Page 58 of The Ballad of a Bard

The Saints, all made out to be their most eternal selves. A show, a parade of powers.

“I don’t think it’s just the clothes that are making you miserable.” Muse tucked a strand of straight hair behind her ears. “You can’t fool me.”

“It’s nothing.” West swore, needing a drink. He excused himself with a half bow in her direction and made for the refreshments. Imp was there, fiddling with something within the many pockets. There were at least sixteen that he could count out.

“Don’t you eventhinkabout adding something to the punch bowl, Imp.” West immediately growled at him. “If I wake up tomorrow with relentless hiccups, or boils that burst with confetti I’ll pay it back ten fold.”

“South, East, NorthandWest!” Imp chittered with an insane warble. “My, my, lookingnotyour best!”

“You don’t need to remind me.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But, it’s good to see you, regardless of whatever pranks and tricks you have planned up your sleeves for tonight.”

“Never-” The Saint frowned as something caught their attention on the stairs, trying and failing to create the opposite expression on the other side of their face. Sanity took over it seemed, because their voice was as clear as water. “Did you know that Heartache has a daughter?”

West spun to see what he was looking at, and forgot the required drink completely.

Crimson descended the stairs, nervously twisting her fingers back and forth in a gown of pure ruby that fell behind her in a fabric trail. Two capes attached at her shoulders, dropping off and showing her collarbones, unadorned. Stars were woven into her hair, creating constellation patterns that matched the simple golden belt across her high waist.

“Saints be damned.” He uttered, dragging a hand over his chin as he took her in. Muse’s work, no doubt- considering she was the only one who knew thatthatparticular shade of red, the same colour as Crimson’s hair, was his favourite colour.

Mesmerising, alluring, gorgeous.

All the compliments and more came to his mind at the sight of her.

West instantly understood why the intervening Saint dressed her that way. If Heartache wouldn’t show, then his daughterwould take his place, and would represent him in his absence. It was a foolish, terrible idea since her son was the one searching for Heartache’s daughter. For Heartache, himself.

He should have never enlightened Altivar to the fact that Red Lyric was female. It would have stretched his search for far longer.

With the way she walked, the way she’d been presented on the massive stairs that led down into the ballroom, it was clear as day who she was. Even if no one knew her name, Crimson Bard was as good as announced as the daughter of a Saint. In that shade, she practically glowed with immortal youth and unlimited gifts.

“Does he know?” Imp squinted, crouching down. “I think perhaps if he did, that he would be here now.”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t when he left eight years ago. She’s twenty-six.” West informed him quietly, quickly searching the heads of the party for a dark brown one in particular. One crowned in a silver circlet, swathed in vivid amethysts and emeralds.

The Prince, who would have no doubt seen her.

To his utter dismay, Altivarhadalready spotted her. He cleared a path through the folk and offered her his hand, dipping low at his waist as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Crimson seemed to hesitate.

Good girl,he silently praised her inside his head, but she eventually gave in to the Prince and let him lead her onto the dance floor. It parted for him, emptying a space as the musicians began to play a slower, gentler melody.

A reason to pull her in close, he realised.

Crimson may have not been able to touch a single vein, tap a nerve or control his heart in any way, but it certainly felt like it at the moment. Because it was tethered to her, pulling behind her as the Prince wrapped his arms around her.

Altivar smirked down at her, a smile that meant nothing but nefarious intentions and deceitful ways. His hand found her lithe waist and tugged her closer until there was almost no space between them.

“My my, you look like the living embodiment of a perfectly working, beatingheart.”Altivar held her firm as he swept them around the black and white tiled floor. Onlookers watched, fanned themselves, enjoying the swaying music that allowed the Prince to steal her for a private moment and a quick conversation.

“I’m sure it’s merely a coincidence. The Empress, your mother, was kind enough to lend me a gown and this seemed to be the only one that fit my height.” Crimson pulled a false, flirtatious smile onto her red lips. The one that she used to score extra tips at the end of a night as one of Roland’s girls. The ones that men liked to see, because they never saw anything beyond it. “Besides, there arestarsin my hair, nothing else.”

Osira helped her into the pretty gown before the ball, as well as talentedly pulling her crimson hair into a whimsical braid that fluffed out, adding each star pin into place. She applied the cosmetics as well, with extreme skill that could only belong to a Saint refined for their love of beauty.

For the second time in her life, she actuallyfeltbeautiful. When Muse had shown her the final look in the mirror’s reflection, she almost didn’t recognize herself. Stunned silence filled the room as a wide smile broke out on Muse’s delicate face. She’d felt it when West told her that she was, but now, she’d seen it for the first time. It was a sort of high that she was riding, one that toyed with her nerves.

“A reasonable excuse, but an excuse nonetheless.” He sent her flying in accordance with the flute and harp notes, drawing her back in. “I think there’s another reason.”

“What would that be? That I look fantastic in red?” She snapped back at him, his chest digging into her back as they rocked back and forth.

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