Protagonist Bound (22 page)

Dang, that’s a good point. Why didn’t I just ask Jason?

I tilted my head, confused by the lack of logic in my own choice.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I replied. “What can I say, Daniel. I guess I freaked and now I’m stuck with you.”

At that point, I noticed Blue and Jason (having decided to dance with one another, it seemed) starting to twirl over to us. They moved well together, and Blue actually appeared happy, which was confusing on more counts than one. To begin with, there was her whole natural dislike of the formal dancing thing. That aside, I still didn’t see how she could be so calm around Jason when she knew she was being forcibly shackled to him for the rest of her life.

“Hey guys,” Jason said as he and Blue glided up next to us.

“Just thought we’d give you a heads up, Crisa,” Blue piped in. “SJ offered to dance with Chance to help you out. Now you don’t have to worry about him cutting in when your ten minutes are up.”

“Really? Oh, that’s awesome! I’ll have to thank her later.”

“That’s what she said,” Blue responded with a wink. “Well, see you guys later.”

With that, the two danced away in perfect synchronicity.

Daniel and I managed to dance together without fighting for a few minutes. Of course, we weren’t saying anything to one another at all so that was probably why the peace lasted so long.

Surprisingly, our toe-stomping percentage had also significantly decreased since our last ballroom pairing. I thanked goodness for that, because if it hadn’t, the bare feet I was concealing beneath my dress would’ve seriously gotten injured.

Cordial new relations aside, we avoided eye contact as much as possible. It was just too awkward otherwise.

My sightline lingered on the ballroom floor instead. Although, in doing so something caught the light and turned my attention back to Daniel. It was the same golden pocket watch I’d seen on him the first time we’d met. I tried to get a better look at it, but found myself unable to as it was dominantly concealed within the innards of his pants pocket.

The idea occurred to me to simply ask him about the watch, but inevitably I thought better of the notion. Holding a conversation with one another without insults flying about was not one of our shared skills. So talking to him at all—let alone asking him about something private, like this watch—was probably just an all around bad call.

Unfortunately, it seemed Daniel had not made this connection yet, as he chose to interrupt our momentary peace with his own attempt at small talk.

“So . . .” he began benignly enough. “Are you going to the tournament tomorrow?”

“By going, do you mean watching?” I asked automatically. “You know that us ‘damsels’ are forbidden from actually participating.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Oh, here we go. I should’ve known that you were the type.”

My hand clenched in his. “Type of what?” I asked.

“The type of overly self-righteous girl that turns century-old traditions into civil rights issues.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “You make chauvinism sound so noble. Guys not allowing girls to participate in some sport is just another stupid way they have of trying to keep us in our place. And it makes no sense. We can be just as fast and just as strong as you are.”

Now it was Daniel’s turn to scoff. “Yeah, okay.” He glanced away from me and I saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards.

“Don’t give me that smirk; I’m serious,” I snapped.

“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re realistic. You’ve got gumption, Knight. And you’re a half-decent sword fighter; I’ll give you that. But you and your dainty classmates wouldn’t last five minutes in a Twenty-Three Skidd tournament with a bunch of
actual
heroes. Girls can be fast and strong, but amongst each another, not in comparison to guys who have spent their whole lives training to be as fast and strong as physically possible.”

“You’re a jerk, Daniel,” I said plainly. “And you’re wrong.”

“And you’re delusional, Knight,” he responded. “And you’ll never get the chance to prove me wrong.”

I abruptly stopped dancing and glared at him dead on. “You know what, Daniel? Truce off.” I started to storm away then, but turned back to add one final comment. “And
I will
get the chance to prove you wrong.”

I successfully managed to make a break for the back exit of the ballroom without any of the castle or regular school staff catching me.

I knew it was extremely unwise to forgo the most major of school rules—ditching a dance partner and leaving a ball without permission. And, frankly, if Lady Agnue had caught me, I seriously would have been toast.

But Daniel had been the last straw. I was used to dealing with the condescending snide of people like our headmistress and Mauvrey, who’d known me for years. Daniel, however, had barely known me a month; yet he talked to me as if he already knew me inside out.

Such overfamiliarity really pushed my buttons, especially since I didn’t understand how he did it, or how to push his back.

Ergo, ditching this dance was well worth the risk if it meant getting away from him baiting me with more such provocation, or any other stereotypical, princess-belittling nonsense that would fill me with rage like his most recent comments had.

I was so angry at that point that part of me just wanted to punch the wall, or him, or anything really. Although since he wasn’t here, and slamming my fist into the wall would’ve just added physical injury to the list of things already upsetting me this evening, I conceded to leaning against it for a second—closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath.

And exhale . . .

Sigh.

All right. That’s a little better, I guess.

Some level of calmness having returned to my mindset, I was now able to properly take in my new surroundings. The back door I’d slipped through had let out into a spacious, pale yellow corridor that led to the men’s restroom. Anger no longer impeding my clarity, I began to notice the pictures of the royal family decorating the area. They lined the walkway in parallel lines and tempted my interest sufficiently.

I began to slowly wander past them, studying each one in turn. The first was of the king and queen on their wedding day. The celebratory scene of matrimonial bliss was set on a pier that stretched into the sea and was surrounded by hundreds of gleeful Mer-people who watched the spectacle expectantly.

From there the pictures continued to follow the timeline of the royal family’s life. And it was through these pictures that I saw Princess Ashlyn grow from a newborn into a pretty eighteen-year-old with curly, chestnut hair and the big, kind eyes of a well-loved Labrador Retriever. After looking closely at her image, I could see her as someone who seemed genuinely lovely of spirit. Maybe even a person who I could have been friends with in a different world.

I neared the end of the hallway.

The second to last picture in the series had all four members of the royal family present. The whole scene seemed as perfect as possible—united, content, and full of warmth. But then I came to the final image in the series, and it was obvious that the family’s happily-ever-after had been shattered in the time between the two portraits.

Ashlyn was not in this one, so it must have been from this last year after she’d disappeared. The king and queen’s faces had lost all the color and laughter that had characterized them in previous pictures. And, unlike the others, this one did not have the sea in the background. Instead the family stood lifeless in a stiff, dimly lit throne room that made me depressed just looking at it.

I was so distracted by my sadness for the royal family’s ghostly image that I didn’t notice Mauvrey sneak up on me. As a result, I jumped slightly when she spoke.

“What is the matter, Crisa, not having fun?” she asked innocently.

Mauvrey had somehow managed to change and redo her hair in the last twenty minutes. It was a shockingly fast turnaround. So much so that, if I didn’t know any better, I would have had trouble believing that the soaking wet, frazzled girl I’d left to the mercy of a seagull just a short while ago was the same composed princess-of-darkness standing before me now.

My nemesis had changed into a coral-colored dress with actual pieces of coral around the collar that looked like small spikes. It suited her a lot better if you asked me, as did the overall sharp, twisted shape of her gown.

Mauvrey had an unusually large glass of punch in her hand and an expression of eerie contentment on her face. I took a step back and eyed her cautiously.

“Hardly,” I replied. “Why exactly do you look so happy? Destroy some other poor girl’s self-esteem when I wasn’t around to stop you?”

Mauvrey’s smile spread like a disease across her porcelain cheeks. “Very funny, Crisa. Actually, I am happy about what is going to happen next.”

“And that would be?”

“This.”

Mauvrey threw the contents of her massive glass of punch at me. My hair, face, and upper body were soaked with the sticky, red liquid.

Okay, it was my own fault. I’ll admit I probably should’ve seen something like this coming.

Alas, I didn’t. And now I have to decide how I’m going to play this.

Hmm, the way I figured, I had two options here—freak out and give Mauvrey the satisfaction of upsetting me, or remain calm, cool, and collected like it didn’t bother me at all.

Freaking out would lead to me punching Mauvrey in the nose, which is what Blue would do. Keeping calm would dissolve the intensity of the situation, which is what SJ would do. The first option would be so much more satisfying—especially since I actually really liked this dress. But the second choice was way wiser in theory.

Dang, the SJ half of my conscious wins this round.

I nonchalantly wiped some of the liquid off my face with the back of my hand. “And what, Mauvrey, did you intend to accomplish with that?” I asked.

She was clearly taken aback by my lack of reaction, but retained her superior, cocky tone nonetheless.

“You are soaking wet and your dress is utterly stained all over,” Mauvrey reminded me. “The only way out of here is back through the ballroom. Thus, you are going to look like a fool when you traipse back out there in front of everyone looking like this. Well, more of a fool than usual, I should say.”

Don’t lose it. Losing it will give her the upper hand.

“Mauvrey, Mauvrey, Mauvrey. And here I thought you were better than that,” I said as I casually began to squeeze the punch out of my hair—wringing it like a towel.

My nemesis crossed her arms. “What are you going on about?”

“While your silly prank is a good one by clichéd, teenage girl standards,” I explained, “it’s still pretty lame for our situation. What’s the matter, Big Girtha busy or something?” Mauvrey narrowed her eyes. “Lady Agnue found her and Jade wandering around the halls. They are grounded for leaving the ball without permission.”

“Got it. Well, good effort anyways. It’s not your fault, I suppose, that on your own you lack the creativity to execute any interesting form of revenge.”

“Well, you still have to go back out there as a dripping wet mess,” Mauvrey snapped. “And there is no ladies’ restroom back here to even allow you to get cleaned up a little.”

“Yeah, but there
is
a boys’ bathroom,” I countered.

“What?”

“My dress is dark-colored, and the stain isn’t that noticeable. I’ll just go clean myself up in the boys’ bathroom,” I said, gesturing to the door behind me.

“You cannot do that,” she stuttered. “It is the
boys’
restroom; you cannot go in there.”

“Again, Mauvrey, a touch of outside-the-box thinking would do you some good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I picked up the front bustle of my skirt and pushed past her.

“Oh,” I added just before exiting. “And have a lovely rest of your evening.”

I left my dumbstruck enemy and entered the boys’ room without hesitation, admitting to myself that handling the situation that way had been rather satisfying. I would have to thank SJ later for the advice.

For now though, my attention was drawn to the interior of the bathroom, which turned out to be an even brighter shade of yellow than the hallway I’d left behind. This bright paint emphasized the warm glow of the golden, seashell-shaped towel racks and sinks at the center of the room, giving me the overall feeling that it was daytime rather than night.

I proceeded to turn on one of the sink’s faucets and clean myself up—splashing water on my face and rinsing out the sticky redness from my hair. After a few moments, I felt a light gust of cold air and the scent of the ocean against my face. I glanced over my shoulder and saw an open window in the corner—its silk curtains fluttering in the breeze of the outside world just beyond. I turned off the tap and walked over to it curiously.

Interesting . . .