When I got the invitation to the Prince of Vampire’s Masquerade Ball, I tossed it in the trash can. I wasn’t much for wearing big frilly dresses or constricting corsets–and don’t get me started on heels.
The invitation had said that it was time for the older of two Prince of Vampires to find his princess, and so the invitation was sent to all eligible women of age. I had the age, and apparently I was eligible, but I had no desire in becoming a princess.
But, my nosy mother spotted the invitation in the trash, and told me if I didn’t go to the ball, I couldn’t go to Night School.
I turned into a vampire when I was 13, like all blood-vampires, but I didn’t let that stop me. Now 16, I still didn’t let my being a vampire stop me from doing things I enjoyed as a human, like school.
So, I found myself at the Royal Vampire’s castle in a big frilly dress, with a constricting corset, and heels that were half a foot tall. My mom had bought all of it just for the occasion.
The ball was at a castle that was beautiful, to say the least. The outside was impressive—walls made of cold black metal, with sharp, pointed turrets. The inside of the castle was equally impressive, black marble flooring and columns, the walls red and black.
The ball was in the massive front hall. There were black candles all along the walls, that dripped red candle wax, and around the room were three fountains that flowed red—after all, blood would be the only thing the attendees of the ball could consume. There were also several black metal tables with two chairs.
It was a beautiful castle, suited for a vampire king or a prince, and that’s exactly who lived there. The Vampire Prince, Alastair, and his brother, Adrian, lived there with his father, the Vampire King.
Everyone who was anyone in vampire society was here, along with every 16 year old vampire in the area.
There was an entire orchestra in one side of room, that played soft classical music.
I sat at one of the tables that was on the edge of the room. I took my high heels off and threw them under the table–I was sick of feeling like I was walking on stilts.
I dully looked around. Everyone, including myself, was wearing a masquerade mask. Mine was made of cold, black metal.
No one had ever seen Prince Alastair.
It was a big ordeal when vampire’s turned 16 that they find their mate—its the only way to keep the bloodline going. So, we marry at 16, and have kids, and then life is all domestic and homey, and I didn’t want any of that. I won’t mind being considered a spinster if it means I can stay independent.
They kept Prince Alastair’s image secret in order to avoid any prejudices when he was to find a mate. It was their way of avoiding girl’s just after his money. That was the same reason why Prince Adrian would not be shown until he was sixteen.
I idly wondered if the prince was here, among the crowd. Not that I cared too much, I had no intention of being too eligible for the prince. As much as my mom wanted, I did not want to be a princess. One night of dresses and corsets was enough for a lifetime.
I shifted uncomfortably in my dress. I wanted to take the thing off and change into some leggings and a loose t-shirt.
I don’t know how long I sat, bored, staring at the dancing people until I watched as a boy, that was my age, appeared in front of me.
He had tight black formal pants, a velvet waistcoat, and a shirt underneath made of black silk. He wore a black, metal masquerade mask that looked identical to mine. Except whereas mine covered my eyes and the bridge of my nose, his covered his entire face. There were holes that showed his eyes and lips.
He had blue-black hair that fell in front of his face, and framed the sides of his face.
He extended a leather-gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”
“I don’t dance,” I told him.
He dropped his hand, and his lips spread into a soft grin. “I don’t either, but it is a ball, after all.”
I groaned. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“Me neither,” he admitted. “My father forced me to attend.”
“Same, except—well, my mom forced me,” I said. “She keeps bothering me, telling me to find the prince—but I don’t care. I don’t want to be a princess.”
“Why’s that?” He smiled again, and sat at the table with me. “I mean, all the other girls won’t shut up about it.”
“Because, I like going to Night School, and want to go to college when I graduate,” I explained. “And, well, being a princess doesn’t exactly fit into the equation.”
He nodded knowingly. “I’d like to go to Night School, but I’m home schooled, overly protective parents, ya know?”
“Right? It took me so long to convince my mom to let me go!” I said, and I smiled for the first time that night. “Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier if I was human.
“As do I,” he said and looked at me with a morose expression. “So, what do you want to major in at college?”
“Writing! I want to be an author,” I told him.
We talked for a while about school, and writing, apparently he enjoyed writing poetry and song lyrics—but he wouldn’t sing any of them.
“C’mon, I want to hear!”
“Oh no, I don’t sing.”
“And I don’t dance…” I grinned a wicked little grin and I held my hand out to him. “How about if I dance with you, will you sing for me?”
He considered it for a moment before he said, “You have a deal.”
We stood up, and he didn’t let go of my hand, he held it as we walked into the crowd of dancing people.
He really was handsome, and I wondered if he was just has handsome under his mask.
We waltzed through the crowd. He knew how to dance quite well, and I kept stepping on his toes. I apologized each time, but each time the told me not to apologize.
As soon as the song ended, we stood, standing a little too close together. My hand was in his, and his arm was wrapped around me. I felt warm and like my heart might break free from my ribcage.
“So the song?” I asked,
“I just came up with one,” he told me. His eyes flickered across my face. He sang softly, in a silky voice:
“Just met this girl,
Not like any other.
Just ‘cause of her mother.
But, I, wouldn’t have,
I wouldn’t have, any other…”
I realized what silly, stupid grin I had on my face, so I covered my face with my hand.
“No,” he said softly, and he put his hand other mine. “Don’t cover your face. You are beautiful…um..? I never asked for your name?”
“Celia,” I told him. My hand felt electric under his.
He took my hand in his and moved our hands, so my face showed.
“And you?” I asked, my voice just a breath louder than a whisper.
His lips spread into a smirk. “Alastair.”
My mouth was gaped open in surprise.
He let go of my hand, and placed it on the side of my face. He slipped my mask off, and I reached up, and removed his. He was even more handsome than I thought, smooth creamy skin, dramatic cheek bones, and a strong jawline.
“Will you be my Princess, Celia?” He asked. But, before I could respond, he bent down and pressed his lips to mine in a soft kiss.
Against his lips, I whispered, “Yes.”
Note: This was originally posted on a blog that I had for school. You can find that here. It has many more stories on it under the storytelling tag!
Images by: Celia Chamizo