A Very Awkward Romance

Ballroom Chess

Watching her flee down the corridor filled him with a mixture of frustration and something that felt almost like regret. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he realized how close he came to creating a royal scandal.

"Damn it all to hell," he muttered, leaning against the wall as if needing the support. "Of all the infuriatingly tempting women in this palace, I had to pick the one who's both innocent enough to think 'p***y' means cat and determined to avoid marriage at any cost."

The sound of distant music and laughter drifted from the ballroom, reminding him of his royal duties and the fact that he was supposed to be finding a suitable bride among eligible maidens who were invited to the ball. He remained in the corridor for several long minutes, his jaw clenched as he tried to compose himself. Arousal was still coursing through his veins, mingling with the lingering frustration of wanting to bend Elise over and f**k her senseless right here against the marble walls. Running his hands down his vest to smooth out any wrinkles from their heated encounter, he took a deep breath, but his eyes still held that dangerous glint as he considered how much trouble he would cause if he followed her back into the ballroom and dragged her back to his chambers in front of everyone.

"She thinks she can just run away and pretend that nothing is happening between us," he mutters under his breath.

Esbeth calmly walked around looking for her mother and made sure to be very off-putting to any man who approached her. He was watching from across the room as she re-entered the ballroom, his eyes tracking her every move with predatory focus.

The way she moves — that forced casualness, the way she subtly discourages every man who approaches, only serves to fuel his obsession. He stealthily entered the ballroom, doing his best to avoid the ladies who would throw themselves at him. He made a show of adjusting his cufflinks as he scanned the crowd for her. When their eyes meet across the room, he offers a slow, deliberate smirk that promises retribution for her earlier escape.

"The little mouse thinks she can escape me," he grumbled to himself. His smirk widens at her deliberate avoidance, and he felt a trill of amusement at her transparent attempt to ignore him. Taking a slow sip of wine, he watched her search through the crowd as if she hadn't noticed his presence at all.

"Playing hard to get?" He murmurs under his breath, contemplating her motives, "Or just trying to convince yourself that running away will actually work?"

The prince began moving through the ballroom with casual grace, circling the perimeter until he positioned himself between Esbeth and her mother's usual location. His path would inevitably cross hers again soon — forcing another encounter that she would be unable to avoid.

"Let's see how long you can pretend I don't exist," he grumbled with smug satisfaction.

When Elise noticed the prince had placed himself between her and her mother, she frowned. She wanted her mother for once. Instead of hiding from her, she wanted her there, hauling her around and introducing her to endless people that were far easier to shake than the prince was.

Prince Ambrose catches the subtle shift in Elise's expression as she realizes his strategic positioning. The way her lips press into that frustrated line tells him everything — how desperately she wants her mother's protective presence right now, how much she hates being trapped in this game of cat and mouse with him. He takes another deliberate sip of wine, letting the liquid burn down his throat as he savors the power dynamic between them. Every time she glances toward her mother but can't reach her without passing him, his satisfaction grows. Elise looked right at him and grinned a feral smile at him. She looked over at a bunch of young ladies who were gossiping away about the weddings they would plan if they snared the prince. With a final vindictive smirk, she walked up to the ladies and introduced herself.

"Hello, ladies. I am Esbeth Pendleton. Daughter of Duke Pendleton. I have a delightful older single brother. Would anyone.... Oh my! Is that the prince?! He's RIGHT THERE!" She feigned amazement as she looked right at him and pointed so all the ladies would see him. She grinned savagely at him as the ladies squealed and ambushed him. Once the ladies had him trapped and cornered, she strutted up to her mother and grabbed her arm.

Prince Ambrose's expression darkens like a storm cloud as Elise's malicious grin reaches him across the ballroom. The way she deliberately calls attention to him, using those poor simpering debutantes as human shields — it's both brilliant and infuriating.

He forces a polite smile as the ladies descend upon him like vultures, their voices shrill with excitement as they vie for his attention. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as Esbeth struts away with her mother's arm linked through hers, leaving him to deal with this manufactured chaos.

"The little b***h is enjoying this," he growls through gritted teeth. The prince maintains his regal composure despite wanting to strangle both Esbeth and every woman currently clinging to his every word. His eyes keep flicking toward the corner where Esbeth now stands safely beside her mother, that victorious smirk still plastered across her face.

Esbeth leaned towards her mother, thoroughly enjoying the prince's struggles. "Mother, can we leave now?"

Elise's mother looks up from her conversation with a fellow matron, her brow furrowing slightly at the request to depart so early. Her eyes follow Elise's gaze toward the prince, catching sight of his strained smile and the way he keeps glancing desperately in their direction.

"Leave already?" Her mother asks. "Are you feeling unwell dear?"

Meanwhile, Prince Ambrose managed to extract himself from one particularly persistent debutante who won't stop discussing her family lineage. His patience is visibly wearing thin as he scans the ballroom for any help he could enlist in escaping the gaggle of women surrounding him.

"I just want to go home," Esbeth replies with practiced innocence, "the music is dreadfully boring and I'm tired of watching all these girls make fools of themselves over the prince."

Esbeth stared at her mother intently, frowning when her mother kept looking around the ballroom "Mother, I highly doubt you will find an eligible man for me at this ball that father will approve of. Is Father coming this evening? If so, He hates these events, I am sure he would be willing to take me home..."

Esbeth's mother finally turns her full attention to her daughter, her expression softening as she realizes the depth of her daughters discomfort.

"You're right," her mother concedes with a sigh, "Your father would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than attend one of these functions. Very well, we'll leave now."

As they begin making their way toward the palace exit, Prince Ambrose watches their retreat like a hawk. The way Esbeth keeps glancing back at him over her shoulder with that mixture of triumph and defiance.

"She thinks she's won," he thinks bitterly, "but every step she takes away from me is just fueling my desire to chase her down and f**k that smug smile right off her face."