Oleksandr stands with his arms folded across his chest, his imposing form and intimidating presence a stark contrast to the festivities and merriment happening around him. He scans the ballroom, watching the people dance and chat and drink, while his eyes keep darting back to the princess, her silent protector. The king sits at the head of the table, surrounded by his advisors and noblemen, laughing and drinking with them. The crowd is a mix of nobles and common folk, all here to celebrate the king's birthday and have a good time. The music plays loudly and cheerfully, a mix of mandolins, lutes and bagpipes, filling the air with its lively rhythm, while the scent of ale and wine hangs thickly, adding to the sensory overload of the evening.
Princess Vidosavka looks beautiful. She's wearing a dress made out of a gorgeous blue velvet, so rich it almost seems to shift to purple under some lights, with a wide golden plate-belt around her tiny waist. The dress has a square neckline, where she wears a thick gold necklace with gems and engravings and dangling pearl beads. She has her usual bracelets and anklets too, and her long, raven hair is loose down her back, brushed out to shiny perfection, with a veil over the back of her head held in place by her circlet. She doesn't have her lovely face covered for once.
Oleksandr smiles softly to himself at the sight of her. The fact that she was allowed to not wear her veil today made her even more beautiful in his eyes. His eyes are drawn to her again and again, the beauty of her profile making his heart flutter in his chest. The way her high cheekbone makes her look regal, the way her eyelashes are so long and elegant. His gaze follows the line of her long, slender neck down to her shoulders and her back. Her body, while slender and delicate, still exudes a femininity and grace that he can't help but appreciate as a man.
He straightens up as he watches a man approach the table. He seems to be a nobleman of some kind, clad in a fashionable velvet tunic with a fur cape, and he is clearly there to flatter the king, wishing him a happy birthday and complimenting him on the beauty of his home. Oleksandr watches the exchange warily, his hand subconsciously reaching down to rest on the pommel of his sword. The man turns his attention towards the princess, a charming smile on his face. He looks at her with a mix of appreciation and a little too much interest, and Oleksandr feels his teeth clenching in annoyance.
"And I assume this is your lovely daughter I have heard much about? Say, the rumors of your beauty don't surpass me, my lady." The man says, his voice almost oozing with false flattery. She nods, shyly glancing at her father, almost for reassurance, as the man takes her hand and kisses it. Oleksandr watches the interaction with a sour expression, the sight of the man kissing the princess's hand grates on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Meanwhile, the king seems completely oblivious to his daughter's uneasiness, his focus entirely on the conversation with the other noblemen. "I am Prince Andrey of Bulgaria." Oleksandr's eyes narrow further as the man introduces himself. Prince Andrey of Bulgaria. It sounded more like a boast than a name. And there was something in his voice that made him wary. Was it greed or lust that he detected in his tone?
Oleksandr catches Savka's glance over her shoulder at him, and he sees the plea in her eyes. She seems uncomfortable and nervous. But Oleksandr is torn. He knows that he should step in and intervene, but he also doesn't want to overstep his bounds as a guard and risk causing a scene. But his loyalty to the princess outweighs his concerns, and he cannot bear to see her uncomfortable and nervous like this, especially under the scrutiny of some pompous Bulgar prince. So, he takes a few steps forward and stands behind her chair, crossing his arms in a show of warning. His cold, steely eyes stare at the prince, the look in them a clear message not to push his luck. The prince looks up at Oleksandr, his eyes flitting over his intimidating form and steely gaze. There is a flash of something in his eyes, some mixture of frustration and arrogance, but he swallows hard and tries to keep a polite smile. He takes a step back slightly, releasing Savka's hand, remaining nonchalant.
"And may I ask your name, my lady?" Oleksandr continues to stand behind Savka's chair, his presence like a dark shadow looming over her. Savka glances back at Oleksandr, silently grateful for his presence, before turning her attention back to the prince.
"I am Princess Vidosavka."
"It's my pleasure, Princess Vidosavka... And may I ask, how old are you?"
"I am nineteen."
"Nineteen? And surely you must be betrothed...?" Oleksandr watches intently as the prince continues his questioning, his intent clear. He can sense where this conversation is headed, and he does not like it at all. Savka hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking towards the king, who is still engaged in other conversations.
"No," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I am not." The prince's face lights up at her response, and Oleksandr can practically see the greedy, lustful look in his eyes. He knows that the prince now sees her as a pretty pawn to be married off to some diplomat or nobleman like himself. The prince leans forward, his voice taking on a more suggestive tone.
"Well, that's a surprise. Such a beautiful flower, unbetrothed and unclaimed." Oleksandr steps closer to Savka, his hand resting on the back of her chair, his presence a clear sign of his protectiveness. He shakes his head at the prince, his silent message clear: that’s enough. The prince's eyes flicker towards Oleksandr's hand and the shake of his head, and his smile falters for a moment. He knows that he is pushing his luck but he can't resist the thrill of the chase. He takes a step back, holding up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "My apologies, I did not mean to be too forward. I am merely curious." The princess nods, keeping her gaze low.
"Thank you for your time, Prince." The prince takes the hint, realizing that he has overstayed his welcome. He nods, his smile strained, and takes a step back.
"Of course," he says, his voice a bit more formal now. "The pleasure was all mine, fairest Vidosavka." He bows to her, but can't help but cast an annoyed look towards Oleksandr. Savka lets out a small sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing slightly now that the prince is gone. She glances up at Oleksandr, her eyes full of gratitude.
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"Thank you," she says quietly. Oleksandr nods to Savka, and his expression softens for a moment, showing the slight hint of warmth that lies beneath his stoic exterior. He then steps back towards the wall, resuming his position as her guard and sentinel.
The party continues into the evening, the attendees growing increasingly rowdy and boisterous with each passing hour. Laughter and chatter fill the room, and the sound of music and dancing echoes through the chamber. The air reeks of alcohol and sweat, the smell of roasted meats and spices mixing with the scent of rich perfumes and colognes. A group of soldiers, their faces flushed with alcohol and laughter, form a circle in the room and begin to dance, stomping their feet and singing in a loud, off-key fashion. The dance is wild and energetic, a mix of traditional folk dancing and drunken flailing of limbs. The princess giggles and claps along to the music. The soldiers and guards finish their dance, their faces red and sweaty from the alcohol and exertion. One of the soldiers spots Oleksandr and calls out to him, beckoning him to join.
"Captain! Come, show the king your trick!" Oleksandr's eyes narrow, not appreciating the attention being drawn to him. But the soldiers continue to coax him, the alcohol-fueled enthusiasm making them bolder. "Come on, Captain! Let us see your trick, the one you learned back in Constantinople! Come on!" The king's voice breaks through the noise, drawing everyone's attention to Oleksandr. He grins with mirth, his eyes sparkling with drunken merriment, and gestures for Oleksandr to join the soldiers.
"Go on, Olek. Enjoy yourself, I'll watch the girl." Oleksandr hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering to the princess. He knows this is not the time or place for his tricks, but the soldiers are persistent, and the king's insistence makes it difficult to refuse. Oleksandr relents, stepping away from his position and moving towards a decorative armor display. He plucks an estoc from its rack, its steel blade gleaming in the light. He steps into the center of the room, his eyes focused and his expression stoic. The soldiers cheer in anticipation, and the king leans forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on Oleksandr. He tosses the estoc into the air, the blade spinning with an almost languid grace, catching the light as it twirls. In one swift, seamless movement, he swings his own sword, aligning it perfectly beneath the falling estoc. The tip of the blade lands on the flat length of his sword, balanced with uncanny precision.
For a heartbeat, the room is frozen in silence, every eye locked on the delicate balance of steel. Then, the spell breaks, and the soldiers erupt into applause, cheering and whistling in amazement at the display of skill. Even the king can’t help but nod in approval, impressed by the mastery Oleksandr has just demonstrated. With a fluid motion, Oleksandr flings the estoc back into the air using his sword, catching it effortlessly in his hand. He smoothly sheaths his own sword before tilting his head back, holding the estoc upright. The room holds its breath as he prepares for what comes next.
In a display of daring skill, he carefully guides the blade downward, performing a circus-like maneuver as he begins to swallow the sword. The estoc slides gracefully down, his control and precision leaving the onlookers gasping in awe. When the blade is fully swallowed he carefully holds his arms out, and the room erupts into thunderous applause, the soldiers and guests alike marveling at the extraordinary and dangerous feat. Oleksandr removes the sword from his mouth, the blade glistening with saliva. He bows in a fluid, graceful motion, accepting the applause and cheers with a stoic expression.
The room is abuzz with shock and excitement, the soldiers and king clearly impressed by his skill and courage. "Goodness! Well done, good captain," the king calls out, clearly enjoying himself. "Quite the trick." The soldiers and attendees continue to cheer and clap, clearly impressed by Oleksandr's display. The princess's eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open in surprise. The music swells once more, filling the room with its lively rhythm, and the soldiers and guards, still buzzing with excitement from Oleksandr's performance, dive back into the dance with renewed energy. Their laughter and cheers echo through the hall as they move with unbridled enthusiasm, their spirits high.
Not content to let him stand on the sidelines, the men pull Oleksandr into their dancing circle. He grins, the serious warrior momentarily cast aside as he throws caution to the wind and joins in. His powerful frame moves with surprising agility, stomping and spinning with the soldiers and guards. Their movements are a wild mix of traditional steps and chaotic flailing, but it’s all in good fun, a celebration of camaraderie and the joy of the moment. The room is alive with their collective energy, a blur of movement and laughter as they dance into the night. As Oleksandr gets lost in the crowd of dancing soldiers, he glances over at the princess, offering her a cheeky wink before disappearing into the throng of movement and music. The soldiers and band continue with their song, their voices loud and boisterous as they sing out an old Latin song.
"First of all it is to the wine-merchant
the libertines drink,
one for the prisoners,
three for the living,
four for all Christians,
five for the faithful dead,
six for the loose sisters,
seven for the footpads in the wood,
eight for the errant brethren,
nine for the dispersed monks,
ten for the seamen,
eleven for the squabblers,
twelve for the penitent,
thirteen for the wayfarers.
To the Pope as to the king
they all drink without restraint!
The mistress drinks, the master drinks,
the soldier drinks, the priest drinks,
the man drinks, the woman drinks,
the servant drinks with the maid,
the swift man drinks, the lazy man drinks,
the white man drinks, the black man drinks,
the settled man drinks, the wanderer drinks,
the stupid man drinks, the wise man drinks,
the poor man drinks, the sick man drinks,
the exile drinks, and the stranger,
the boy drinks, the old man drinks,
the bishop drinks, and the deacon,
the sister drinks, the brother drinks,
the old lady drinks, the mother drinks,
that woman drinks, that man drinks,
a hundred drink, a thousand drink!"