Book 3: Chapter 54: A Note of Resistance
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“Announcing, his Majesty, Crown Prince Nicholas Havardur, and her Highness, Crown Princess Eleanora!”
Nicholas smiled as the thrum of voices, footsteps, and swish of silk and lace skirts all turned in their direction before falling silent. He turned to glance at his partner as Eleanora’s grip on his hand stiffened. The Crown Princess’s cheeks were still faintly flushed from their earlier activities, and she looked radiant in her high-neck formal black gown embroidered from head to toe in golden flowers that seemed to drip tears or nectar onto the closed white petals of smaller flowers that bloomed along the hem of the skirt. As much as the Crown Prince appreciated the curious design, his gaze was more drawn to how the mid-drift section of the dress tapered down tightly, hugging her sensuous hips before the open slit halfway up her thigh offered more flexibility and movement.
“I see your designer is becoming more daring by the day. Is this dress her influence or yours?” Nicholas whispered as he wrapped her hand around his arm before proceeding into the ballroom. He smiled at Eleanora’s focused steps beside him. The Crown Princess seemed very conscious of the Phoenix Crown she wore, which pulled the gaze of nearly every noble in the room toward her.
“Both?” Eleanora whispered, managing to respond while simultaneously moving her lips into a smile to greet their audience. “She sent me a pamphlet, and I chose the designs I liked and suggested some ideas for patterns—although that was before I met Lady Aconitum in person.”
“Why on earth did she have to use an alias?” Nicholas murmured absently. “Being a designer chosen by the Crown Princess seems like a suitable profession for any noble lady, let alone one from an untitled family.”
“You really know nothing about her,” Eleanora retorted, mystified. “And yet you made her a Duchess.”
“I know enough.” The Crown Prince smiled and nodded as various nobles stepped forward to bow and congratulate him again on his prize. His hazel-blue eyes drifted over their heads to where the Silver Stag’s antlers gleamed beneath the ball chandeliers. His fears of the hunt ending in either disappointment or disaster now seemed but a distant memory as he reveled in his success—minus one or two irregularities.