The Midsummer Night's Ball
Part 2. Beatriz's Story
“Do you know that today is the Day of Valerias?”
“What?” Beatriz asked, already half-irritated at her escort, who was trying to nuzzle into her neck.
“Valerias, the Immortal of Beauty… and Love… and Romance,” he said, trying to steal a kiss.
“Giampaolo, per favore! Not now!” she said brusquely brushing him away.
“But I thought…” Giampaolo said sheepishly. “Isn’t that why Princess Carnelia is having this ball?”
“It’s Midsummer Night, Giampaolo! And I’m here for the Paparazzi.”
“But I thought…” Giampaolo repeated, trying to spark the romance again.
Beatriz was about to say something brutal to her lovesick escort, when they were opportunely interrupted.
“Good evening, Beatriz.”
Beatriz turned to face Felicidad.
“Good evening, Felicidad. How was the Great Crater?”
Beatriz saw Felicidad freeze at the concealed insult, and knew Felicidad had no way to counter it. Fortunately for Felicidad, the tension was broken with the gleeful entrance of a tall red-haired elven woman wearing a Belcadizan vestida, covered with lace in the traditional gold and green colors of Erewan.
“Hi, Beatriz! Hi, Felicita! Hee-hee-hee!” chimed Melisante, giggling a bit.
“Buona sera, Melisante! I expected to see you here, Felicidad, but I didn’t think yo—”
Beatriz was thinking of also insulting Melisante at this point, but she caught herself. She knew that the Erewan elf’s frivolous effervescence was just an act (as real as the color of her strawberry-blonde hair) and that behind that mask of bubbling naïveté lay a dangerously keen and observant mind.
“—you would, Melisante. ” Beatriz left the sentence at that.
“Oh! Oh! Tee-hee-hee! Well, you see I… I… I believe we haven’t met, signor,” Melisante said, playing the distracted fool and easily sidestepping the issue.
Beatriz rolled her eyes up, and Giampaolo stepped forward gallantly.
“Buona sera, signorina Melisante!” he said with much bravado, taking Melisante’s hand, and bowing to kiss it. “I am Giampaolo di—”
“You were, saying something to me, Melisante?” Beatriz interrupted impatiently.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Hee-hee! I almost forgot! Giampaolo is soooo handsome, Beatriz! I just get sooo, you know… swoon-y around handsome men!” Melisante said, pretending to swoon and fanning face with her hand, leaving Giampaolo to kiss thin air.
“Melisante was invited by La Princesa herself,” Felicidad explained matter-of-factly.
“Bene, I’m sure Noussoir would be here too with Princess Dolores. Is Gaston here?”
“Gaston? ¡Madre, no! I ‘aven’t seen ‘im. I don’t think ‘e was invited,” Felicidad replied.
“Not that it ever stopped him before,” continued Beatriz sarcastically.
At this, Melisante pretended to suppress a giggle, trying to play cute with Giampaolo, who had regained his composure and was thoroughly taken in by her antics.
“As long as Olga isn’t here,” Beatriz said with finality, as she jerked Giampaolo’s arm, and started to promenade around the ballroom.
Giampaolo, suddenly pulled by Beatriz’s strong grip, exited awkwardly.
“Tee-hee-hee! Bye-bye, Beatriz! See you later, Giampaolo!” chirped Melisante, giving a little baby wave at the couple.
Felicidad looked on, disgusted at Melisante’s brand of sophistication.
Beatriz was surveying the guests at the ball, taking special note of what they were wearing (as was necessary for her charge at the Paparazzi) and of any single eligible men (confident that Giampaolo would not survive this night with her!).
One man caught her eye for both reasons.
Standing in a shadowy corner, but somehow radiant with his own charisma, was a handsome Ethengar. He was wearing a traditional Krondaharan suit, but all in gold, as if he were the Prince of Krondahar himself.
“Chi è quell signore?” asked Beatriz, but realized Giampaolo would probably not know either. Instead, she tugged towards the direction of the Krondaharan.
For a brief second, their eyes met. The Krondaharan’s eyes seemed blacken and then burst with flame. His gaze seemed to burn right through her and her illusions, seeing her for who she truly was, making her suddenly feel hot inside.
At once, Beatriz checked herself. Her appearance was still the same. The illusion was not dispelled. Giampaolo had not noticed anything.
Beatriz walked past the Krondaharan, not daring to look again.
