This extravaganza was a fully fledged ball. Several women had come up to me seeking my hand in the next dance. I had let them down as gracefully as I could. The simple matter of fact truth was, I couldn't dance and in this setting it was embarrassing to have to admit to. In the arena I had danced, but that had been a dance of death with the goal of staying two steps ahead of it and hopefully finding another step after those two were gone. Here in this glittering world of manners and decorum I was completely lost.
There was no end of beautiful women present, but the only one I had eyes for was the girl in Sebastian's arms. The rest of the women present at the ball could have been turned to pretty flowers adorning the wall paper for all I cared, but her, she was amazing!
She had changed so much and yet she was the same. In a way I thought to myself it was easier to relate to her then any of the finely dressed higher born people around me. What was so amazing about her? What consumed me with a passion to know everything about her and to spend every moment of my time with her? She was beautiful, but so were the other women, only they didn't make me want to lose control like looking at her did.
It was alarming and I made myself look away and focus on the seriousness of the event instead of the growing infatuation I had for Sebastian's slave girl. The dance was over. The noise of the crowd grew with the chatter of conversations and I turned back to the refreshment table to get some more punch.
I had the dipper half raised to refill my glass when another glass came into my field of view. I looked at the hand holding the glass and followed it up to its owner's eyes. She was even more breathtaking up close. She had an impish look on her face as she stared across the punch bowl at me.
"Master Roric."
"Yes?"
"You're spilling the punch on your shirt." She said, as a smile crept out at the corners of her mouth.
Somewhat dazed feeling I looked down at the punch bowl and my shirt. Sure enough I had spilled some of the bright red punch on the white shirt that I wore. I mopped it up with some nearby hand towels, which only spread the red stain further across the shirt. My face was tinged red with embarrassment and I avoided meeting her eyes as I filled her glass with punch.