35 The Princess' Request
But it wasn't a matter of talent.
It never was, when the instant they stepped on the stage, the crowd had nothing but bitter expressions. It was as if they were being told to leave immediately.
Of course, Eglantine wasn't known. Despite being a travelling troupe, the show they put on was usually for common folks. Although, it wouldn't be strange if aristocrats would find themselves watching them from time to time.
Those were rare moments.
And none of them offered to be their patron.
But that wasn't the matter at hand.
They waited for Moon Petal to stand beside them, the fire within him bothered, cackling.
Patrick's points weren't much help when he told them Moon Petal's disadvantages. "It may look like they're handling the stage well, but behind them would be the technical problems hidden. The stress always happens backstage."
Just like any other theatre group?
They cannot even summarize how chaotic backstage would become during performances. Yet, they were all trained that the shows must move even with those struggles.
West knew that he shouldn't throw his confidence away. It was his only armor against the enemy. He would never admit that they all have no idea how they were going to win this.
It was the first time he had felt intimidated after stepping on a stage. The size of the platform couldn't be compared to the others which they have performed on. Footfalls harmonizing with the beating of his heart, he looked ahead.
With the curtains no longer an obstruction to his view, they met the gazes of Moon Petal's patrons. Above, each seat was inches apart, the rest making importance to the one in their middle. High and gold of color, as if it was an extension of his throne. The Emperor sat back, lips curved into an amused simper, his elbow relaxed on his armrest.
The others with him were leaning in, backs bent, their bottoms edging their seats. What caught West's attention, however, was the place beside the emperor. It was empty, except for the red pillow sitting on it instead of someone else.
As though his thoughts reached that missing person, a footman, who looked to be resisting the urge to sneeze, opened his mouth for an announcement.
"Your Majesty," he began with a snort, gulping nervously and repeating it again, more loudly that it seemed like he was addressing the crowd beneath, than the king. "His highness, Prince Alphonse has arrived!"
Being the prince, of course, the gasps from the ladies weren't a surprise.
Prince Alphonse entered with grace in his dandelion and blue slate finery, his long brown hair tied in a half-pony. He bent his body, kissing the gem-filled fingers of the emperor in greeting, before taking the empty seat for himself.
"Shall we proceed?"
West peeped to see that the other troupe were already with them. They were out of their costumes, while their individual masks remained. The question wasn't directed at them, though.
Returning his eyes in front, he saw the emperor wave a hand.
"This is how it will work." It wasn't from witches onstage this time, but from the elevated seats where the patrons were staying. The footman held his head up, clearing his throat before continuing. "Her Highness convinced the Emperor that it should be the audience who would decide the winner, therefore stating fairness."
No, it wouldn't!
"But it is the Emperor who has thought of the theme both troupes would improvise. The challenge would be a throw down of scenes, the latter continuing the set that the former established, then back again. The only rule would be pleasing your audience, never straying away from the theme."
They were at a complete disadvantage!
"And the theme will be: Magic."
West blinked. Was the Emperor-? No. He couldn't be suspicious of them, could he? Patrick did say that Moon Petal wouldn't dare perform with it.
But how-?
"Enough staring, West," Giles whispered. "They're about to-"
"Curtain."
Clear and low, it was the first time he had heard his voice. The way he said was like a commandment.
West shook his head, his attention willed to shift from the Emperor to the stage he's on.
Whatever His Majesty knew, both groups would prove to portray it realistically. Realistically fake, that was.
So the story began with Eglantine. How two witches were fleeing from an attempt, only to find a… siren blocking their path?
Of all the creatures, Moon Petal acted out a siren?
But the crowd clapped their hands, and chuckles were heard.
It seemed to work. They haven't a choice but to continue.
And so they did, exchanging scenes and conversations, every action unplanned but confidently laid down to the viewers. And somehow, West found himself enjoying it.
Until the chaotic ending of having a wedding between a witch and a human who was half-siren, with a vampire for an uncle and a horse for a mother --the half-siren and horse parts coming from somewhere he had lost track of because the character he's playing was already dead.
How depressing.
At least, most of Eglantine's members had the opportunity to live. Like Freeda, who became a fairy that steals husbands; Royce was the horse's grandmother, whilst Giles and Nelle were the witch's past lovers -- who actually had the most ordinary roles. Drama being their strength helped. Meanwhile, Eve was the grumpy best friend, her tone serving as a comedic mood killer.
It was a happy ending. Fraud magic was shown in the props left onstage, the language they speak, and the way their bodies moved when coursing through every action.
Really, it was more of a game than a challenge.
And even the audience had their many moments of laughter.
That was why West thought that they would win. After all, they must understand that Eglantine was only doing this to claim back their superior.
But they were also under the impression that they took something away from Moon Petal.
Perhaps that was the reason why they flunked the crowd's judgements. It wasn't in the matter of talent or if they had enjoyed their performance. They would stick to who they're familiar with.
The troupe they knew.
"No."
His eyes widened. West turned to Nelle, who was sneering, her eyes like daggers as she gave the other troupe a glare.
"Give Fath- Sir Duncan. Give him back to us," she growled.
"Aren't you on the wrong here?" answered Clarisa, the witch who played the prophetess in the play before. "I challenged you, and you lost."
"It isn't fair! As long as these aristocrats were the ones judging, it would remain in your favour!"
"Oh dear, are you implying that the audience have no right to say something about this? After the challenge was made in front of them? More so, it was the Emperor himself, who gave the power to them. Are you saying that your obedience does not lie with His Majesty?"
Nelle was trembling, her knees almost giving up on her, if it weren't for Giles by her side. He held the witch as she bowed her head, her breath in haste.
"Let Sir Duncan go, Clarisa," West repeated. "We already did what you asked."
"But you did lose! It was witnessed by everyone, even by the Emperor," shouted another Moon Petal member. The others with her agreed, but some wore conflicted expressions that West almost thought they'll speak to side with them.
They didn't.
"It was also witnessed by the Emperor that you told us no clauses under the challenge except setting your hostage free if we did it," Leila voiced out. Eve was beside her, her eyes not on the troupe they were against, but on the elevated seats where the Emperor was. Leila stepped forward, pulling Eve lightly with her. "Shall we confirm it?"
It was only then that they saw Clarisa's composed appearance waver.
Following the two beings, West also looked up to the patrons' seats. Each of them bearing different expressions. The Emperor, at most, had his gaze set at their side of the stage. He wasn't frowning, nor was he grinning. He presented no emotion, and spoke no words. Yet his eyes held intensity that could make the people below him quiver.
A minute or two, he motioned for the prince. After a few shared whispers, the younger man stood at the edge of their booth, calling to them.
"The Emperor had agreed that the challenge was made under no terms, except for the actor being set free once it is done."
West felt the energy of the members lighten up, breaths being released after a long while of holding them.
"But…"
Of course, there's going to be a but.
"It was also the Emperor who put the clause of winning and losing by the audience's judgements. He refused to lift away the degree of his words. Having said that, what do you propose to do?"
The spotlight was on them. And frankly, West had nothing in his mind but puzzlement and irritation. He wanted to burn up.
The Emperor refused to lift the degree of his words? He wasn't being fair!
But he was the Emperor… and with whatever he wanted, it was only just that they comply.
"I propose another challenge, Your Majesty." Eve said suddenly, offering a low curtsy. West stared at her, even forgetting how to blink. Another challenge? "But this time, let your patronage be the prize to be won. Present your dares, maybe try not giving back the old artist to us… just to sweeten the pot."
No. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to get Sir Duncan, not let this mess go any further!
What was the vampiress saying?
West was about to reach out to her, but she wasn't done. "Of course, there's no prize higher than Merotus' dear Emperor. But since we have given you something of ours, should Moon Petal also offer you one of theirs?"
Evelina! No!
And what makes you think that the Emperor would agree to everything you just said?" The words were intimidating enough, if it weren't for the voice used to express it. The prince held a tough stand, sure, but the silvery tone of it, pleasant and teasing, cannot be missed.
Was he-? With her?
Evelina returned the question with a playful smirk of her own. "Would it not be nice to see a proper performance? And, I am sure that His Highness would appreciate the attention."
"Watch your mouth, woman!"
Now who sent Eldham's army to surround them?
West contained his breath.
The problem was getting bigger, and no one was stopping it. No one was stopping her.
"Brother," a soft voice rose from one patrons. The Princess' curled, brown hair bounced as she moved beside her brother. "Father- I mean, Your Majesty," she lifted her gown lightly to offer formality. "If I may speak again. I would like to consider what the woman is saying."
"Continue, Arvilla," Prince Alphonse permitted.
"Empress Boleyn's date of birth would be coming in two months time. Therefore, I am requesting a theatre festival to take place in celebration of it. And to connect it with the- er, terrible artist's proposal, let the challenge occur at that time."
The vampiress clicked her tongue.
West could only scoff as he thought of how devastated Nelle must be.
Meanwhile, Evelina's negotiations were far from doing fine. Truly, he would appreciate her help -- if she didn't put them in a more complicated position.
"Please, Father."
As they waited for his answer, West took the time to hold Evelina's arm, giving it a faint tug. She turned to him, smiling triumphantly, only for him to flick her nose.
"What the damning bats was that about, West?"
Good. Be mad.
He ignored her, settling his gaze back to the nobles. It was quiet for a while, before West heard the Emperor's clear voice for the second time.
"Two months. A festival would be held in two months."
