"Sir Truvien of Sangrath; Lady Iscah of the Pure."

Iscah shifted nervously as the sea of faces turned their way, the rumbling of voices receding before rising to an even higher volume than when they were first announced.

She could feel her ears heating up, yet Truvien remained standing at the top of the stairs that led down into the ballroom for a moment more as if relishing the attention. When they finally descended the wide marble steps the crowd parted, whispers hidden behind the lace-tipped fans that had become the fashion for the nobility.

Yet Iscah could hear their words, see the attention that still lingered on them.

What is the point of using the little fans at all? she thought to herself.

So distracted by the flitting accessories she didn't even realize they had paused as a young woman stepped out into their path, a group of ladies the same age flocking around her.

"Lady Jesserin, what a pleasure to see you."

Jesserin’s small, cupid-bow lips stained a bright crimson parted in a dazzling smile that even had Iscah pulling up short.

The woman was the epitome of classic beauty, her coffee-colored hair pinned up artfully around a heart-shaped face. Her hourglass figure was wrapped in dark purple taffeta, the corset pressing her full breasts up into two perfect pillows and tapering her waist. Baby blue eyes fringed in blackened lashes swept secretively over Truvien as if they were sharing some sort of joke at his greeting.

"I hear congratulations are in order; your betrothal to the Duke of Sorelly is the talk of the court. Rumor has it the wedding will be unforgettable."

"I hear I'm not the only one who congratulations are in order for. The fetching Lady Iscah must be thrilled to find your attentions upon her," Jesserin's smile turned predatory as those blue eyes fell on her fully. "Sir Truvien is quite the catch."

Iscah stiffened, her stomach roiling at the implications in Jesserin's tones. The woman's smile turned into wicked delight as she saw Iscah understood the full meaning of her words.

"And where is your betrothed this night?"

"Alas, his father has taken quite ill and requires the attentions of his dutiful first son."

"Is that so?" Truvien remarked politely, Iscah glancing up at him the same time as Jesserin, seeing the two's eyes lock briefly before she canted her head in a graceful incline and moved off with her coterie.

Before Iscah could sputter at the brazen disrespect of not acknowledging her higher social rank prior to her departure, Truvien rested his hand on top of hers that was limply hanging off his arm and dragged her towards the raised tables set for the nobility.

"Perhaps some wine?"

"No, thank you."

He snagged a glass of sweet white off of a passing servers plate, shoving it towards her as if he had not heard her refusal.

"You look quite lovely tonight, the most beautiful dove in a flock of geese.

Iscah couldn't help but smile wryly, wondering if he even realized how clever that analogy had been considering the grey dress sprinkled in seed pearls that she wore. Or if he even knew what an analogy was.

Reaching the table he pulled out the chair for her to sit before joining her. All the while his eyes remained on the shifting groups of people, watching the dancers and conversations with a triumphant smile quirked on his mouth.

Iscah studied his profile. His caramel blonde hair was pulled back in an oiled queue, accenting the square jawline he had shaved clean. The green shirt that enhanced the color of his matching eyes was fitted to his wide chest and shoulders, the loose sleeves hiding arms muscled from his years of training in knight-ship.

Every woman's' ruggedly handsome dream warrior.

Gods, she did not fit in here.

"Ganders having a gander at the geese," Iscah mused, "while the dove endures the weight of their company."

He laughed airily, nodding his head at a group of young men as they entered unannounced into the ballroom from the double doors set off from the base of the staircase. They waved enthusiastically and began threading their way towards their table.

"Luckily, you won't have to wait on my company very long, my darling."

She blinked, confused by his response before realizing he had not caught her pun.

"I must admit, when your mother approached my family about this arrangement I assumed their introverted book worm would not be quite so fetching."

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He picked up the untouched glass of wine she had set down and took a sip as Iscah felt the world tip jarringly, not even aware she had stopped breathing.

"Your...enthusiasm," his gaze swept down the front of her dress and raked up to her eyes slowly. "Is shared, darling."

"What are you talking about?" She whispered, but her question was lost as his comrades swarmed the table, Truvien rising to meet their aggressive, boisterous greetings and shouts of laughter. Within seconds they were focused on the alcohol servers brought and crude banter, none of them aware when Iscah slid from the table mumbling excuses about needing to step away. Slipping into the hallway that led to the privies she braced herself against the wall on one arm, the other pressing against her stomach to try and settle the bile that threatened to rise.

Her mother hadn't even waited for the month to finish out before forging ahead with securing Iscah's future husband.

And why not? Iscah thought with a little laugh that broke off into a sob. It's not like she knows the truth, or would even care if she did. Tears came unbidden and she ducked her head before the servants and guests buzzing past could see them.

She needed to get out. Out of this stupid ballroom, out of this dress, out of this nightmare her life was descending into.

Waiting for a break in guests she peeked out, noting her date and his gaggle of friends were already so deep in their cups two servers had remained to continuously fill any glasses extended their way.

Taking a deep breath she wiped any traces of tears away and straightened her shoulders, blending into the throng and moving casually towards the glass doors that had been opened onto the massive terrace.

Outside there was still a crowd though noticeably less dense, the sounds of a hundred conversations rolling together to form a background noise that one or two voices would occasionally rise over. All the while music played, a romantic undertone that set the mood for so many couples that evening.

Iscah crossed the terrace and turned, leaning on the balustrade to look back at the building.

King Arias, the deceased father of their current monarch had been known for his love of the arts, and this addition to the castle grounds had been the jewel of his crown. This wing was an oval instead of the usual rectangular shape, with the orchestra centered on a raised platform rather than in a corner. The true genius behind the building was the dome-shaped ceiling that covered the dance floor, giving an acoustical experience that was unrivaled in all the kingdoms.

The architect had not stopped there, and the entire southern face of the building was floor to ceiling reinforced cut crystal that during the day refracted thousands of rainbows across the white marble floors, giving it its name Rainbow Wing. Dances had been modified to the space, waltzes circling the dias in motions that Iscah found surprisingly relaxing to watch from her vantage.

She had been taught how to dance, or rather not step on the man's feet as her instructor had finally settled for. Ialda had tried to teach her but with the same results, stating her clumsiness could only be rivaled by a drunk, two-legged donkey.

Speaking of which.

Her eyes shifted back over to Truvien, whose cheeks were so red she could see them from this distance. He was only partially paying attention to his friends conversation, glancing about the dance floor as if looking for someone.

No doubt that woman. What was her name again? Oh yes, Jesserin. Iscah snorted, turning away to glance down at her small breasts her dress had barely managed to push up.

"Oh, how fetching you look down there," she trilled mockingly.

Rolling her eyes at her own sarcasm, she leaned over the railing casually and looking out over the manicured lawn fringed with gardens so old her grandparents had traversed them.

The shallow pool that ran the length of the grounds had been filled with floating cups cut into the shapes of flowers, illuminated from the inside by tea candles. Lamps that were normally lit along the gravel pathways circling the water were dark, giving the candle-filled pool the illusion of being a star-filled sky.

Couples were strolling the grounds together, enjoying the warm spring evening as if they had all the time in the world. It made her wish she too could return to the days where impending marriage and social requirements had not haunted her day in and day out. Yet looking over the men and women enjoying each other did make her yearn for someone. Someone who might not even exist.

She didn't want to be here any longer.

Sucking her lower lip into her mouth she pushed off the balustrade and headed down the stairs into the gardens, keeping to the building's side until she circled to the front lawn where guests were still arriving in carriages, each more garish than the last.

With a dramatic curtsy to no one, Iscah swept her skirts out and stepped onto the cities streets.

Laughter drifted in the darkness, a couple who had found use for a nearby alley not even aware as she passed them.

Stepping into the lighted main thoroughfare she got her bearings and headed back to the dorm.

I wonder what mother would think if she knew he was tumbling with Jesserin.

She shook her head in disgust, knowing it wouldn't matter; mistresses were so often an occurrence it was a socially accepted norm. That was the way with these things; marriage wasn't for love, at least not on the men's side of things. Their house was already the most powerful beneath the King, so any alliance would be for securing money, land, or prestige.

It had been happy coincidence for Ialda that her husband whose father was a Duke held the largest amount of provinces in the wine bearing regions northwest of the royal territory had also been her childhood sweetheart.

Iscah's had been Prince Skylar from the Griffon Kingdom of Elsmere. The author's illustrator had quite the talent for drawing the fabled beasts. The memory of that book made her heart ache.

She stumbled on an uneven cobble stone, righting herself with the practiced ease of chronic clumsiness and turned onto the university's main street, ignoring the subtle attention she was drawing to herself walking alone in a ballroom gown.

Students moved out of her way politely as she passed, curious glances though most couldn't be bothered to stop and stare at some noble's daughter plodding down their streets in full regalia.

Iscah laughed inwardly at that notion.

Days without thoughts of a future beyond the university. Days without the dread of facing the "brush up" lessons her mother and sister had arranged with prestigious tutors of the gentle womanly arts.

Days without the dreams of him.

She tilted her head to the sky, watching as all the stars blurred.