As I near her, our eyes lock. Her glossy red hair is intricately styled, adorned with buttermilk yellow flowers, and held up by thin silver pins. She looks familiar, but I don't remember ever meeting her. She sinks down into a deep curtsy. "Your Imperial Highness." I do a small curtsy. “Miss Elizabeth—?” “Montague, ma’am.” "A Montague? Are they not extreme loyalists? What would happen if anyone found out?" "Most likely execution," she says flippantly. "But my family knows. All of the Montagues are rebels, ma’am." "Really? I never knew that." I respond, my eyes wide. "If I may, it's not really the kind of thing you make known." "Oh, of course. My apologies, Miss Montague." "There’s really no need for the apology nor the title,” Elizabeth says with a smile. “Did you like the dress?” I pause, and say, “It’s beautiful.” She notices my hesitation however, and her eyebrows raise. “You did not answer the question, your Highness.” “It is beautiful. You put so much hard work into it, and I should love it, but I just can’t. I can’t. I mean no offense to you.” The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I manage to keep my voice down. “And I take none, ma’am. Calm down, please. You’ll draw attention to us, and the last thing we need is more suspicion.” She looks around the room. “In fact, we should cut this conversation short before it does become suspicious.” "Before you go, if your whole family hates the royals, why are you so close to them?" "You know what they say," she says, her smile returns. "Keep your friends close—" Before she can finish, her eyes flit behind me and she turns away. "—And your enemies closer," a new voice finishes. +++ I spin around, quickly masking my surprise, and I see a young man with auburn hair. He bows. “Your Imperial Highness. I'm Miss Montague’s brother. Frederick Montague." "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montague." I say, curtsying and holding out my arm. He presses his lips to my black gloves, and asks, “Would you care to dance, your Highness?” "Of course." He holds out his arm, and I take his elbow. We join the other nobles in a waltz I’ve done a million times. "Why would Miss Montague run off like that?" His smile is strained. "We are not on the best of terms lately.” "How unfortunate," I say, and leave it at that, not wanting to press into private matters. As we dance, Elizabeth is watching me, and her eyes are hard. Jealous, perhaps? I'm not sure why. "Do you have any messages, ma’am?" Frederick says, knocking me out of my daze. "Pardon?" "Messages. To, ah, You-Know-Who." "No, not really. I am visiting in two weeks, but they have been informed already." "Excellent. Could I be so forward as to ask you a favor?" "Of course. What is it?" "It's my sister, Miss Montague. Could you make her a Maid in Waiting?” I raise my eyebrows. “I thought it was common knowledge that I don’t want any.” “It’s just that…well, she has always wanted to be a designer at the palace, but a woman of her rank cannot be a seamstress.” He pauses, and then continues, “And, of course, communication will be easier than ever. No one would question why she is bringing messages, and we won’t have to rely on the maidservants.” "That sounds like a wonderful plan! I'll inform my mother tomorrow." He gives a curt nod. “And I’ll inform Miss Montague. She’ll arrive in two days’ time.” The song ends, and he escorts me to the side. I extend out my hand, yet again, and, with a bow, he kisses it. “Until we meet again, your Highness.” That was the last I saw of him that night. My mother was right yet again: the night was indeed long, but it flashed by for me in a whirl of old nobles and conversations on the latest fashions. My plans were finally coming together. I was on track to right the wrongs of my parents.
As I near her, our eyes lock. Her glossy red hair is intricately styled, adorned with buttermilk yellow flowers, and held up by thin silver pins. She looks familiar, but I don't remember ever meeting her.
She sinks down into a deep curtsy. "Your Imperial Highness."
I do a small curtsy. “Miss Elizabeth—?”
“Montague, ma’am.”
"A Montague? Are they not extreme loyalists? What would happen if anyone found out?"
"Most likely execution," she says flippantly. "But my family knows. All of the Montagues are rebels, ma’am."
"Really? I never knew that." I respond, my eyes wide.
"If I may, it's not really the kind of thing you make known."
"Oh, of course. My apologies, Miss Montague."
"There’s really no need for the apology nor the title,” Elizabeth says with a smile. “Did you like the dress?”
I pause, and say, “It’s beautiful.” She notices my hesitation however, and her eyebrows raise.
“You did not answer the question, your Highness.”
“It is beautiful. You put so much hard work into it, and I should love it, but I just can’t. I can’t. I mean no offense to you.” The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I manage to keep my voice down.
“And I take none, ma’am. Calm down, please. You’ll draw attention to us, and the last thing we need is more suspicion.” She looks around the room. “In fact, we should cut this conversation short before it does become suspicious.”
"Before you go, if your whole family hates the royals, why are you so close to them?"
"You know what they say," she says, her smile returns. "Keep your friends close—" Before she can finish, her eyes flit behind me and she turns away.
"—And your enemies closer," a new voice finishes.
+++
I spin around, quickly masking my surprise, and I see a young man with auburn hair.
He bows. “Your Imperial Highness. I'm Miss Montague’s brother. Frederick Montague."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montague." I say, curtsying and holding out my arm.
He presses his lips to my black gloves, and asks, “Would you care to dance, your Highness?”
"Of course."
He holds out his arm, and I take his elbow. We join the other nobles in a waltz I’ve done a million times.
"Why would Miss Montague run off like that?"
His smile is strained. "We are not on the best of terms lately.”
"How unfortunate," I say, and leave it at that, not wanting to press into private matters.
As we dance, Elizabeth is watching me, and her eyes are hard. Jealous, perhaps? I'm not sure why.
"Do you have any messages, ma’am?" Frederick says, knocking me out of my daze.
"Pardon?"
"Messages. To, ah, You-Know-Who."
"No, not really. I am visiting in two weeks, but they have been informed already."
"Excellent. Could I be so forward as to ask you a favor?"
"Of course. What is it?"
"It's my sister, Miss Montague. Could you make her a Maid in Waiting?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I thought it was common knowledge that I don’t want any.”
“It’s just that…well, she has always wanted to be a designer at the palace, but a woman of her rank cannot be a seamstress.” He pauses, and then continues, “And, of course, communication will be easier than ever. No one would question why she is bringing messages, and we won’t have to rely on the maidservants.”
"That sounds like a wonderful plan! I'll inform my mother tomorrow."
He gives a curt nod. “And I’ll inform Miss Montague. She’ll arrive in two days’ time.”
The song ends, and he escorts me to the side. I extend out my hand, yet again, and, with a bow, he kisses it. “Until we meet again, your Highness.”
That was the last I saw of him that night.
My mother was right yet again: the night was indeed long, but it flashed by for me in a whirl of old nobles and conversations on the latest fashions. My plans were finally coming together. I was on track to right the wrongs of my parents.