*I don't own jane and the Dragon or its characters

Ok, so while this is written a little before the ball, there is still free Reign to write from different povs before, during, and after the ball. Algernon is the name I had chosen for Jane's suitor, and while I wrote a few character details, feel free to add to his character as you see fit if used in a story. I love this story game, and as always, I thank poshkat, lareepqg, Kyra4, and Solitaire44, all who are in this game, and others who hope to join. I hope this is a worthy addition.

The guests had arrived a few days before the intended ball. With the castle buzzing with activity, no one had the time to keep a certain little majesty out of trouble. Of course, Lavinia had been warned by the lady in waiting, but what were warnings when there was fun to be had? Lady Adeline reminded her of an angry hen at times, flapping her feathers about.

In the courtyard tapestries were aired and beat, sending the plumes of dust away, past the trees, past the faces of maids and their baskets of washed sheets, carried by the wind, to a place of no consequence. In the garden, hedges and bushes were trimmed, flowers and ornamentals watered, and weeds pulled. Rake spoke quietly to his beloved's, fertilizing the ones in need of assistance. The ballroom was to be decorated in dusty pinks, accented by bloody reds. They were set to bloom early, and there was more than enough.

In the stables, three young men were busy with repair of tools and care of horses. From face to face, Lavinia's mind traveled, and it could not choose who looked best. Smithy had strength, while Jester was an exotic elegance, and Gunther was….he was…there was so much that could be said. Beautiful obsidian hair crowned his head, lips which twisted words of sarcasm, or weaved compliments. And of course, the eyes, a turbulent gray, sharp and cautious, eyes one could get lost in, for their sadness made you sink in pity if one lingered.

Indeed, she knew them all to be handsome, but they were nothing compared to the highborn Algernon, whose fair eyes were like glass pools of loneliness, whose arms and hands were made to carry a damsel in distress, smiling lips a healthy pink, and dark hair mousy, but flowing. There was something about him, bewitching in the dark mysterious brow of his, a charm. When he spoke, persuasion lit his tongue, laughter bellowed from his chest, jovial, and naturally all were drawn towards him. Why, he was almost like a prince, and there was no wrong to be found in him. Yet, she knew Jane loathed him.

Was it the amusing line of hair he called a mustache which displeased her? Or the way he swallowed her form with his gaze? Was it the ready compliments? Or the lavish gifts his family bestowed on her? So much could have been said about the one who may or may not be the future of the lady knight, but the Princess did not know this much, for if she had, she would beg to help her with her hair and gown, so that she would blaze with the beauty everyone knew Jane could be.

Gunther muttered as he swept, disdain the face he chose that morning. If Lavinia could play favorites, then he would be second to Algernon, but only because Gunther cared too much about what Jane had to say more often than not. They fought if they were happy, they fought if there was only one serving of pie at dinner, they fought for the sake of fighting, but it was not always of anger. Why, it was odd not to see the two squires arguing, and they had been quieter than usual; very unusual for them.

Actually, for the last couple of weeks, the subtle changes were becoming more prominent. Jester was funny, but not as funny as before, and Smithy was Smithy, and Gunther was angry in a melancholic way. It would not do, they were too preoccupied with the unimportant. The tasks at hand held their attentions, while they held hers. It was wicked to be sure, as though it would be proper for a young lady to dwell on the faces of the servants.

Oh, but it was so much fun, so there was no harm in it, at least in secret. Best of all, her mother had told her it was only natural at her age. There were many other things she could say were natural, like getting hungry, being disinclined to bad weather, or being annoyed by an older brother, but there was nothing as natural as wanting what could not be had.

"Stable boy," she waved a twig at him, brush my pony."

"Yes your majesty."

"Gunther," she giggled, "kneel before me."

Jovial laughter could be heard from the courtyard, the sound of hatred beat on his ears. Gunther gripped the pathetic broom, the nails of his other hand drawing blood from his palm. Emptiness threatened, bitterness the taste his tongue recognized; his life an expanding disappointed, and an addle confusion. He obeyed, even if begrudgingly. "Yes," he relinquished. "your majesty."

Right away she turned her face, his appearance too miserable to place. An emotion she could not recognize bloomed, and she disliked it. "Jester," with an unusual seriousness, she hoped to find amusement in the fool. "pretend you are a prince."

"I think not your majesty."

"You are right, it would not do, for the royal colors would clash with your hat."

Then a brilliant thought struck her, she would ask her favorite, then he would attend to her. She imagined it would be pleasing, anything would be, as long as it was not Gunther.

It was no use, he was nowhere to be found, and Lavinia thought to ask Jane, but she stopped when she saw her. A forlorn expression crossed her freckled face when she lifted the arrow. It had missed its mark, and Jane tried again, but this time it hit the wall. Mother had told her to stay away from the knights when they were training, but this was not the reason the princess stayed away. Her nearest and dearest friend was angry, and not in her usual Jane way.

What was going on with everyone? It was like a storm had clouded their hearts. There was nothing else she could think do, and despair oozed, seeped through her head, dripped on her arms, her clothes a conscious effort to carry, her legs frozen, a heart heavy, lips bitten to restrain this storm, but the noise of a cry was beyond her control. A little of everyone was unhappy, and how could the princess feel happy if they were not? The redhead rushed to her side, and wiped away the few stray tears, but more came, these streams dripping on her friends tunic.

Comfort was what she craved, and she knew Jane needed it too. Tightly she held to her neck, the sounds of her weeping muffled in copper tresses. In her heart of hearts, she could not bring herself to ask, it was just too much, and Jane would not tell her if she did ask. However, it was not her own sadness, but the poisoned, pained air of adulthood she was not ready to understand.

When would the rainbow days come again?