Chapter Text
Ten minutes ago. How strange to think of what can change in so short a span of time.
Ten minutes ago, Rolph was a knight. He did his duty and stood guard as the guests arrived to the ball that His Majesty was throwing, and he did his job well. He may not be as acknowledged or revered as Lord Chancellor Sebastian, or Lord Pinkleton, but he is good at his job. It's the only way he can ensure that he's still allowed to attend the balls. Sure, he has to run to the keep to change out of the armor, and bathe, and get properly dressed, and when all is said and done the ball is half over and he gets no recognition, but the point is that he gets to go. There aren't many of the knights that are allowed such a privilege, and Rolph has to keep from puffing his chest at the pride of it.
But then again, that was ten minutes ago.
Now, as he dances with a noble woman clad in a fine dress of midnight purple, Rolph thinks that perhaps he understands what it means to watch time fall away. Rolph could barely stand to pull his eyes away from the woman before him. Her mask shimmered under the lights of the chandelier and her steps were as graceful as if she dared to walk on water. Rolph could feel his heart thudding against his chest.
This wasn't the first ball he'd been to in his service as a knight, and it would likely not be the last. But it was the first time that he had seen this woman, cloaked in her finery and as dazzling to him as jewels in sunlight. He was used to dancing with Lydia, a girl from a lesser family that was closer to his own station. She was an easy choice. Familiar. Lydia always wore dresses in shades of pink and rosé and pulled her curls into a low bun.
This woman's hair was tightly twisted and pinned into some elaborate updo that was the only sign Rolph needed to know just how far above him she was. He had no business spending his time with her, not when even one stone from her gown was worth more than he was paid. And yet, Rolph could not pull himself from her side. Her eyes glittered in the light, and he was entranced despite himself. How could any proper gentleman refuse her a dance? He offered his arm, and she took it, and that had been not quite ten minutes ago, just after Rolph got to stop being a knight and start acting like a noble at the ball.
He thinks he's tripped over her feet or his feet, or just the floor at least three times. Her steps are airy, like a willow tree bending in the breeze. Rolph's dance moves that he's so used to with Lydia are nothing more than ungainly clomping next to her. Even if he knows he's embarrassing himself, he can't bring himself to pull away. His heart longs to keep dancing, bewitched by a woman he's never seen and will likely never see again.
He met her not quite ten minutes ago, and already he feels as if he walks on air, flying high above the floor, and he will never come back down to Earth again. Why should he, when the heavens led him into her arms?
He's halfway into another sequence of the dance with her when everyone stops, and it takes even him a moment to halt himself before he runs the poor lady down in his haste. At one end of the ballroom, there stands a newcomer, dressed in a dress so beautiful he isn't quite sure if he's truly seeing it with his own two eyes. The new girl wears no mask, but a tiara of shimmering diamonds that likely cost more than Rolph's entire stipend combined if he worked until the day he died. Everyone, every thing around him is frozen at the sight. Perhaps he would be too, if he had not been so keen to turn his gaze back to the woman who'd bewitched him in but a moment.
But as his gaze turns back to her, he finds his dance partner's eyes somewhere else already, and he follows it to see His Majesty's mask on the ground, and the prince himself moving off to greet the new arrival in a flustered display. The women of the ball swirl around him, a flock of preening feathers from beauties that will spare no time for anything less than the best. Something in Rolph's gut twists a little. The girl who had so captured the prince's heart was a beauty indeed, but he failed to see beyond a passing glance towards the girl. No, Rolph looked at the noble woman, gazing at her instead, even as she leaves his side eagerly. She had dropped her mask in an excited rush upon seeing the prince's face, and then the rush had overtaken her as she darted to catch His Majesty's attention.
Before he knew it, Rolph had picked up the mask to return it to her, not wanting to disgrace her by making a spectacle of it, but nothing he did could catch her eye afterwards. She was far too engrossed in earning some sort of momentary affection from the prince, a very clear sign that he had been only a fleeting dalliance to her and nothing more.
Something that wasn't quite anger pricked at Rolph's heart. He stomped out, unheard amidst the commotion, flinging her mask to the ground and ripping off his own to be tossed to some unknown corner. At least he had his duties as a knight to take his mind off of this second of....whatever strange feeling had overtaken him. It would do him no good to be distracted.
Even if, for that moment, Rolph understood why the prince had been so enraptured with a face unlike any other. Even if he constantly thought of ways he could have asked for her name to make a proper introduction and he didn't, because all that he is as a man is only a knight in the prince's guard and nothing more. Even if her hazel eyes and dark hair haunted his every moment from the very second that she left his line of sight. Even if he knows, he knows he'll likely never meet her again. His feet find the ground under him against his will, footsteps heavy on the floor.
A little more than ten minutes after the woman abandons him for her dreams of royalty, Rolph hears the forlorn cry of His Majesty, sounding almost as bereft as Rolph himself feels. The woman that had captured his heart has left him. How fitting that he serves the prince while suffering the same affliction himself.
He can hear His Majesty yelling after her, desperate to keep a hold onto a woman who came like an angel and left just as swiftly. He can hear his frantic voice, proclaiming his despair that he doesn't even know her name. It strikes a chord in Rolph's heart; longing to shout after the mysterious noblewoman as the prince does for the girl who brought kindness into court. Rolph wishes he had half the bravery his prince does to be so bold.
But thrice of ten minutes ago, Rolph was only a knight in the service of his prince, and ten minutes from now that'll be what he is once again.