Charlerion Of Pelancir : Princil's Magic : Ch.6 (Part 2) : The Dance

King Guthelm wanted to put on a good feast, to be hospitable to his allies, so he encouraged his concubines and his slave women to dance with the Pelancirian Knights. In other circumstances he would have kept them under more control. Other ladies of the vanquished people of the city were drafted in, forced to attend the feast and told to be friendly and favourable towards the conquerors of both nations.

The mistress of Guthelm’s chambers instructed Guthelm’s concubines to attend the feast laid on for his allies the Pelancirians. “King Guthelm wants you all there tonight. I think he wants to impress King Charlerion, who is one who always seeks to make himself and his court as important as they may.”
Remzain hoped it might not be as rough as the previous feast she attended. She had had her fill of watching drunken Grumandorians fighting each other and abusing sad frightened women of her city in front of her eyes. She now knew who that startling and powerful figure was, who had spoken to Guthelm as his equal. She had heard that his soldiery were somewhat more restrained than Guthelm’s, so she was more curious than afraid to observe the Pelancirians.

She had seen that face before in the King’s Audience Chamber the day before. So this was the King of the Pelancirians, Charlerion, the man who had seemed to stand up to the brutish Grumandorian King. They were allies, so perhaps he was a brute too, but such a strong handsome face did not seem brutish. There appeared to be great intelligence between those flashing blue eyes. She looked at his beauty, radiant for a man. He was wearing the most immaculate and colourful blue tunic. She had never seen a man carry himself so proudly, and yet be so perfect. She tried not to stare, but found herself drawn. He was coming past, hailing the dowdy Grumandorian Generals and Lords, whom he must have met before, and saying flirty words to the ladies, Grumandorian and captives of Cromilil alike. His charm gave her a sudden new confidence, as she had never felt before, that not all conquerors are destructive killers, that there might be some redemption or fair treatment for the conquered, that female slaves and servants might have some hope of advancement.
The King was like a human lion, grand, beautiful, drawing the gaze of all. Women bowed like flowers drawn to the sun in his presence. Remzain was conscious that all the women were drawn to him. She felt jealous that he flattered them and not her, but he had not even reached her, could no have noticed her yet. He was approaching! Her heart raced and panicked in his beautiful presence. She tried not to look too directly at him, not to be sucked in by his eyes, not to seem like an adulant. She looked at other members of his retinue. They were all a handsome accomplished bunch, but they were merely pale copies of the leader. He was perfection!
Charlerion greeted some of Guthelm’s ladies, even kissing one or two of them on the cheek. Then he glanced over towards her direction, seemed about to pull away, when he opened the full glare of his attention towards her. Her animal senses understood immediately, recognised that his gaze had been caught by someone in her vicinity. She smiled before she could think. She knew it must be herself who caught his gaze, although there was no rational certainty that it must be her. She who was becoming used to being found attractive was not so confident that all would necessarily find her so. She had not been the only beauty in Cromilil, a city where all women had been able and encouraged to be as beautiful as they were and could be.
The young King allowed himself to look at whoever he wished to look at, and she was fully aware that it was her he looked at now. There was no caution in such a beautiful King. He allowed himself full freedom to follow his interest. He came closer; all could see where his interest lay. He had seen her earlier in the day. She had caught his eye then, and now he could make her acquaintance. He came forward, a smile on his face.
“Madame,” he said in his Pelancirian accent, “I am enchanted, completely, to make your acquaintance.” She blushed and smiled, not knowing what to say. She sensed the eyes of all around her upon them, and knew all could see the eagerness in him. She tried to restrain her own. She was just a concubine now, the property of a different King. She could not appear eager, could she? Well, the concubines had been instructed to be welcoming and to dance with Guthelm’s allies.
“I am pleased to meet you sire.”
“And what is your name?” asked the Pelancirian King. “I must know it, for I saw you before in King Guthelm’s court.”
“You did sire. I did not realise who you were, at first,” she mumbled for something to say.
“Indeed not?” he laughed discreetly, showing no dissatisfaction at her ignorance. “I cannot blame you for that. You have glittering eyes lady, and a great beauty. Tell me, for I must know. What is your name?”
“Remzain,” she answered, hoping he would like it.
“Remzain!” he repeated, playing with it. “That is an unusual name! Are you? Were you,” he corrected himself, “a citizen of this unfortunate city?”
“Yes, I am, was!” She wondered how she could admit her citizenship without anger, but at this moment her thoughts were far from the strife of her city and her people. Charlerion seemed a bright sunshine, brought into the stricken city. In his presence she was able to forget the pain of her people, briefly.
“You have been through much, I don’t doubt,” he said magnanimously. “But tonight let us forget the harsh things. Will you dance with me? I choose you.”
“If you will sire. My master is King Guthelm, but he permits I believe.”