Muffled through her hands, Alexandra muttered, “It’s definitely her… and in my favorite day dress.”
Looking a second time, Asmodeus’ raised his brows in surprise. “Ah yes! Quite right; that is your day dress.” Leaning back, Asmodeus gazed off into the past. “Oh, the times I’ve wanted you out of it… but never quite like this.”
Alexandra’s eyes peeked out from behind her fingers in to shoot daggers, aimed first at Asmodeus, but immediately finding a new target in the heedless Marie. “I’m dreaming. This has to be a dream but I know better! If that misfit gets even one stain on my clothes, I’ll…”
“Have me to willingly, nay, gladly restrain you,” purred Asmodeus as he pushed the empty plate away from his immediate vicinity. “We should give her a chance. At the very least, she tried to dress herself for the occasion. And she’s spunky enough to have followed us at risk of the wrath of Colette.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Alexandra conceded, “but I have a bad feeling about this. Mark my words we should have locked her in her room.”
After the general scuffing of chairs and murmurs of disproval over Max’s new dinner guest, Marie was firmly entrenched between the warm, inviting eyes of Maximilian and the darkly manic eyes of her ringmaster. Timidly, Marie opened her mouth to tell the prince a story, any story about circus life, but no sound came out. She just stared at his smiling face while the world around him melted into a trifling. Down the table, Asmodeus casually nudged Alexandra and nodded in Marie’s direction with a sly wink.
Colette, silently berating him with a glare, verbally jumped in front of this imminent train wreck. “Your majesty, what are those delightful confections I see coming out of the kitchens”
Maximilian glanced back, and explained to Marie, with a note of pride, “You’re lucky you arrived when you did, Fraulein. You are just in time for dessert which, I might add, we Bavarians exceed at.”
Marie blushed slightly at the prince’s attentions and meekly remarked, “Well I must say dessert is my favorite meal of the day. I could almost swear I followed the sweet smell of cakes and pies to find this place.” She looked around her with a grin and a nervous chuckle, only to be met by the stern glares of the dour politicians, but Ludwig’s rich, rolling laughter convinced them it might be in their best interests to get the joke. A resounding chorus of mirth echoed through the hall.
With a sigh, Ludiwg wiped a tear from his eye and handed a bowl of steaming broth to Marie. “Before the sweets, you should really try the Pfifferlingesuppe our chef prepared. It’s wonderful.” Marie thought she heard ‘soup’, and was willing to give the dark broth a try. She leaned over a large spoonful, inadvertently submerging her necklace, letting it dangle amongst the fungi. Several nobles shifted away from a deep growl emanating from somewhere around Alexandra.
After such a startling entrance, the assembled dinner guests gradually returned to their conversations. Maximilian had a glass brought and a servant began filling it with a delightfully dark, sweet wine. Marie, enjoying the wine’s flavor and newfound cover for her giddiness, never noticed the waiters on hand to refill the glass, content to attempting small talk through burning cheeks. Marguerite, having found a remarkable intelligence in the king, returned to explaining some of the more technical aspects of her research to a rapt audience. Meanwhile, Colette was engaged in a discussion with her neighbor, a lesser noble from a nearby city, over the best and worst locales in her travels. She was currently remembering an ill-fated event in the Arabian deserts. “And that, lordship, is when our magician over there rerouted the gas in the balloon through the boiler and out of a pipe he had shoved out the back window, allowing us to escape those blood-thirsty dervishes. Now, avoiding crashing and ending our lives…”
Asmodeus raised his glass in mock salute, his lips cocked in a wry smile. “We made it out alive, didn’t we?”
Marie suddenly perked up, having heard this story before and realizing they were telling it all wrong, turned from Maximilian so fast she upset her fourth glass of port. Affecting a high-brow mannerism, she interjected, “Wait! Isn’t that the time when Asmodeus found that completely inebriated girl with the tight corset ad too much blush and he took her…”
Alexandra gave Asmodeus a glare and a solid kick to the shins. “Home!” he interjected hastily into his glass, nearly choking on the fine Gewuertztraminer perched at his lips. “I took her home! It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.”
“But Asmodeus,” Marie continued, “That’s not what happened. I distinctly remember you saying… ouch! Colette, what was that for?”
There was a muted ‘thud’ from beneath the table. With a snarl, Colette whispered through clenched teeth, “Shut up and eat your food. We’ll talk about this later.”
Marie was daunted… for mere moments. Perhaps it was the wine, the atmosphere, or the fact that nobody had thrown her out.
“You know,” she said conspiratorially to Max, “I can tell you the whole story later. It’s really quite thrilling, and requires a lot of flexibility but as an acrobat I can appreciate it and show you all the moves…”
“And you’ve had enough,” declared Colette, taking hold of Marie’s glass and gently pulling it away.
Marie, however, had other ideas, tugging forcefully by the chiseled stem of the crystal goblet. “No, I have not, thank you very much!”
With a violent wrenching Marie freed her glass from Colette’s clutches, only to hurl the ruby liquid in a shower over herself, the rumpled yellow dress, and Prince Maximillian’s dinner jacket. A resounding gasp arose from the assembled dignitaries, some looking incensed, others like they had eaten something sour. The wine was as blood to Alexandra as it eclipsed the sunshine of the day dress; a grievous injury to a once vibrant and youthful article of clothing. The color drained from her face; she could already sense the cotton fibers dying an irrevocable shade of mauve. With a sigh, her eyes unfocused and went skyward, her body thudding to the floor. Asmodeus would have caught her, should have caught her, but was instead dumbstruck, the spoonful of a delicious custard hovering just outside his mouth now sliding slowly back into its bowl with a resounding ‘plop’. Marguerite leaned back into Froderick’s arms, casually sipping coffee from an ornate gilt-edged cup and saucer, surveying the chaos, and Alexandra’s despair, with a grin. The courtiers held their breath, afraid to make even the slightest sound. Tears glistened on Marie’s eyelids, the glass falling forgotten from her fingers to shatter on the cold floor. Colette winced in visible pain, seeing in her mind’s eye the evening’s events, her social standing, and her desperately maintained patience collapsing alongside the shards scattered at her feet. Had King Ludwig, a deep scowl settling over his face, not been seated between them, Colette felt she might have sprung upon Marie and throttled her then and there. As it turned out, this might have been a recommended course of action, for it would have prevented what happened next.
Apologizing incoherently, Marie snatched at her napkin which in turn upended the bowl of soup, sending it sliding and gliding across the table into Colette’s lap. She jumped to her feet, but not fast enough to avoid being decorated in wet mushrooms. Her arms, as if of their own volition, flew into the air, catching the duke sitting next to her square in the chest and sending him, chair and all, tumbling over backwards… into the path of a servant laden with dishes. As servants are wont to do when confronted with an obstruction not entirely visible or expected, the liveried man tripped on the duke, throwing his arms out to catch himself and simultaneously hurling the remnants of a cake at the duke’s wife.
The Duchess stared, open mouthed, as the pastry arced toward her, soaring straight into her face. With a cry muffled by delicious whipped icing, she frantically clawed at her face, endeavoring to remove the offending baked good before it could do anymore harm, and thus slinging it wildly in all directions. Asmodeus gasped, the thought of cake marring his favorite vest simply appalling, and nimbly dodged from his seat, taking two steps only to trip over Alexandra’s inert form. He sprawled face-first on top of her, bringing her out of her unconscious retreat. Dazed, she reached up and gently caressed his cheeks and eased the wrinkles from his startled brow, a smile creasing her lips. “Well good evening handsome. Come here often?”
Asmodeus, close enough to feel the soft tickle of her breath across his face, to become wrapped in her intoxicating scent, closed his eyes and leaned closer, preparing to give himself over to her and his desire. Alexandra could feel the soft bristles of his moustache brush her lips. She felt his heart pounding through her corset. Her eyelids fluttered in anticipation.
And then Asmodeus was airborne. Something grabbed hold of Asmodeus’ shoulders, wrenching him from the ground and forcing him to his feet. Lips still puckered, he opened his eyes to a visage twisted with rage and eyes alight with a burning desire to hurt something. He knew this face quite well.
Colette was furious, sputtering incoherently. After a moment, she seemed to get her thoughts in order and her hands around Asmodeus’ throat. “You,” she growled. “This is your fault. Let’s go to Germany. We’ll perform for the King. We’ll go to a fancy dinner.” She began to shake him to and fro, shrieking, “You let Marie find out.”
Marguerite, still lounging languidly against Froderick, set her cup and saucer on the table and looked up at the engineer. “I suppose I should calm her down; no telling what she’ll do. Please excuse me, dear.” Reaching under her skirt she produced a syringe already loaded with tranquilizer and was just standing to wrangle her ringmaster when laughter thundered in her ears.
All those within the dining hall turned at the sound. Marguerite stopped midway out of her chair. Colette stopped throttling Asmodeus; he stopped choking. All eyes turned to the head of the table, where Ludwig stood, arms akimbo. He stuck his finger in a nearby cake, and playfully smeared a line of dark chocolate across Max’s cheek. “Spitze! Wunderbar!” he cried. “This was the most fun I’ve had in some time. My usual guests,” he gestured at the nobles staring wide-eyed and terror-stricken, “are often such a bore, but you are so talented… especially this little one!” He gave the tipsy acrobat a good natured pat on the back. “You even had my son in on it. If your act is half as exciting, then we are in for a real treat.” With a final chuckle, Ludwig stepped away from his throne, one hand on Max’s shoulder, face beaming with a smile. “Now, my guests, the night’s festivities have drained me. If you will excuse me, I shall retire for the evening. Thank you, my guests, and goodnight.” Turning on his heel, cape swinging majestically, Ludwig left the room amidst a forest of bowing bodies, the great carven doors thudding closed behind him to leave the hall in eerie silence. Maximillian removed Marie to arm’s length. “Well, maybe that’s enough excitement for one night. No, do not worry about the jacket. It can be cleaned. Come, I’ll see you safely home.”
Marie turned to look at Maximillian through half-lidded eyes and simply replied, “You have… beautiful… eyes,” before falling asleep, head dropping against his chest.
