Round 2- The First Impression

[Kirke]

peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one

When she finally awakens the next morning, Kirke remains still for a moment, simply … experiencing. The bed is the most comfortable thing she’s ever slept on - lovely and soft (definitely no hay in this mattress!) - and the blanket (she doesn’t remember pulling it up) feels wonderfully silky against her skin. She sighs happily and settles deeper under the blanket. She wouldn’t mind staying here forever.

“Miss?” Kirke jerks upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her bed is completely surrounded by maids, all of whom are currently staring at her. One of them, an older woman with a no-nonsense look on her face, immediately steps forward when she sees the look on Kirke’s face. “Miss, it’s time for you to get ready. You have a busy day ahead of you.” Kirke stays still for a moment, frozen. “Oh …”

Then the enormity of the task ahead hits home and she hauls herself out of the ever so lovely bed. The maids usher her out of the room into an adjoining sitting room, where a massive breakfast awaits. Kirke immediately tucks in, savouring every single bite she takes - the food is simply mouthwatering. As she eats, the maids chatter on about the day’s plans. Kirke listens politely and nods occasionally, but doesn’t add much input - she’s too busy filling her stomach. And by the time she’s full and ready to ask questions, the last of the maids is disappearing through the door with a gesture to something behind Kirke.

She turns and her mouth opens slightly. Through another door that she hadn’t noticed before, she can see a massive gold and marble tub, steaming in the slightly cool air. She moves through door and is immediately struck by the extravagance. To have a whole room for washing up … at home all they have is a little room for the toilet, and a simple metal tub that they pull out when needed.

But, there’s no time to dwell. The maids had mentioned that she might meet the heir today, and she knows that it’s vital she look presentable. She doesn’t want to put him off before they’ve even had the chance to get to know each other. Kirke climbs in and sinks back into the delightfully warm water, her mind drifting to a sketch of the royal family she’d seen some time ago. The prince had been quite a bit younger then - a cute little thing, as most children are, with sandy blonde hair and honey brown eyes. She wonders what he looks like now. Has he aged well? Or does he, like many of the inbred royals, look a little worse for wear? It won’t matter either way, she’ll still woo him no matter his appearance, but her youthful heart can’t help but hope for a handsome prince.

A cool breeze shakes her from her thoughts, and she realizes that the water has gone cold. She pulls herself out, wraps herself in a wonderfully fluffy robe, and walks back to the main bedroom. Her bag is on the floor, having finally arrived, and she moves to it to find something to wear. She sighs immediately. Nothing in her bag is going to even begin to fit in here, in this place of such monstrous wealth. But it’s all she has, so she pulls out her nicest dress (rather, the one with the least amount of holes and tears) and pulls it on.

The moment she’s pulled herself together, there’s a knock at the door. A team of palace servants suddenly spills through the door carrying a whole parade of sewing supplies. Kirke smiles in relief when she realizes what they’re here for - they’re going to give her a makeover. She won’t have to appear in front of the heir in her poor, drab attire.

The next few hours are a blur of measurements, pin pricks, stitching and prodding with makeup brushes. Kirke almost starts to believe it’s never going to end, until, finally, the seamstress and maids step away. “There we are. Purple really is your colour dear. Matches your eyes.” Then she turns Kirke around so that she can see herself in the mirror.

She can’t help but gasp - she’s a far cry from the little village girl that had walked in yesterday evening. Her face has been painted - made slightly more pale, with her cheeks tinted slightly pink, and her lips painted a bright, vibrant red. Her long wavy blonde hair has been pulled up into a very stylish pompadour. Her feet are secured in a pair of simple, but well made black heeled boots. And the dress, ohhh the dress. It’s a silk satin and chiffon confection that is a lovely deep purple - a colour that, as the seamstress had suggested, brings out her purple eyes, making them all the more vibrant. It cinches in her small waist (with a little help from a relaxed corset), giving her a practically perfect figure. And the workmanship is stunning (and very fashionable) - two long silk panels drape down the front and back, stitched all over with the beautifully detailed purple flowers. And perhaps her favourite part - the neck, chest, and a small part of her upper back are covered with a panel of wonderfully detailed black and white lace, topped with a choker of pearls sewn into the lace.

If only Aily could see her now.

She turns back to the seamstress who’s standing back with a rather proud look on her face. “Thank you so much!” The woman smiles kindly. “You’re welcome dear.” She hands Kirke a piece of paper. “Good luck!” Then she, and the rest of the troupe of servants, march out the door.

Kirke unfolds the piece of paper, discovering that it’s a note from the heir. It says that she must plan a date for the two of them … and that her date is in only a few hours! Her mind instantly springs into a panic. It’s so soon! What on earth will she do?

She glances out the window, at the bright sunlight streaming through, and an idea comes to her. When her team of servants returns she springs into action. “Please, could you ask the cooks to prepare a picnic basket? Some light sandwiches and some sweets will do.” A maid nods and rushes off. “And could you obtain a carriage for us?” A servant nods his head at her and takes off through the door. “And finally, could you ensure that a boat is brought out for us at the boat house?” Another servant’s face lights up with a knowing smile, and he disappears to do her bidding. “And I will need a hat!” It wouldn’t do for her to get a sunburn on her first date with the heir. “I have just the thing!” The seamstress reappears from behind her, holding a wide-brimmed black hat. She places it gently on top of Kirke’s pompadour, and pins it so that it will not slip. “All done!” The woman steps back, admiring her own handiwork. “You look lovely dear. Now, the rest is up to you!”

Time simply flies by, and within minutes of the last servant returning to confirm that he’s carried out her request, she is called to meet the prince. A guard leads her to a elegant set of red carpeted stairs, and tells her that the heir is waiting at the bottom. Heart in her throat, she begins her descent.

It’s time to make her father proud.

She catches sight of the prince as her feet travel the last few steps, and she finds her gaze transfixed. Her foolish, girly wish has come true - Frances is a handsome specimen of a man, with the hair and eyes she remembers from the picture, plus a chiseled jaw and muscular physique. Her heart flutters. The heir’s tanned face splits into a dazzling smile as he spots her, and gives a little bow. He reaches out his hand as she passes the last step and she catches it, pausing for a little curtsy. “Your highness.”

Her eyes meet his, and she can’t help but match his smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Kirke.” His own grin widens. “The pleasure’s all mine. Just call me Francis.” They begin to walk towards the door, Kirke’s heart fluttering in her chest. This instant attraction … it’s like nothing she’s ever felt. “So Kirke, I hear you have quite the date planned for us.” Her chin falls, her face flushing. “Yes, I hope so. Shall we head to the carriage?” He nods in agreement and they head for the door, followed by a servant in a black suit.

They make polite small talk the entire short ride to the lake, and in what seems like only minutes they are pulling to a stop. Francis climbs out first, then graciously assists her. Kirke pauses for a moment, eyes dancing out across the lake, then takes a deep breath and turns back to face Francis’ bright smile. “Considering the good weather, I thought it might be nice to have a picnic on the lake.” She’d lucked out with the weather. The temperature is warm, but not unbearably hot, and the sun is bathing the picturesque lake with a rosy glow. A good enough backdrop as any. Francis glances at the lake, spotting the little row boat (basket already inside) moored at the dock. “A lovely idea, my lady. Shall we?” The walk down the path to the lake, across the dock, and climb into the boat - Francis first, then Kirke, then the servant that had followed earlier. Kirke requested accompaniment while organizing the date - it’s only proper of course - but she's now beginning to regret it.

The servant rows them out to the centre of the lake and Kirke opens the basket, revealing the spread. Both of them tuck into a sandwich (Kirke has to suppress a little moan when she tastes the bread, it’s just so good) and lean back to enjoy the sun, the water and the birdsong emanating from the nearby trees. She’d had some concerns about conversing with him (what if she doesn't know what to say?), but is surprised to find that talking to him is easier than talking to anyone else she’s ever met. They talk and they talk and they talk, discussing everything from family to food, to the surrounding countryside. Kirke doesn’t tell him about the Church of Khaos, not yet, but she speaks of her father, and the both of them bond over a mutual desire to make their fathers proud. He asks after her application, particularly the self defence comment, and chuckles when she explains that it’s always good to be prepared.

Francis eventually moves to sit right beside Kirke, slipping an arm about her waist, and the servant raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. For her own part, Kirke finds herself becoming more flirty as the conversation progresses. At one point she even slips a small piece of battenberg cake into the princes’ mouth, surprising herself with her own daring. She’s even more surprised to find that she’d like nothing more than to kiss him, but she suppresses that particular urge. It wouldn’t be exactly proper, especially not on a first date, and she has painted herself as the innocent, young peasant after all …

But, eventually her allotted time comes to an end. The servant rows them back to shore, and they take the carriage back to the palace. Finally, at the door, they bid their adieus, and Francis disappears back into the palace, though not before giving her a little kiss on the cheek. She stays there for a moment, thinking, as the sun disappears behind the horizon. She thinks it’d gone well. She’d certainly felt attraction, and Francis had seemed to as well - especially with the way he’d cuddled up to her, and the way he’d lingered with that kiss at the end. But … he has many dates ahead tonight and tomorrow. Will their afternoon on the lake be enough to keep her in his memory? Will it be enough for her to get past the first round of eliminations?

The thoughts plague her all evening, through her dreams, and on through the next day as she tours the palace grounds. She tries to keep herself occupied, keep her thoughts off the prince, but every once in a while she spots the prince on another date, and her nerves threaten to overwhelm her. She barely eats at dinner and her eyes dart in amongst the other contestants, who all seem to be in similar states of anxiety.

Then, finally, it’s time. The dining room door opens, and a man in the royal livery steps through the door. It’s time for the eliminations to begin.

kirke