“Oh, Ma,” Stefania sighed. “I turn eighteen tomorrow!”
Ignoring her comment, her mother continued, “She may dance with any man, but she is not to choose one and keep him from dancing with other women. Even the prince will dance with many women, not only his fiancée-to-be.”
Stefania’s eyes lit up as she clasped Journey’s hands. “Let’s both try to dance with the prince! It’s good luck to dance with the dragon.”
Journey doubted that a prince would select a broke American backpacker out of the hundreds of beautiful women at the ball. But with any luck he’d be willing to give a sweet teenager a memory she’d always treasure. “I’ll do my best to make sure you get to dance with him. I’m happy just to be there.”
“Sit down,” said Mrs. Florescu. “Stefania and I will do your hair and makeup.”
Journey sat patiently while Stefania applied her makeup and Mrs. Florescu did her best to tame Journey’s curly hair.
“You will be the wild rose,” Mrs. Florescu said at last, giving up the attempt. “Now put on your dancing shoes.”
Journey’s shoes were made of polished brown wood and green leather, with a lining of red leather. The green leather was cut out in rose shapes, allowing the red to show through. Stefania’s were of black wood and red leather, with leaf-shaped cutouts to a green leather lining.
Journey didn’t often wear high heels, much less dance in them. But the heels weren’t too high, more like swing dancing shoes than the teetering icepick heels supermodels wore.
“Mind you don’t let Stefania run wild,” Mrs. Florescu warned Journey.
“Oh, Ma,” Stefania sighed again. “What do you think I’ll do, run off with the prince?”
To Journey’s surprise, Mrs. Florescu neither laughed nor frowned. Instead, she looked thoughtful. “Do you think I would object if you were his mate? Stefania— it is the last chance, for him and for you. Mind you look into his eyes!”
Journey had no idea what Mrs. Florescu was talking about. Maybe it was good luck to make eye contact with unmarried royalty.
“Yes, Ma.” Stefania seized Journey’s hands. “Let’s go!”
They hurried out of the house and into the hired carriage that awaited them outside. That was something else Journey never got tired of: the horse-drawn carriages. Motor vehicles were banned within one mile of the palace, so carriages often shared the road with cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and the occasional rider on horseback.
Their carriage was drawn by a pair of lovely snow-white horses with pink ribbons braided into their manes. The coachman had a pointed nose and beady eyes that gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a rat, but he wore an elegant black uniform. He cracked his whip and away they went, clattering over the cobblestones.
The streets were decorated with gold and silver ornaments in honor of the prince’s engagement. The setting sun made them glow like molten metal. Journey imagined the prince and princess flying overhead to observe the carriages jolting toward the palace.
The carriage pulled up at the palace gates, and Journey and Stefania got out. Journey had seen the palace and its gardens before, but she’d never gone inside the magnificent building of golden marble whose towers pierced the sky.
She thrilled with excitement as she walked through the immense double doors carved with dragons soaring, dragons fighting in midair, dragons hatching from eggs, dragons guarding treasure hoards, and dragons doing every possible other thing that dragons could do. She’d have loved to examine the doors more closely, but Stefania was practically exploding with impatience.
The ballroom took Journey’s breath away. Its high ceilings sparkled with crystal-and-gold chandeliers, couples were dancing on the polished floors, and a full orchestra played on a stage. The Brandusan tunes were quick and merry, making Journey’s heart feel light enough to float to the ceiling. Her time in the country was winding to a close, but she’d make the most of it.
“Let me dance, Journey,” Stefania begged. “I won’t run away with anyone, I swear!”
“Go find the prince,” Journey suggested.
“He’s not here yet, silly,” Stefania replied. “He makes his grand entrance later.”
“Then go have fun. And don’t go off alone with any men.”
“I promise!”
Stefania darted away, her wooden heels clicking, and made a beeline for a handsome young man in knee-high black boots, blue breeches, and a blue tunic embroidered with white constellations. A moment later, they were whirling together across the dance floor, kicking up their heels in a folk dance Journey had never learned.
Journey watched the dancers for a while, enjoying the sight and making sure Stefania wasn’t doing anything but flitting from one man to the next like a crimson butterfly. Then she headed for the tables and bars around the edges of the ballroom.
The tables were full of platters of elegantly arranged appetizers and desserts, and the bartenders offered cocktails, wine, or hot coffee or tea. One platter held traditional Brandusan pastries: apricot crescents, apple dumplings, plum buns, cherry tartlets, marmalade rolls, and poppy seed triangles. Another displayed fancier desserts: chocolate cream squares, meringue kisses, marzipan tortes, and elaborate concoctions of whipped cream and pastry decorate
d with gold dust.
She was just reaching out for a slice of apple strudel when the orchestra finished their tune. The dancers halted as the trumpeters played a fanfare. Stefania froze like an image in a snapshot, still clasping the hands of her latest dance partner. Everyone turned toward a platform at one end of the ballroom. As the fanfare ended, total silence fell.