Complex

She simply called upon her dignity to save herself from the traps that retched boisterous man loved to lie.  Yet when the time came, she started to wonder whether there was an excitement, a sort of fun, watching him attempting to make her his prey. 

Then again, the serenade at the ball was far from beautiful, and if anything, it was a fickle action worth of no praise.  Then why was her heart pining for the rough touch of the Prince she so wished to avoid?

            'Bah, there are no good men in this world,' she explained to herself.  Even her own father, a knight with such chivalry that he could only be compared to the king, forced her to go to these social events that lead her to openly consider how sad it was to be born royal. 

Oh yes, "His Arrogance" challenged her with that topic as well.  What had he called her? Oh yes, "the little fledgling of Ares."  She fumed as she recalled his placing his hands, his rotten, filthy, power driven hands, on her shoulders and laughing whole-heartedly at her efforts to poke fun at him.

            'Tonight,' she mused, as her cherry lips barely worked to form a firm straight line, 'things would be different.' A knot twisted in her stomach as the carriage rolled into the palace grounds.  As the door opened, an outstretched hand, strongly, yet gently pulled her out of the carriage. 

She turned to thank the man when she saw his unruly black hair and dark amber pools.  After staring for over a second, she started to notice that there was something familiar about this man, and then a small gasp was heard as she recognized him, the Prince.  She nodded fast and very curtly, and proceeded towards the palace doors, lost in a disarray of thoughts. 

            Why had she never observed him in that light before?  Was he truly that handsome or was some spell placed on her?  Didn't she come in here to not fall prey to him?  What was happening to her keen sense of judgment?

            All these questions and more occupied her for the evening, making her more reclusive and appear more anti-social and strange than ever perceived.  After a half hour of sitting in her chair, twirling her glass of punch, and reflecting on how he managed to 'trap' her for the 500th time or so, she decided to at least get some fresh air.

            She sighed and stared up at the bright full moon glowing softly above her and failed to notice how in it's light, every curve of hers was accentuated and a heavenly complexion that could barely be seen in the light of the ballroom radiated from her.  She also failed to notice how the silver-blue dress veiled her inner thoughts and turmoils, simply establishing her as an ideal woman to court.

            He watched her intensely as the current girl in his arms, some princess from who knows where, happily lead him around the hall.  He finally told the girl that he was going to go greet someone and she started to pout excessively but finally graced him by leaving.  He grabbed a glass of champagne and walked towards the upper balcony and paused at the door and watched his angel. 

He had referred to her as this for months now; yet never really let the words pass to her.  She was, after all, everything he was looking for, and more.  He took a sip out of his glass and slowly approached her.  He leaned against the railing and turned to look at her.  She was still in her reverie and he really hated to bring her back to the world that did not deserve a goddess such as her, but tonight was the night.

            He cleared his throat and she turned startled, to once again fall into the vortex of his eyes.  He smiled softly and turned back to the moon and spoke calmly, "It's really magical out here isn't it?"  She was once again shocked, yet smiled back and said, "Yes, it is."  With curiosity that threatened to burst inside her, she asked, "Isn't this ball for you to find yourself a wife?"  He nodded and then she continued, "So aren't you supposed to be in there?" 

He smiled once again, but more shyly, and stated, "I've found her already, actually fallen head over heels for her.  All that remains is telling her."  She giggled, "I never thought of you to be a romantic Your Highness."  He winced at her formality yet proceeded as he grinned and said, "Does the little fledgling mock me?"

            She huffed.  There he went again, ruining the conversation.  Did she actually expect otherwise?  She decided to finally rid her conscience of any more regrets for not biting back.  She responded, "you know Prince, I really hate that title you so kindly bestowed upon me." 

He chuckled deeply and with amusement he turned to her and said, "Now why is that?" 

She rolled her eyes and replied, "Well, I just don't find it fitting.  It's not who I am." 

He turned completely towards her and observed her.  Anger flared in her soft blue eyes and he enjoyed it.  A soft breeze blew by, barely ruffling her honey-gold hair and placing every strand back perfectly.

            He stepped closer to her and she stepped back afraid.  He looked deep into her eyes and said, "And what would you like to be called?"  A flash of confusion ran across her face and then she whispered shakily, "I- I have no idea."  He took another step closer, blocking her passage further back, as she was now up against the corner of the balcony.   His voice dropped to a very low tone, barely above a whisper, as he said, "How does Princess sound?"  Then he pulled her closer, gently by her waist, and bent down to kiss her.

            She didn't understand what to do.  Her fight or flight response system was working furiously but she really didn't feel like doing either.  He pulled away, and once again, they were lost in each other's eyes.  She whispered, "Why me?"  He looked at her and said, "Because you don't try to be perfect; you simple are." 

A faint pink hue crept onto her cheeks and she said, "I think Celine will do just fine Your Highness."  He lightly pressed a finger against her lips and whispered, "Call me Alan." Saying so, he took her into his arms, as the twilight hour approached; with the crowds below completely aware, yet dancing as if the night had just begun.