Protagonist Bound (21 page)

“Yeah, but—Ahhh!”

I spun around just in time to see Marie toppling over. Her heel had broken and she was now sitting on the ground in a purple, mushroom-shaped compression of her massive, floofy dress.

I helped the fallen princess up again. Marie took off her heels and held them in her right hand as we made our way back toward the ballroom. Alas, when we arrived at the west doors I’d exited from, I jiggled the handles only to discover they were locked.

“Now what are we supposed to do?” Marie whimpered.

“We’ll have to find another entrance. Let’s try this way,” I said, gesturing to my right. “I think this other corridor might lead to the east wing. We can enter through there.”

Marie nodded and followed my lead into the next hallway.

Several staircases, a foyer, and a sketchy wax figurine exhibit later, Marie and I eventually found ourselves in a small observatory. It was pretty dark, but the circular ceiling was glass just like the one in the ballroom so we had the glow of the moon to illuminate our way.

Unlike the ballroom, however, instead of candles, this room was filled with maps of stars and cloud formations. And, in lieu of a spacious dance floor, in the middle of the space sat a large, copper telescope that gleamed in the moonlight like lost treasure.

The metallic, majestic thing was magnificent. But what really caused my eyes to light up was the sight of a very different discovery just beyond the beautiful instrument. On the other side of the room was a door with an actual castle directory!

I cantered up to the helpful, unexpected door hanging and learned we only needed take that door, two flights of stairs, and a hard left turn to arrive at the east wing entrance of the ballroom.

Perfect!
I thought to myself as I swung the door open.

“Crisa!”

Not perfect.

Mauvrey was standing at the opposite end of the observatory atop the staircase we’d just ascended. Her blonde hair was a straggly mess and her purple dress dragged soggily on the floor. The seriousness of hatred and—no doubt—thirst for revenge in her eyes was only detracted by the droplets of water that comically dripped off her nose and onto the floor.

She appeared to be alone, but I stepped in front of Marie protectively all the same.

“Hey, Mauvrey. Where’d your hench-girls get off to?”

“We split up to find you,” she answered.

“Well, you found me,” I said firmly. “Now if I were you, I would turn around and pretend like you didn’t.”

“Or what?” Mauvrey hissed.

It was actually an interesting question. I didn’t have my wand. And even if I did, I wasn’t about to
battle
Mauvrey. That would’ve been ridiculous. We may have been mortal enemies, but I would’ve never actually hurt her. I drew the line of our rivalry at combat as I assumed she did. That is, when she didn’t have Big Girtha around to do her bidding anyways.

“Or . . .” I started to say as I rubbed the back of my neck and stalled, scanning my brain for an idea.

But, as it turned out, for once I didn’t need one.

From behind Mauvrey a seagull suddenly bolted up from the stairwell toward the dome of the observatory. He was dark in shade (aside from his bright, golden eyes) and his abrupt appearance startled Mauvrey just as much as it did me and Marie. The only difference was that my nemesis’s surprise was greatly extended when the seagull swooped back around and dive-bombed in her direction.

“ARGH!” Mauvrey screeched.

She swatted at the seagull with one hand and tried to protect her head with the other. But it was no use; the bird would not leave her alone. He pecked at her hair, her arms, her dress—eventually causing her to flee back down the stairs shrieking as she attempted to escape its torment.

Now
that
I really didn’t see coming.

Marie shot me a shocked expression. “Did you do that?”

I snorted. “Please. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

We both took advantage of this stroke of luck and proceeded on our way. Soon after (thanks to the directory’s guidance), we arrived at the set of grand doors we’d been pursuing.

I began to go for their thick, brass handles, but Marie grabbed my arm before I could reach them. “Crisa, I am not sure I can go back in there.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Marie plopped down on a bronze bench nearby and let out a weary sigh. “My shoes, they are broken. And just look at my dress; it is bustled in the front so you can completely see my bare feet. You know the rules of female protagonist gatherings—no skirt, no shoes, no service. Lady Agnue will put me on princess probation and kick me out of the ball on sight. That is, if the other princesses do not turn on me and toss me out themselves first.”

“Marie, I think you’re being a bit overdramatic. The other princesses aren’t going to throw you out because you don’t look the part.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Well, I’m a princess and I don’t care.”

“Yes, but you are not a
good
princess, Crisa.”

I stopped for a second, surprised by the bluntness of her statement. I was a tad insulted and slightly taken aback but mostly, I felt sad because a part of me realized that she might’ve been right. Whether she was or not though, no sooner did the comment escape her lips did remorse and realization streak across Marie’s face.

“Oh, Crisa! I am so sorry! I did not mean that. I was not thinking. I am—”

“Marie,” I said, cutting her off. “It’s fine. Really. I’m over it.”

I forced a smile and gestured for her to hand me the ruined heels. Her face was still rosy with embarrassment from being so candid, so her eyes darted away from mine. Nevertheless, she obliged and gave me the damaged footwear.

At first I considered breaking off the second shoe’s heel and fashioning a makeshift pair of flats. Although upon further inspection I understood that there would’ve been no way to even out the broken heels and prevent a twisted ankle. Maybe if we had been in one of the other hallways I could’ve used a sword from one of the suits of armor to file it down. But there were no suits of armor in this hall; just more of those stupid, coral-themed art sculptures.

Then I had a thought. Before Marie could object I sat beside her, lifted the massive skirt of my dress, untied my fancy, heeled boots, and then set them on her lap. “There,” I said. “One pair of heels. At least technically anyways.”

“What, what about you?” Marie stammered.

“I’ve got other boots in my suitcase upstairs. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I mean, what about you
right now
. If you give these to me then it will be you who does not have shoes for the rest of the ball.”

“Oh, please. My mother once danced on glass. I’m sure I can handle a few hours in bare feet.” I shrugged.

She stared at me, still processing. “Crisa, are you sure?”

“Marie, take them. My dress is long enough to cover my feet so Lady Agnue will never be the wiser. And if any of the other princesses give me trouble, well, I’ll see if that seagull’s still flying around here somewhere and get him to pay them a visit.”

Marie put the boots down and paused for a moment. Then she gave me a huge hug that I didn’t think such a fragile-looking girl was capable of.

Never underestimate the infinite power of a good pair of boots, I guess.

I let Marie re-enter the ball a few minutes ahead of me so that we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves by sneaking back in together.

As a result, I found myself alone again and absentmindedly fiddling with the thank you present she’d just gifted to me. Marie had felt so guilty about taking my boots that she’d insisted upon my taking a small token of her gratitude in return. That token had been a pearl bracelet she’d been wearing. It was a bit too fancy and delicate for my taste, but it was lovely, and it was nice of her to offer.

Truth be told though, as I toyed with the accessory my mind wasn’t so much reflecting on the sheen of its pearls as it was on what Marie had said:

“But you are not a
good
princess, Crisa.”

Marie was sweet, and harmless, and my friend. I knew she hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings and was probably going to be beating herself up about it for the rest of the night. Even so, that didn’t change the fact that her comment had struck a chord. I found myself still trying to shake off the feelings of self-doubt it had caused as I re-entered the ballroom several minutes later.

I supposed it was silly for me to be upset about the remark. I mean, sure I was not a good princess in the traditional sense. I couldn’t sing or dance well, or curtsy unsarcastically. Princes repelled me. Balls bored me. My hands were covered in calluses from sword fighting. And my candor was frank, brass, and without restraint.

But does that really mean that I am not a good princess at all?

I sincerely hoped it didn’t. Contrary to what some of my rebellious protests might have indicated, as I’d told Lady Agnue at the start of the semester, I was not opposed to being a princess. I was simply against the idea that it was the only thing I could be. I was fighting to be something
more
, not necessarily something
else
.

But, at the end of the day I was as unsure whether or not that obstinate fighting would make a difference in my chances of becoming something more—of becoming a true hero—as I was about whether having the title, birth right, and a decade-and-a-half of breeding made me a true princess.

According to my headmistress, Mauvrey, Marie, and the rest of the world, it seemed there was a pretty good chance that it didn’t.

“Something wrong?” SJ asked as I rejoined her and Blue.

I swallowed the internal conflict for another day and shrugged. “No more than usual.” Then I saw Daniel making his way over to us with Jason and I grimaced. “On second thought . . .”

Daniel and Jason snaked their way through the crowded ballroom. As they approached, I had to admit that they both looked fairly dapper this evening. That is, Jason did at least. Daniel, well, he was Daniel. So I really couldn’t say the same about him without adding an eye roll or some other hint of snark.

We all exchanged hellos when the boys reached us. Everyone except Daniel and I of course. The two of us just exchanged nods of acknowledgement.

“You look . . . nice, Knight,” he added afterwards.

“Um, thank you,” I said suspiciously.

I presumed that he couldn’t say anything nice about me without adding his own brand of snark either. However, when he didn’t add any more commentary, I cautiously garnered that he was being for real. As such, I forced myself to choke out the necessary—not totally untrue—reply.

“You look nice too, I guess,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly.

I avoided Daniel’s uncomfortable gaze then and turned in the direction of the dance floor. In doing so I spotted something—or rather someone—more unpleasant. Chance. He was barely twenty feet away and headed straight toward me, no doubt intent on asking me to dance.

Oh, heck no.

I really was not in the mood to humor his ego a second time tonight.

He was getting closer.

My eyes widened and in panic I averted my gaze from Chance to the nearest available human person who might’ve trumped his company.

“Daniel,” I heard myself say before common sense could stop it. “Ask me to dance.”

He smirked. “What?”

“Just shut up and ask me to dance.” I glanced behind him and saw Chance picking up speed. “Now, please.”

Daniel turned to see what was freaking me out so badly. When he saw Chance, he struggled to conceal his laughter. “Ah, got it. Fine then,” he said as he proceeded to bow overdramatically. “Crisanta Knight, will you do me the honor of this dance?”

My friends snickered. But I nodded quickly, grabbed Daniel’s hand, and pulled him onto the dance floor—shooting the frustrated prince a triumphant grin.

Ha! Not today punk!

“So I guess I’m not your least favorite person in the realm,” Daniel said as we began to move to the rhythm of the music.

“No,” I responded flatly. “But you’re a solid third.”

He turned me.

“Dang, coming in third sucks,” he countered. “I guess I’ll have to step it up then. Now you’ve got me curious though. If that tool’s number one, who’s number two?”

“Do you know who Mauvrey Weatherall is?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows who Mauvrey Weatherall is. Whether they want to or not.”

“Very true.” I nodded in agreement as I box-stepped backwards. “Well, anyways, I really didn’t feel like spending more time with Mr. Prince Alarming over there. So, well, I guess, um . . . uh. . .”

Daniel smirked at my flusteredness. “Are you trying to thank me?” he asked.

“Thank you?”

“Yeah, for saving you back there.”

I felt like a small blood vessel burst in my brain at the insulting words.

“Let’s not make a habit of it,” I grumbled.

“Agreed,” Daniel responded, not noticing the fury I was holding back.

“Why did you ask
me
to dance anyway?” he wondered aloud as we swayed. “I mean, why didn’t you just ask Jason?”