at the ball [for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sextus]
Oct. 9th, 2023 02:56 pmDulcinea Septimus, Duchess of Rhodes, is well familiar with the notion of a courtship ball. She hasn’t previously attended any (unless you were to count the time she sneaked into her aunt Isabeau’s as a child and twirled gleefully in a corner until she fell into a coughing fit and was discovered by her disgruntled nanny) but they’re a common trope in novels, particularly cheap romances, and for all that she lacks in personal experience she makes up for in encyclopedic knowledge of tawdry fiction. The coy glances from behind fans, the coquettish sips of champagne, the dances used to communicate things that words simply couldn’t - it’s all terribly intoxicating.
Her first (and likely only) real experience with one both is and isn’t what the stories make it out to be.
Prince Kiriona Gaia, Her Divine Highness, only daughter of the Emperor Undying and wannabe rake, is the system’s most eligible bachelor. Prince Kiriona Gaia is also one of Dulcie’s closest friends. She’s the only person who’s been allowed to regularly visit Dulcie from off-world, because nobody feels they can deny their God’s progeny (and because she’s always been resoundingly healthy and therefore not a danger), and now, after years of begging, she’s the first person to convince the family to allow Dulcie to travel off-world herself, with the intent of attending Kiriona’s own courtship ball.
Nobody expects their Duchess to actually win the Prince’s hand, thankfully. She’s far too fragile to serve as a proper consort, she’s a good few years the Prince’s senior. But she’s one of Kiriona’s confidantes, exactly the type of maiden aunt you’d want around to help judge possible suitors (and isn’t that another familiar trope?) and exactly the type of person who deserves at least one beautiful night reveling in the splendor of the First House, and what can it hurt, really? If something should go wrong, not only Kiriona but the Nine Houses’ other necromantic heirs will be present to help, and - well, Dulcie has decided it’s worth the risk. Part of this is because Kiri asked so nicely, and it is awfully difficult to deny her. Part of this is because Dulcie, at the tender age of twenty-seven, would rather die enjoying herself than languishing away in an ivory tower.
Part of this is because, given the fact that the other necromancers and their retinues are the ones on the guest list, it means that Dulcinea will finally, hopefully, possibly, be able to meet her beloveds from the Sixth.
Kiri knows this, too. She’s heard the entire tale of their long-distance friendship-turned-courtship, both from Dulcie and from Palamedes, and she’s done her best to encourage it. She’s part of the reason that Dulcinea has allowed herself to consider the possibility of the relationship at all: if anyone can change the rules for you, it’s the daughter of God.
(And sure, Kiri has also said, with that smirk that says she’s joking but not entirely, that if things with the Sixth were different, she’d gladly marry Dulcie herself. She’d take care of her until the end, whenever that came; she’d treat her as much or as little like a proper wife as Dulcie wanted. She couldn’t promise monogamy, but she could promise devotion. And if things with the Sixth were different, maybe Dulcie would agree. But that’s not the case.)
So now, as the ball blazes on around her, Dulcinea Septimus, Duchess of Rhodes, holds court in a comfortable corner of the ballroom (Pro and Mia, somewhat relieved of their responsibilities toward her for the night, are dancing and eating and having their own little much-deserved date night). She’s reclined on a chaise longue, holding a glass of non-alcoholic cider in one hand and watching things unfold before her. At some point, she knows, Kiri will come favor her with a dance or two, which means lifting her from her seat and waltzing her around the room precariously (her daintily slippered feet on the Prince’s toes, no doubt).Until then what she’s watching for, in keeping with her role as the maiden aunt, is how the other heirs and their retinues engage with the Prince (and therefore if they deserve her royal hand).
And she’s watching and waiting, heart in her throat, for whenever Palamedes and Camilla appear.
Her first (and likely only) real experience with one both is and isn’t what the stories make it out to be.
Prince Kiriona Gaia, Her Divine Highness, only daughter of the Emperor Undying and wannabe rake, is the system’s most eligible bachelor. Prince Kiriona Gaia is also one of Dulcie’s closest friends. She’s the only person who’s been allowed to regularly visit Dulcie from off-world, because nobody feels they can deny their God’s progeny (and because she’s always been resoundingly healthy and therefore not a danger), and now, after years of begging, she’s the first person to convince the family to allow Dulcie to travel off-world herself, with the intent of attending Kiriona’s own courtship ball.
Nobody expects their Duchess to actually win the Prince’s hand, thankfully. She’s far too fragile to serve as a proper consort, she’s a good few years the Prince’s senior. But she’s one of Kiriona’s confidantes, exactly the type of maiden aunt you’d want around to help judge possible suitors (and isn’t that another familiar trope?) and exactly the type of person who deserves at least one beautiful night reveling in the splendor of the First House, and what can it hurt, really? If something should go wrong, not only Kiriona but the Nine Houses’ other necromantic heirs will be present to help, and - well, Dulcie has decided it’s worth the risk. Part of this is because Kiri asked so nicely, and it is awfully difficult to deny her. Part of this is because Dulcie, at the tender age of twenty-seven, would rather die enjoying herself than languishing away in an ivory tower.
Part of this is because, given the fact that the other necromancers and their retinues are the ones on the guest list, it means that Dulcinea will finally, hopefully, possibly, be able to meet her beloveds from the Sixth.
Kiri knows this, too. She’s heard the entire tale of their long-distance friendship-turned-courtship, both from Dulcie and from Palamedes, and she’s done her best to encourage it. She’s part of the reason that Dulcinea has allowed herself to consider the possibility of the relationship at all: if anyone can change the rules for you, it’s the daughter of God.
(And sure, Kiri has also said, with that smirk that says she’s joking but not entirely, that if things with the Sixth were different, she’d gladly marry Dulcie herself. She’d take care of her until the end, whenever that came; she’d treat her as much or as little like a proper wife as Dulcie wanted. She couldn’t promise monogamy, but she could promise devotion. And if things with the Sixth were different, maybe Dulcie would agree. But that’s not the case.)
So now, as the ball blazes on around her, Dulcinea Septimus, Duchess of Rhodes, holds court in a comfortable corner of the ballroom (Pro and Mia, somewhat relieved of their responsibilities toward her for the night, are dancing and eating and having their own little much-deserved date night). She’s reclined on a chaise longue, holding a glass of non-alcoholic cider in one hand and watching things unfold before her. At some point, she knows, Kiri will come favor her with a dance or two, which means lifting her from her seat and waltzing her around the room precariously (her daintily slippered feet on the Prince’s toes, no doubt).Until then what she’s watching for, in keeping with her role as the maiden aunt, is how the other heirs and their retinues engage with the Prince (and therefore if they deserve her royal hand).
And she’s watching and waiting, heart in her throat, for whenever Palamedes and Camilla appear.
