Westley had to confess as he strode through the ballroom that the masquerade was quite lovely, perhaps even lovelier and more ornate than it would have been if it had taken place inside Edythen Manor. This, of course, did not sit very well with him at all. Due to the plague ripping through Harleston's countryside, the honor of hosting the King's coronation was snatched away from Westley. He couldn't help wondering every once and a while what this foolish upstart was going to do to make it up to him, if anything at all. Yes, Westley was still not fond of the man at all. He refused to lower his defenses and take whatever King Ambrose said like he suspected his very nearly ally, Duchess Rochester, was doing. She seemed a bit manipulated by the man, though he couldn't quite figure out exactly why. It wasn't as if the man was extremely handsome or anything of the sort. Still suspecting all sorts of foul play, Westley moved along the wall, changing course every few moments to avoid colliding with a table where people sat. With the Duchess Rochester, however, came Lady Rochester, her younger sister. His unofficial fiancee. As he did often, he wondered when exactly would be the time for him to officially propose to the girl. It didn't sit well with him in the slightest that she consumed so many of his thoughts. It felt that nearly every thought that he had could be connected to her in some way, shape or form.


And you are surprised of this? Westley asked himself, lifting a hand to lightly stroke through his beard. He was aware that nothing could fully conceal his identity from the individuals around him, as there was no mask in the world that could comfortably cover his beard and he felt no desire to have John shave it off. However, his hair was tamed for the night, combed carefully to suit his facial structure a little better without pulling it back into a ponytail. He wore a new outfit, though it was not a great deal different from what he might typically wear. The tunic and pants were black satin, though the cut more recent and more flattering to his figure. There were many slashes along the sleeves, a decoration that he preferred over excessive ornamentation, though he did allow himself golden embroidery across the tunic, never forming a definite shape but concocting a path of swirls and the like instead. The two shades represented the colors of Harleston, of which he was well proud of. His slippers were black as well, keeping his steps silent even when the orchestra paused to begin a new song or the conversation around him lulled. His mask was also fully black, stretching from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his cheekbones, where his beard began. All in all, Westley was a pure shadow, one who could easily melt into the darkness in the corners of the room and keep to himself. He was well-pleased with the effect that he carried. Perhaps it would keep the majority of the giggling females away from him.


However, there was one female, one who had never so much as giggled in his presence, that he wished to share a dance with, converse with, before the night was through. Lady Rochester. He turned his eyes around the room again, searching for any clues that would lead him to this girl. He'd found nothing in the women he'd passed so far, though he could still recall that the girl had arrived late to the previous ball where he had met her at. Perhaps she would do the same tonight. Perhaps she had no flare for the parties or balls that she would be required to attend as his wife. Wait. Something suddenly caught his eye. A lock of hair, of lovely dark brown hair, falling unhindered in a curl across a pale, shapely neck. He froze in his steps, staring in that direction and attempting to garner any additional information regarding her identity. A slight turn of her head, no doubt glancing around the splendor of the room, gifted him with the barest shape of her sharp cheekbones and dark lips not hidden beneath her mask. Rose. The familiar use of her first name went unnoticed by him as he instantly began to take steps toward her, expertly weaving about the individuals obstructing his path. It was as if he couldn't help himself in the slightest. It didn't sit well with him. Regardless of the fact that he was going to share his manor with this girl for the rest of his days, few though they may be, there was no reason for him to feel so drawn to the young woman.


As he took his steps, measuring them carefully to not appear overeager yet also not to seem disinterested as well, he noticed her gown and immediately felt the bubbling of amusement gathering in his chest. Did the two of them truly match this evening? Oh, but how he was sure that Richard would cackle at that. The irony was laughable, even. However, Westley knew that she wouldn't be clothed in such a way because of her loyalty for Harleston. No matter what he reason, though, the colors suited her quite well. The whispers that would surround them for their attire could be forgiven, perhaps even forgotten, especially if the two separated at some point before the unmasking occurred. Until then, people would merely speculate about why the Duke of Harleston and the girl that he first danced with were dressed so similarly. Fate. Ha. They would think it fate. How ridiculous. Shaking his head slightly as he drew up to Lady Rochester's side, making his presence obvious so as not to startle her, he looked down at her with a slight smile across his lips. "You seem to be taking to your future title quite well, my lady," he said softly, barely a whisper, though he dipped his head enough so that she would be able to hear it. He didn't wish to fuel any rumors by letting every individual around them hear his words. With luck, everyone would be too distracted to do so. Westley couldn't help but notice that this was the first time that he had deliberately teased her. What was this girl bringing out in him?

Rose let herself glance around the room once more, trying her best to conclude who was behind each mask. It was like a little game that Rose played to entertain herself. As she looked around, she could see her sister, of course. She had seen what dress Lucy wore, and the mask. Why should she not recognize her? Her long blonde hair that flowed down, her elegant dress recently picked out and her refined mask all easily gave her away. Rose suddenly let her eyes glance down at her own dress. She recalled that she was quite excited to find that she would be receiving a new dress for this particular ball. It was one thing that helped to calm her nerves about the event. It was strange to feel this way, tough, for it was very likely that the king would not pay an ounce of attention to her, at least until it came time for Lucy to properly introduce her to Ambrose. He probably wouldn’t care much for her until she was associated with the Rochester name. Oh, but how could she be judgmental? Rose inwardly repented instantly. Of course, she could not rightly tell if this king was a kind, generous, strong, king, or a power-hungry, cold, selfish one. Years of reading have presented both pictures, and it was certainly unfair to the new king to make such a quick judgment. She would certainly have to wait until the time came.


With that settled Rose smoothed out her black dress swiftly and lifted her head to scan the crowd once more. She had not really intended to wear a black dress. Lucy however, convinced Rose differently. She wanted to show some respect to her future Duchy, and besides, she claimed that black looked much better on her than purple did. Of the last statement, Rose had to agree. She had always avoided wearing a dark purple dress often for that very reason. Now, because of her status she couldn’t rightly refuse to wear the color always, so she managed to make it work by wearing lilac dresses. While Rose understood Lucy’s reasoning behind choosing the color black instead, Rose could not help but wonder if that was the best thing. After all, would that not be a clear indicator of something going on between them. Of course, rumors were already flying about her engagement, and as much as it pained Rose to say it, she had to deny the fact if ever someone was bold enough to casually ask her. She told herself that technically she was not engagement for three reasons: she had not been proposed to yet, she had not been given a ring, and the engagement was not officially announced. Rose had to tell herself this, in order to keep her conscience clean. Of course, Rose could not argue that the dress did look splendid. It’s intricate golden embroidery against the dark, yet not completely midnight dark, backdrop of her dress was rather stunning against her own skin. It did indeed compliment her very well.


At least I’ll look good in the color of Harleston, Rose thought.


As Rose looked at the people, she suddenly recognized someone, after passing around twenty people without any guess as to who they might be. She froze at the sight. That long dark beard surely was an indication that it was none other than him, Duke Westley, her betrothed. Rose wondered if he would even recognize her with the mask on. Apparently he did, for he eventually made his way toward her with a small grin, barely even noticeable. His strides were not quick, yet not slow either. He seemed to have his destination in mind, but was not overly eager to reach it. And that destination of course was her. Unless, he had someone else in mind to talk with. Rose quickly turned to see if there was anyone within her vicinity that he might be walking toward instead, but she was quite alone, exept for a few women at the side who were eagerly conversing about gossip, no doubt, from their high pitched laughter and whispering.


When duke Westley stood before her, Rose did her best to give a pleasant smile, hoping she was convincing. Apparently he was quite amused at her outfit, but she didn’t rightly blame him, but he had never rightly teased her. This was certainly a new side of him, but Rose found it rather…nice, though she did find herself a little more insecure about the garment now, but that was her own fault, not his. Of course, why should she not try to fit into the Duchy of Harleston? Rose felt her small smile become slightly bigger, appreciating his small joke. Maybe he could turn out to be a good man. Even though they had spent a good amount of time together, it was still hard to make out his character. Like, her, he seemed to be a man of few words. Rose realized that this could become a problem. She recalled reading Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, and how miscommunication had caused both their deaths. Rose certainly didn’t want a tragic ending like that. Oh, why did she have to think of such terrible thoughts? Look back at Duke Westely, Rose decided to give a small bow and try to push all those unhappy thoughts aside before they got the best of her.


“Thank you, Duke Westley.” Rose said, deciding to refrain from the long drawn out explanation for her choice of dress. Suddenly, as Rose lifted her head, she noticed something peculiar: They both matched an odd thing, indeed. It would surely get gossip going. With a smile, she continued, “And I see we consulted the same tailor, for we do match. It had not been my intention.”

The way that she glanced around, as if attempting to see if there was another individual that he wished to talk to instead of her, was not lost on Westley at all. If anything, it only amused him more. She truly was young, wasn't she, if she assumed that he wished to spend not a single moment of his time around her. Then again, perhaps it was a secret wish coming to the forefront as she did that. Perhaps she wished that he would take his conversation to another soul. That thought didn't sit well with him, surprisingly. Normally he would be able to push it to the back of his mind and completely ignore it, but now? No, something was wrong. Is it because you are to wed? The thought wasn't fully convincing. After all, such a thing shouldn't affect him at all. He was Duke Westley Castyll of Harleston. He had no need of a wife, except to produce an heir that he would not be blackmailed for one day. He didn't need a woman to rule beside him, as for several years he had ruled just fine on his own. Besides, Westley doubted that Lady Rochester could rule a duchy well, to be perfectly honest, unless she had a strong man by her side assisting her. She was not like her older sister. And for that I am grateful. To marry a Duchess Rochester would be to sign an early death warrent, even for an individual of his age who would no doubt not last much longer on this planet.


Pulling himself from his thoughts the instant that Lady Rochester offered him a smile, he found himself uncomfortably distracted. It was not fair that a girl of her young age could distract him so easily, and with only a smile. Certainly, Westley always found himself drawn to brunettes, and hair and lovely singing voices in general, but just because Lady Rochester had the best of both did not mean that he necessarily could let himself be so easily distracted. However, he found that he rather liked her smile, especially when it turned from being slightly forced to being genuine in response to his teasing remark. What was this girl doing to him? If he wasn't careful, he would begin teasing her even more. It would ruin any sort of reputation that he worked so hard to build up if people found that Lady Rochester was turning into his weakness. People could use her against him, whether it be through manipulating her fairly naive mind or kidnapping her or...Westley, you grow ahead of yourself. To assume that any of those things would happen was ridiculous, especially since he didn't care about her.


At all.


Not a bit.


Yes, she was just attractive to her, and that was how she would remain. That thought comforted him slightly. When Rose dropped into a little curtsey, Westley placed one hand across his stomach and curled the other behind his back to dip into a bow toward her, though his eyes never left her face. With that formality out of the way, he felt himself relax slightly as he stood before her once again, taking in her words. In fact, he even chuckled softly, smiling down at her again for a moment of silence. "He is a fine tailor, is he not?" Westley asked, continuing the faint joke between them as he dropped his chin lightly to appear a little less regal and intimidating to the shorter young woman. "I confess that the fault was mine," His tone was still incredibly teasing, giving no thought to the fact that he might be serious. "He mentioned serving the fair Lady Rochester, and I could not help but absolutely beg to match your attire." The allusion that she was lovely could not be concealed easily, but Westley still wished that he might have bit his tongue instead. There was no telling how the young lady might react. After all, she seemed absolutely frightened of him, and she could not see him in an attractive light at all. Any female who did at this point was no doubt mad.


Deciding that changing the subject might be best, Westley let his smile fade slightly so as to return to a demeanor closer to his serious side. "Did you have a pleasant time at the tournament, my lady? It was certainly full of abounding excitement." Indeed, Westley's arm was still sore from his fencing match against Duke Brighton and his leg felt strained after his wrestling match against King Beauchamp. Anything that could draw such reactions from his body no doubt drew an excited hamartia from the crowd watching. He studied what he could see of Lady Rochester's face not concealed by her mask. Even that bit of her was lovely...and that still continued to unsettle him severely.

Rose felt that Duke Westley seemed distracted, deep in thought. He constantly seemed to be in such a state, which made Rose wonder what occupied his thoughts so long and so frequently. Was it even on the same subject? It certainly must be something important, but what could it be? She did not know him well enough to even make a guess. Oh, how much she wanted to know. It would help her know him better. Maybe she was being a little to “naive” in her dreams, but she could not help but wonder if she really could learn to love this man. Could she learn to admire his hairy beard, his deep, haunting, voice, his wrinkles that were beginning to show? Yes, she knew more than anyone, not to judge by appearances, but her prospect of falling in love with Duke Westley was not promising. There was no doubt she wanted to love him, but Rose knew that it was impossible to control feelings. If only she could have power to do so, things would certainly be easier for her. There were a lot of things Rose wished she could change, but that was quite impossible now. The past could not be rewritten as much as she desired it. She could not wish something away, or wish something to happen. No such power existed.


As Duke Westley bowed, she could not help but notice his eyes never left her. It was as if he was mesmerized. He did not have that trance-like glaze in his eyes, but he still seemed somewhat entranced….but at her? Rose could not help but feel her cheeks warm up. She tried to think nothing of this simple action though, only to counter it with a question. Would it be so bad as to have him fall in love with her? After all, it would add more meaning to the union. It might even help encourage her eventually love him. She had no idea, but she still felt awkward to be looked at in such a way by a man, even if it was Duke Castyll, especially since it was Duke Castyll. All her life, she had never been paid a good deal of attention. Sure, people admitted she was pretty, but they were always concerned with her sister. Rose did not mind that much, though she did not really care for all the attention.


How will you deal with the attention as Duchess, then? Rose asked herself, suddenly feeling once more a little discouraged. She hoped that Duke Castyll would be willing to teach her. Would he be patient with all the mistakes she would certainly make? Would he try and help her?


All those questions were suddenly quieted, as she heard Duke Westley respond and the give out a small chuckle. She had never heard him laugh before, and this was certainly a surprise. She rather liked hearing him laugh, though she would have probably said that about anyone. She needed to be surrounded by laughter now with all the sadness she was feeling and Duke Westley had lightened the mood between them. Relieved, Rose could not help but find herself pleased that Westley was finally showing a good side of him, one she had never seen before. She rather enjoyed the joke between them, and genuine smile of pleasure returned. Maybe the match would turn out ok, but that was her naïve side talking and she pushed it aside, a harder task to do than she had ever anticipated. Everything he said brought a smile to her face, but Rose did find it odd however, when he used the words “Fine Lady Rochester”. If she had not been blushing before, surely she was now. It was one thing to hold the glance of a man, but to hear him say such things was different. Did he mean it, or was he only saying it to be polite. It was hard to tell. For all he knew he could have still been joking. Again, she was at a loss of how to react. Certainly she should thank him, but should she smile, should she nod her head? What?


Rose could not help but find herself inwardly giving a sigh of relief when he changed the subject. Ah, the tournament. Yes, that had been quite a pleasant and entertaining day. She had truly enjoyed it immensely, more than she had ever thought possible. One thin that made Rose a little skeptical about going was all the matches, the violence, but it had not been as bad as expected. No one went home seriously hurt, at least from her knowledge, and that had made the whole day even better.


“Oh, yes, I did enjoy the tournament. It was full of excitement, and I was able to meet new people from other duchies. And yourself? How do you fare after your matches?” Rose asked politely trying to ignore that one word he had said earlier.