Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 55: Twelfth Night
6 January, 1359. Westerhaven Palace, Islia
Camilla and her ladies had spent all afternoon in her bedchamber getting ready for the evening’s grand banquet. The Twelfth Night was considered the most important celebration of the year and no one dared miss it.
Camilla had grudgingly let her gown be chosen for her. Her friends had unanimously chosen a golden silk dress with long, trailing sleeves and creamy pearls edging the neckline. Camilla had been a bit horrified by their choice.
"Oh dear lord, no. I can’t wear that! It’s far too extravagant." she had shrieked.
"Nonsense!" Meg had clapped back staunchly. "There is no such thing as too extravagant for Twelfth Night. This is most definitely the dress, my lady. Nothing else will do."
"Besides," Katerine had chimed in sweetly. "No matter what you end up wearing, rest assured you’ll never manage to outshine Princess Violet in her magnificent fur stole."
All four girls had collapsed in wails of laughter.
Camilla reluctantly let her ladies pull a chemise on over her head and lace her into the golden gown. Then she sat in an armchair by the fireplace so that Elizabeth could wind her hair in lengths of silk to create loose ringlets.
Meg rustled through Camilla’s jewellery boxes until she found what she was looking for. She handed Elizabeth the slim box containing the ruby encrusted lace ribbons.
Camilla opened her mouth to weakly protest before shutting it when she saw the adamant look on Meg’s face. Sighing, she concentrated on trying not to nod off as she felt Elizabeth’s gentle hands in her hair, painstakingly weaving through the ruby ribbons. For as long as she could remember, having her hair dressed had made her drowsy. She remembered the way Agatha, her old nursemaid, had complained about the many times she’d fallen asleep sitting up.
She smiled sadly as she thought of the plump, good natured woman who had played such a prominent role during her childhood, but had met her end during the fall of Arlen Castle.
"All done, my lady!" Elizabeth’s merry voice jolted Camilla back into the present. The ladies-in-waiting all stood around to admire Elizabeth’s handiwork. The rubies in the princess’s hair glittered as they bounced the light coming from the flames in the fireplace.
"My lady, you look absolutely glorious." breathed Meg. "Every man at dinner will be fighting for your attention tonight."
Camilla stood up, feeling a little unsure. "Thank you, Meg. I think so long as none of them are rude to my face, I’ll be content. And thank you as well, Bess, for arranging my hair with such patience."
Elizabeth smiled back. "My lady, you look so beautiful that all I can ask is that you keep your distance from my husband!"
The four young women all laughed again. "Bess, Sir Archibald is so smitten with you that he won’t notice me or anyone else there." Smoothing the front of her gown, Camilla took a deep breath and said, "Well then, I suppose we should go."
She lead the way out of her apartments and through the palace, towards the great hall. She wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous, having been to more banquets than she could remember since arriving in Islia. Camilla expected this banquet would be spectacular though, even more lavish than the Christmas lunch. The queen herself would be present for Twelfth Night, despite struggling with her inconsistent health. Every ambassador in the palace would also be attending, representing almost all the nations on the continent.
The ladies weren’t disappointed when the guards swung open the enormous doors of the great hall for them. The hall glowed with the light of a thousand beeswax candles. Silk hangings in shades of silver, black and red were draped from the high ceiling beams and down the walls, almost making the room feel like a luxurious tent. A fire roared in the enormous fireplace.
Camilla kept her eyes down as she walked to the high table. She still wasn’t able to completely shake off her inherent shyness and preferred to limit eye contact with the hostile Islians.
Her ladies-in-waiting trailed her, noticing the way almost every person in the room followed the princess with their gaze. Katerine whispered to Meg, "Most of the ladies here look like they want to murder poor Princess Camilla."
"Yes." Meg cheerfully replied. "And judging by their faces, most men want to do something entirely different to her." She adjusted her string of pearls and then whispered, "I’m dying to see how Prince William reacts when he sees her and if he manages to keep his composure."
"So you think the prince fancies her too, then? It’s not just my imagination?"
"Of course he does." Meg snorted, then lowered her voice. "You’ve seen the way he looks at her. Besides, a man doesn’t shower a lady with jewels if he isn’t interested. I wonder how long until he just admits it and starts courting her openly."
Katerine shook her head a little. "I’m not sure he can. A prince can’t just decide on anyone he chooses. Wouldn’t King Edward have the final say in who the prince ends up with?"
"Well yes, but it’s not like Princess Camilla can be described as just anyone. I think she would be a good match for him. I’m sure King Edward could be convinced if the prince pushed for it. They’re of a similar royal rank, are they not?"
"Do you think Prince William would push for it, though?"
"If he doesn’t then he’s an even bigger fool than I take most men to be." Meg was blunt in her assessment.
The two ladies stopped whispering once Camilla had reached the high table and bowed to the king and queen. The ladies followed with their own bows and watched as Camilla greeted the other royals already at the table and quietly took her seat.
As the ladies-in-waiting made their ways to their table, Katerine felt Meg elbow her ribs and gesture discreetly back towards the high table. The three ladies then observed Prince William, who was looking at the Moraigthian princess in silent, blatant awe.
- - -
William almost choked on the wine he had been sipping when Princess Camilla arrived. She appeared to almost float like an angel to the high table in a golden dress, oblivious to the daggers most women in the hall were aiming at her.
Those daggers included Princesses Violet and Annabel, who were rarely happy about much. At least Princess Blanche was her usual kind self and flashed Camilla a sweet smile of greeting, which was quickly returned.
Camilla took her usual seat next to William and he noticed the rubies woven into her long, loose curls burning like crimson fire.
She’s wearing my gift, he thought. She’s wearing them for Twelfth Night like she promised.
Camilla directed a quick smile and a polite greeting to him, then faced forward towards the crowded hall.
William was crestfallen. Is that all? You’re not going to say anything else to me?
He clenched his jaw, unable to look away from her profile. His hand tightened around his gilded wine goblet. The endless, aching yearning for her churned through his body, depressingly familiar. He admitted to himself that there was another feeling too, though. Something new.
Admiration? Was that it?
He’d lusted after plenty of women in his time. But this was the first time a woman had made him feel so...enthralled. As if he could just gaze upon her for hours in sheer wonder. As if she were too beautiful for a mere mortal like him to ever approach.
What the fuck were these ridiculous thoughts filling his mind? Had he already gotten drunk without noticing? No, that couldn’t be right. This was his first drink.
Well, he was going to say something to end the unbearably polite silence between them. He refused to be the only one who suffered. Leaning towards her, William paused for a moment to enjoy the sweet, heady scent of her hair. It always made him think of roses, mixed with the lushest of summer fruits.
"Your hair, Princess." He whispered, wishing with all his might that he didn’t sound quite so strangled. "You look like you’re wearing new gems. Where did you source them?"
Camilla turned to him again and smiled. She remembered the offhand, almost dismissive attitude of the prince the night he’d given her the rubies. Like it was nothing.
Well, if it didn’t mean anything to him then it didn’t have to mean anything to her either. He had probably only even asked her in mockery.
"Oh, those." Her lovely smile and her tone were offhand, as if they weren’t talking about a small fortune. "Nowhere important, my lord." And with that, she turned to face the banquet again.
William felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. There was nothing left to do but wave a servant over to refill his goblet and drink himself into sweet oblivion.
