the room.
“You!” Rowan called out to Isabella.
She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Yes, me,” she paused in confusion. “How can I help you, your highness?”
“Call me Rowan. You’re sunshine’s friend, yeah?”
“Sunshine?” she laughed.
He gave a frustrated groan. “You know who I’m talking about. Moon white skin, obsidian hair, sylphlike figure.”
Isabella nodded. “Yeah, I’ve just never heard him called sunshine before,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.
“What do you call him?” he begged. “Please, give me his name.”
“Sometimes I call him wet blanket, but other times I call him Bran.”
“Bran,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. He found it delicious. Rowan realized he was definitely coming off desperate. He tried to keep his voice calm and nonchalant as he continued. “Any chance he came to the party tonight?”
She hesitated. “No...he doesn’t know many people here, with him being out of town and all, so he decided not to come.” She paused and gave him a wicked smile. “But I bet I know where you could find him”.
Soon after their conversation ended, Rowan, for the second time in a fortnight, grabbed his cloak and ran out the door. When a large, scarred man tried to follow, Isabella pulled him aside for what ended up being a stimulating conversation and very entertaining night.
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