Blaire falls to her knees with a subtle thud. The crowd, along with the Crown Prince, gasp at the suddenness, quite aghast.
"Come on sir, let me wash it for you? Please?! And honestly, it doesn't even look that bad, you know. If you've to donate it to a museum, that just looks Art Deco! Artsy, if you may. Like a splash of colour in plain white, representing your glorious existence amidst us, the plain masses. Since it is threaded with platinum, it represents how you consider your subjects – the subjects threading this empire into a fabric of success – as immeasurable resources. The diamonds represent the nobility, elegantly laid out, not only giving grace to the empire's outlook but also function," she points at the buttons and cufflinks, "I think this imagery itself is inspiring and would push people to the museum and tenfold the sales!" Blaire rambles, bullshitting her way through like an Art theory paper.
The Crown Prince stands stunned amidst a silent crowd.
Until, he utters, "Are you trying to scam me?" with a frown.
"What! No! I would never!" Blaire huffs.
"Then pay me 16 billion," the crown prince enunciates, eyeing her maniacally.
"Silas, stop bullying the lottery girl. Don't you have better things to do?" a voice interrupts the very one-sided conversation.
Heads whip sideways and Blaire gasps upon seeing the man whom she was trying to run away from. Somehow it is even more embarrassing when handsome men come to your defence for your own dumb faults!
"Bullying?!" Silas gasps, exasperation glaring through his gaze, "Me? This is hardly bullying, Dorian. I'm sure you would know."
Blaire feels a mass of cold air pass over her as Silas' words reach Dorian. A shiver runs down her spine.
"And I assure you that the Queen of Bersileron is benevolent enough to not demand soul ripping compensations for human errors." Dorian uttered, voice deep yet mocking.
"Of course, you would know the queen like the back of your hand," Silas snickered. "Still, it is odd for you to be standing up for…" his piercing gaze looks down on Blaire, "…your kind." He huffs out a smirk.
Dorian clenches his jaw and takes a swing at Silas. The crowd gasps. Silas evades with a quick sway. Blaire is still on the ground, threatening close to being stepped on by the violent men. She takes it as an opportunity to slip away, only for Courtney to pull her up by the back of her dress.
"Your Highness! I'm afraid your culprit is running away! Punish her to show her and people like her their rightful place!"
Woah Courtney, bold words, Blaire thinks, gaze shuffling between a pleased Silas and a scowling Dorian.
"Why thank you! I surely must!" Silas grins, sinister, dimpled, charismatic. It'd make for a charming sculpture, Blaire thinks.
"Jumping around, aren't you De Marlo, as if you're any different." Dorian spits.
Paled, Courtney lets go of Blaire's dress. She's scrambling for words as she huffs and puffs, "I—I just, I just think that the wrongdoers must be brought to justice!"
What?!
Blaire frowns, "You make me sound like a murderer!"
"A hope murderer!" Courtney snaps.
A strong lull overtakes the crowd. Oh my…she's the head girl? Blaire cringes, face visibly wincing.
"I believe we're straying away from the matter at hand." Silas interjects, nose squirmed.
"Straying indeed," Dorian chides, eyeing Blaire.
Another shiver runs down Blaire's spine as she forces her gaze away from him.
"Why don't you keep to yourself, Dorian?" Silas snaps.
"Why don't you choose decency for once, Silas?" Dorian grits.
They inch closer, facing each other, fists at the ready.
"I declare—"
"Shut up, oh my heaven!" a woman's voice interrupts what could have been a full-blown royal fight or a gay make-out session.
Entertaining eitherway, Blaire sings in her head.
"Malory," Silas addresses her as she makes her way through the crowd.
She's a tall woman with raven curls cascading down her waist and a gait that floats over the ballroom floors. Her face radiates; her voice demands authority and her presence commands attention.
Is she a royal?
"President," Courtney addresses, curtsying.
The woman does not pass a glance at her. Instead, she floats into a curtsey towards Silas. The crown prince nods, accepting her bow and its gesture enough for her to walk closer and slot herself in between the men. She's facing Blaire and Courtney, mostly Courtney, as she says, "As the Head Girl, you should be protecting your people, not throwing them under. If you wear the crown, you must honour its integrity, De Marlo."
Courtney grits her teeth and falls into a ninety-degree-bow, "My apologies!"
"You!" Malory turns and snaps at Dorian. "As the Head Boy, you must not pass jibes at your co-captain. It is your chivalry to uphold the integrity of a woman and a matter of commonsense to employ direct language while meeting a troubling conversation. And you must never question the Crown Prince, am I clear?"
"Yes," Dorian sighs, sounding bored.
"And you, Your Highness," Malory all but spits, "Do not cross your older brother. Family feuds are not to be engaged in public spaces, especially Royal family feuds. Do you understand?"
"Yeah…yeah, yeah," Silas exhales, stretching his arms to avoid looking her in the eye.
"And you!" Malory turns to face Blaire. The surprised ravenette jolts to stand straight and a small frown greets Malory's forehead, "No action goes without consequence, no mistake goes without accountability and repentance."
"Yes, of course! Thank you!" Blaire copies Courtney's bow, earnestly.
Malory's amethyst eyes widen at the sudden movement and she takes a step back. "Dish out a punishment for her and dissipate the crowd," Malory orders Silas.
"Ah, yes, punishment," Silas utters, "Meet me in front of boys' dormitory, tomorrow morning, 7:30 sharp!" there's a giddiness in his eyes that Blaire couldn't shake off for the rest of her night.
Malory signals the orchestra to consume the masses and pulls Dorian by his hand to lead the dancefloor. Courtney elbows Blaire out of the way and lunges in the Crown Prince's direction and Blaire takes it occasion enough to disappear into the crowd.
It was a pity that no one seemed to the touch the food for the majority of the evening, until Silas helped himself with a piece of cake. Only then did the crowd hoard the buffet like a starving herd of cattle left alone on a green pasture.
Amidst the initial hustle and bustle, Blaire is pulled to the side by two respectable looking ladies.
"Hello, I am Iyla," a ravenette greets, locking her arms with Blaire's left hand.
"Greetings, I am Harriet Casano, daughter of Baron Casano," the blonde greets, "May we lock hands, if you permit?"
"Oh--!" Blaire utters, quite stupefied, "Yes please…why not?" she sniffles, dejectedly eyeing the food as her stomach grumbles.
Harriet takes liberties with Blaire's right arm and introduces, "We happen to be your roommates."
"Oh!" Blaire's eyes widen with giddiness.
"Perchance." Iyla adds with a snort.
"You cannot just say perchance, Illy!" Harriet snaps.
"Ha-Ha! That was me trying to sound posh like you!" Iyla laughs out loud. Her joy revibrates through her chest and her boisterous laugh reminds Blaire of Maisie.
"Iyla, you are the daughter of the biggest businessman in the East. You are posh. You don't have to pretend to talk like me," Harriet chides.
"Yes, but I'm not nobility! The daughter of a Baron! I'm just Iyla!"
"Are you mocking my introduction?!" Harriet gasps, in controlled rage.
Blaire has a feeling that she's invisible while being physically attached between two people. Strange. Her stomach rumbles for food.
"Oh look! Lotto girl is hungry; bet you didn't eat all day!" Iyla points a finger at Blaire's stomach.
Blaire shakes her head, embarrassed, "Not at all!"
"Anybody would be hungry after surviving a three-way feud. How did you manage to make a stone stand up for you? Like seriously, I've never seen Dorian speak before or even lift a muscle more than walking. He's a stone, I thought. You could push him in the ocean and he would drown," Iyla snorts.
"No way, for real?" Blaire questions, surprise etching her tone, "I didn't do anything, I promise. I was just standing there and he was bubbling for no reason!"
"Maybe it is because you caused harm to the crown prince," Harriet whispers, a scandal brewing in her tone.
"Caused harm," Blaire cries, "You make it sound like I stabbed him."
"Might as well have." Iyla shakes her head, "No body wants to be in a six-meter proximity to him—well, anybody but Courtney. She's been floundering for him ever since day one!"
"Blimey! She likes the Crown Prince?" Harriet gasps, frowning.
"Is it not obvious?" Blaire snorts.
"See, she gets it!" Iyla pats Blaire's back.
"But…" Harriet pouts, "Understandable. I guess we shall be rivals from now on."
"Huh?"
"Harriet wants to marry into higher nobility or even royalty in order to sustain her family's wealth," Iyla explains.
"Oh… that makes sense." Blaire utters, frowning. "Is it that easy?"
"Not at all," Harriet grimaces, "I've been trying to get close to him ever since royal prep but it's like he walks with literal walls around him."
"That's why I'm only here for the vibes," Iyla flips her hair, "Come along, ditch the party. Dinner's on me."
"What? We're allowed to do that?" Blaire gasps.
"Illy must know best, I've gathered. She's a senior afterall. I've decided to follow her," Harriet whispers.
"Good decision. You'd never be at a loss with me," Iyla grins, "Now, tell me all you wanna eat! Blaire gets to choose first because she's gonna face hell tomorrow."
In as quick as ten minutes, Blaire was adopted by one extrovert whom she couldn't be more grateful to. Yet, the word hell buzzed her mind all night long.