The Swan's Wish

Awkward

I drank in the blue of his uniform against the olive of his skin. His golden cords and decorations were pristine against his shoulders and chest. I hated that I was impressed. My study did not go unnoticed. Catching my observation, he lowered his lid, letting a sly wink escape his green, heavily lashed eye. T​he audacity! I could feel the flush of fury coloring my cheeks and creeping down my neck. His eyes never broke from mine as he answered the flurry of questions my mother was quickly asking.

F​inallly breaking away to give her full command of his attention, I stilled my breathing. What was Derek of Denmark doing HERE?!? What did this mean? The butterflies in my stomach fluttered into a full panic. I was only 17! Surely they weren't moving up the deadline this early! Pressing a hand to my abdomen, I let out a deep breath. Just get through the evening, chided my inner voice. I'll find out soon enough.

"​Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests," called the boom of the overhead speaker. "Please make way to your seats."

This was the break I needed. Three hours of droning speeches to lull the tingling that had started in my scalp. Every time my nerves took over, I was an itching mess, and hives were really not that photogenic. Taking the last remaining steps to the door, I was greeted by an usher. "Your H-highness," he stammered, the pen to his tablet shaking between his fingers. "Right this way," a dramatic swoop of his arm meant to lead me in the right direction, but about made contact with my forehead. "S-sorry, ma'am." He gulped visibly, his body trembling as he retracted his arm back to his side.

B​ehind us, Derek snickered. "It's quite all right," I muttered. "Happens to the best of us." I pasted the most brilliant smile across my face, directing it at the usher, determined not to let Prince-poofy-pants see me unsettled. I carefully replaced the hair that my mother had pulled down earlier, pushing it back to match the rest of my updo. Derek made me more nervous than I liked to admit. His presence held an air of authority that most princes didn't achieve until adulthood--without the added annoyance of arrogant mischief.

B​ut...Derek. He naturally charged the atmosphere. His kind eyes were trained on the usher, carefully watching his every move. For a moment, I didn't know if I should feel flattered that there was concern for me, or aggravated since it was Derek's disposition to be curious about everything.

I​ still couldn't believe he was here! The last time I'd had the pleasure of interacting with the tortured soul was...years ago. I had been all of seven, and our families were vacationing together on the beaches of Mustique. He had been every bit the little boy that little girls loathe. Splashing salt water in my eyes, chasing me with rocks and sticks, and teasing me endlessly about my fear of the water. If I had known then what I know now, I would have given it right back to him. Times ten.

O​f course then, he'd been a scrawny yappy thing with freckles that patterned his skin from nose to nape. Now, he was tall, muscular, broad, and... Hmm. I cleared my throat. It didn't matter what he looked like now. I was destined to hate him.

And his goreous physique.

"​Here, ma'am." The usher brushed my seat with his handkerchief before allowing me to sit.

"​That's not necessary," I breathed, mortified. "This bottom has sat in several unseemly places. A bit of dust will not harm me." I beamed at him, happy to see his guffawing response. Derek nearly choked.

Shooting him a withering look, I was happy to settle into my seat AWAY from him when, behold! The man seating Derek swept a hand to the chair adjacent to mine.

I​ kept cool as his body made contact with the plush chair, noting the smug expression fit to his face. "This is shaping up to be a lovely evening," I murmured. Of all places he could have sat. Of all places they would WANT his face to appear, they had to sit him back here. Comfortable as a crow, his legs sprawled, their length a challenge to the petite viewing chairs we were to occupy. His knee flopped, his whole leg's weight propped against my thigh. Huffing, I pushed his knee back a respectful distance, loudly clearing my throat.

He twisted to address me. "I say, you are in a FOUL mood tonight, Odette. Care to share what's got you wound up?" His back was erect, his shoulders back, but his knee flopped back to its comfortable spot, rubbing my skirts. That half grin picked up the corner of his mouth. "You're eyes are just as blue as I remember them," He quietly ascertained. I felt my cheeks color anew.

"​I am not wound up!" I snapped, trying my best not to alert anyone to my dismay. "I take it you are as happy as I am about being here." I flung him another dark look, daring him to disagree with me.

"​Oh," he hummed. "You have no idea." A finger came to pull his shirt from his throat, his mouth puckering over the words. He was silent for a moment, neither of us wishing to pursue the conversation by my estimation. The lights were flickering, alerting everyone to hurry to their seats.

What was there to say? We were both stuck here. We were stuck together--whether we liked it or not--for several different reasons. It wasn't his fault that I hated him. He really had nothing to do with it. It was the day my parents had informed me of my future "arrangements" that I had decided to bypass any fondness for him. Their insistance that I spend time with him was really where my irritation lay.

I​ wanted to pick my own friends. I wanted to pick my own lovers! They had tried, unsuccessfully, to rope us into several different situations where we were sure to appreciciate the other. I had, successfully, managed to elude every one of those times.

Fake measles, fake mumphs, fake pox... you named it, I had replicated it. Flu? Cold? Bronchitis? Walking pneumonia? All acquired.

S​till, he looked forlorn. Frowning, I wasn't sure what the better course of action was. Engage, or ignore?

F​eeling a sudden burst of impishness, I elbowed his arm. "I saw that cover of you and Brahmly on "Royalty Today"." My eyebrows waggled up a notch. "Care to fill me in on what you were thinking?" I didn't dare paraphrase the article for him. It was a tell-all that some scamp had no doubt spun about he and Brahmly stealing a car belonging to the British Ambassador, and speeding through the Danish countryside.

H​is face dropped, his jaw working back and forth. "It's too long a story to get into here," he whispered. Almost regretfully, I could tell I'd hit a nerve perfectly on the head.

"​Well, maybe after--"

"​No," he interrupted. "It's really not worth retelling." His thumbs twiddled for a few brief seconds. "So, I suppose they haven't told you the news..." His sentence hung as he reached to pull a piece of tulle between his thumb and index finger.

M​y head shaking, I wanted to tell him that very little of my own life was discussed with me. "No, I'm afraid not."

"​Welcome to the BAFTA awards, everyone!" The host announced from the stage.

"​After." I stated, looking him directly in the eye. "Don't forget."

*​***********************

H​e had forgotten, and I hadn't cared. What pictures weren't taken of us before the awards were definitely taken after. My mother was escorted out of the ceremony before it was over, leaving me to beg Thomas into letting me skip the last few minutes to get home. I didn't want to go to the after parties. I didn't want to drink or answer questions or give my opinions. I simply wanted to be in my bed.

Six o'clock came earlier than I wanted it to, which it always did, and it was days like this that I wanted nothing more than to be normal. "We can't choose what life we're born into, Odette," I mimicked my mother's and father's voices. "But we can control with what effectiveness we lend our service to those around, and that we do with excellence."

E​xcellence. Excellence. Excellence. It was all I strove for in this hot mess life I lived. Excellence. Strength. Poise. Dance.

M​y tights were on, my leg warmers in place, my leotard clean, and my head clear. This was the first year I'd been allowed to live on campus away from the family, and I was determined not to make a mess of anything. I had been overly diligent keeping my schedule and contacting my parents through their assistants so as to not draw any undo attention to myself and be banished back to the morgue that Buckingham Palace was for me.

H​ere, I did as I pleased. There were no maids coming in and out at all hours, primping, cleaning, and checking. There was no running down of the daily schedule with the family, answering to the public, or being appraised of daily news articles that appeared EVERYWHERE that I would need to be prepped for. There was the comfort of privacy and obscurity that I coveted, and now enjoyed to an extent. People knew me, but didn't crowd me. People expected of me, but didn't control me.

Here, I still had Thomas, but he was dutiful to appear exactly when needed, and never more than that. I wasn't swarmed with armed guard upon every entry and exit from the doors I resided within. Here, I reveled in doing my own laundry, and tasting microwavable foods. I loved being able to read without cause and do homework on my own schedule.

H​ere, I didn't have to make 4 o'clock tea times between rehearsals, or dress for dinner when the studio was still calling my name.

H​ere, I was simply "Odette." Not, "Your Royal Highness."

T​hat was the list that filled my heart with gratitude as I walked the long halls every morning on the way to the practice studios with the other dancers. That is what I focused on. I didn't know how much time I would be allowed here, and I was determined to revel in every moment of it, wrapped in the dance community with every ounce of affection reserved in my soul.

I​ threw my bag against the wall, taking my place at the barre and commencing my Plie.

"​You sure look like something the cat dragged in," Margot Anjou piped from beside me. "Long night? Those circles under your eyes don't lie." Her finger came up to trace their outline in the air, her words doing nothing but pulling a sigh from between my lips.

"​I didn't get home until well past midnight," I informed her. "I had to sit through the b****y BAFTA awards. Don't!" I warned before she was even able to ask. "I don't remember a thing."

"​I didn't receive an invitation." She pouted. "I'm from the House of Anjou! And nothing for me in the mail. My life is so boring." She flipped her silky auburn locks up into a bun.

"​No it isn't," I groaned, sinking down into my stretch. "You're lucky," I breathed, touching my fingers to the floor before swooping them over my head. "And," I hesitated. "I haven't even told you the worst part."

S​he eyed me curiously. "Hurry, before Madeleine and Oliva get here," she urged. "I hate sharing gossip with them."

R​olling my eyes, I studied my form in the mirror. "Tendu first," I whispered, placing my feet. "My mother pulled another one of her stunts and had me seated next to Derek. I don't actually know if I've mentioned him or not." I concentrated on my breathing for a moment, not comfortable with how tired the mirror was making me look this morning. My hair was slick, my body clean, but there was something about my body that projected how tired my muscles were.

T​he shocked expression on her face said otherwise. "You mean, THE Derek? The one from Denmark that you're...?" Her eyes were bigger than her head, her mouth slightly agape.

"​Yes," I forced. "That one."

"​Oh. My. Goodness." She squealed. "Does this mean...?" She let the sentence hang as several other students filed in to the room, her eyes searching my face.

"​I'm not entirely sure what it means." I rubbed my calf, hoping the blood would flow freely today. The lights were blaring too brightly, and the chatter was echoing off the walls. I could feel a headache approaching.

C​lap! Clap! Clap! "To your places," Madame Danilova circled the room. "And, begin!"