Captivate

by Vanessa Garden

  For a long time I soaked in the bath, until my fingertips wrinkled into prunes. By the time I got out of the water I was yawning, and a wave of exhaustion swept through me as I dried off and wrapped myself in a soft towel robe. I hoped I would get some sleep before the big day.

  But on return to my room I found myself awake again— there were gifts waiting for me on my bed. Someone had left me a new pair of black satin pyjamas and a bottle of perfume—Vera Wang, ‘Princess.’ There was a note beside it.

  Good luck, Miranda.

  Marko

  I pictured Marko’s arrogant face and screwed the paper up into a ball, enjoying the way it crunched in my palm, and ignoring the way my pulse had quickened at the sight of his handwriting. Did he seriously think plying me with gifts would have me rushing to marry him and save the population?

  Five minutes later, though, unable to help myself, I slipped into the pyjamas and sprayed the perfume onto my wrists and neck. The scent was sweet and subtle and reminded me of Lauren’s room—she was forever drowning herself in some new perfume that one of her many boyfriends had bought her. I kept bringing my wrists to my nose, inhaling myself, wondering at how items like this perfume bottle were brought down to these depths from the land.

  As I unfolded Marko’s note and tucked the creased sheet into my bedside drawer, I wondered about him. He was just as trapped as me—trapped between duty and principle.

  Throwing back the covers, I slipped into bed, my body tired but my mind alert. The past two weeks of dance rehearsals had been a good distraction, but now that the big performance day had finally arrived I was apprehensive about returning to the reality of my situation—of my captivity. Would Robbie be as eager to help me as he had been a fortnight ago?

  If not, then what?

  I shuddered to think. Would Marko expect a wedding? Is that why Sylvia took my measurements yesterday? For a wedding gown?

  The next morning a plate of cold fish, some pieces of fruit—a banana only just bigger than my index finger and some white grapes—and a small bread roll waited for me at the foot of my bed. I managed the banana and a couple of the grapes, but my stomach couldn’t take the fish or the bread roll. All I could think about was how I would be dancing in front of an entire city, among beautiful and experienced dancers, with everyone, including Marko and Robbie, watching.

  A side plate rested over the top of a china teacup beside the food, and I found steaming black coffee beneath it. Just inhaling its aroma settled my nerves. I lay against my pillow, cradling the warm, delicate cup in my hands, taking grateful sips every few seconds while I watched the shifting, swirling steam rise up, more graceful than I’d ever be.

  Not long after, Pat appeared to collect my tray and instructed me to get dressed—Sylvia was coming with my costume. I groaned inwardly. Didn’t Sylvia have a life other than arranging marriages and fertility dances for her brother? Didn’t she have a partner? With her looks, I couldn’t imagine her without offers.

  I dressed—jeans, a long-sleeved top and boots—and to combat my growing nerves, decided to read before Sylvia arrived. Two chapters in, she came.

  The costume was skimpier—I wouldn’t have thought it possible—than the one I’d worn at practice. It was small and glittery, and it seemed to be made out of an even thinner material.

  ‘I can’t wear this,’ I said firmly, holding Sylvia’s snake-green eyes with my own. She smiled, almost angelically.

  ‘The light crystals will be set up especially so that your face will be shadowed but your body will be lit up. The material will shimmer like diamonds. It will be beautiful—a work of art. And besides, you’ll be in character.’

  I sighed and snatched the thing from her, wondering how much of a compliment it was to hear that I’d be a ‘work of art’ when the lighting had been especially arranged to block out my head.

  ‘I’ll escort you down to the courtyard myself this morning, to formally introduce you to the guards, both male and female, who will be controlling the city crowds this evening.’ She pulled the leotard from out of my hands and tossed it on my bed before leading me out the door.

  ‘I think it would be nice for you to gradually build a rapport with them before you become their queen.’

  I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. It was better to keep my thoughts to myself. Convincing Sylvia or anybody else in Marin that I wasn’t going to marry Marko was a pointless exercise.

  Once outside, we descended the endless steps until we reached the tiled courtyard. A gentle breeze brushed against my skin, and I raised my eyes to see several rows of enormous metal, palm-like fronds acting as fans suspended above us.

  Although it was manufactured air, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, imagining I’d stepped out onto a beach with a real breeze tickling my hair. Adding extra magic to the moment, a sprinkling of water from a nearby fountain sprayed across my face.

  ‘Miranda.’

  Something hard poked my ribs. Sylvia’s elbow.

  Two rows of guards had somehow materialised from behind the bordering fountains—one row of men and one of women.

  As we passed, each guard tilted their head in acknowledgment. Not one of them smiled, but then neither did I. It was a funny, awkward sort of meeting where not a word was shared between any of us, and I was thankful when Sylvia led me back up the steps. But a quarter of the way up she stopped and turned around.

  ‘Where is William?’ she asked the closest guard.

  My stomach clenched into a knot. William. He was the guard who had harassed Robbie and me in the hall weeks ago; the one who had given me the creeps.

  ‘He didn’t report for duties this morning,’ a guard said, inclining his head at Sylvia.

  ‘He has an upset stomach,’ said another guard with crooked teeth and small eyes that made him look like a rat.

  Sylvia snorted and made a tsk-ing sound. ‘Carry on, then.’

  The long walk back up the steps seemed longer with Sylvia muttering angrily to herself. The heels of her knee-high boots clicked and clacked angrily against the stone with each stomp. She was wearing a black-leather outfit, that looked very dominatrix, with slicked-back hair and eyes dressed in cat-like black eyeliner that made the green in them pop. Perhaps William was her lover and she was mad he wouldn’t be attending tonight. I shook my head. Whatever it was, the last thing I needed was an image in my head of those two getting it on.

  We parted ways at my bedroom door, and I decided on a quick visit to the kitchen. But halfway down the corridor, I saw Robbie walking towards me in his black guard gear.

  ‘Hello, Miranda,’ he said, before coming to a stop only a metre away. His eyes lit up.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked with brows raised.

  I pictured the dance moves I would have to perform in front of him and grimaced. ‘Sure. I’m only about to make a fool of myself in front of an entire kingdom.’

  ‘You’ll do fine.’ He gave me an apologetic smile and stepped back. ‘I’ve got to go. Marko needs me.’

  I nodded. ‘Maybe we can talk later?’

  Robbie exhaled like he’d been holding his breath forever, and nodded, his eyes deep and dark. ‘Yeah, we’ll talk later tonight.’

  I tried not to get too excited about the prospect of going home, but I couldn’t help it.

  The women in the kitchen, all bar Dina, wished me luck with the dance. Pat nudged me in the ribs, winked and told me that she’d be watching my every move, while Anne blushed red and avoided my eyes—and they all thought I was innocent.

  ‘Here. This will give you energy,’ Kris said, thrusting a plate of steaming spaghetti marinara into my hands. ‘Eat and then have a little more sleep,’ she said, before shooing me away with her apron.

  Back in my room, the pasta remained untouched. My stomach churned: any nerve that I might have possessed earlier had now well and truly deserted me.

  I kept staring at the clock Robbie had sent up to my room. When it hit five thirty I
broke out in a sweat.

  People moved through the corridors, talking, laughing and bustling about. Two female guards stationed themselves at my door—I overheard them saying there were males in the building now. I was so nervous about this stupid dance I wanted to be sick.

  Somebody please kill me, I implored.

  At six pm, I took my sparkling leotard to the dressing room and joined the other squealing and laughing dancers who were getting ready for the big night. Stephanie smiled and, after waving me over, kissed my two cheeks, surprising me with her camaraderie.

  ‘Good luck, darling,’ she whispered in my ear.

  Philippe greeted me in much the same manner, and I lingered about for polite chit chat before slinking to the farthest corner of the room to get dressed behind a screen.

  Because I was sweating so much, the leotard stuck to my skin and curled up against my legs, making it almost impossible to get dressed. But eventually, after much puffing and panting, I yanked it up and over my body and slipped my arms through the straps. I was dressed.

  Stretching my neck out, I peeked from behind the screen. Seeing all the dancers dressed in the same material as me, my body relaxed a little and I shuffled out, hoping that I’d blend in. Philippe spotted me again and glided over, his jet-black eyes drinking me in from head to toe. My arms automatically crossed over my front.

  ‘You look beautiful, Miranda,’ he said, and I mumbled a quick, ‘Thanks,’ my face heating up as it always did whenever I got a spot of attention. Back home, Lauren was almost like a shield, protecting me from scrutinising eyes. I’d gotten used to being a wallflower. I even liked it. At the same time, it was sort of nice getting noticed for once, even though I knew it was only because of Lauren’s absence.

  The dancers crowded around and we joined hands and cheered. I smiled, feeling like I belonged for the first time since coming to Marin. We formed two lines and, together, under the escort of ten female guards, travelled the length of the main corridor.

  As we stepped outside, cool air prickled my exposed skin, but because I was warm and sweaty I welcomed it. The roar from the courtyard below was deafening—frighteningly so.

  We gracefully loped the steps in pairs. I kept my eyes trained on the backs of the dancers in front of me to avoid seeing the mammoth crowds awaiting us. When we reached the courtyard, thankfully, because of the positioning of the crystal lights in our eyes, the massive, noisy crowd was obliterated from my gaze. But as we took our positions, I caught sight of Marko, seated in his throne with Sylvia beside him, raised high on a platform so that they were visible above all else.

  His frosty blue eyes were trained on me—even from this distance I could tell—and it did zero for my confidence. I scanned the sea of faces for Robbie, and was kind of glad when I couldn’t find him. Perhaps he wouldn’t be witnessing the most embarrassing moment of my life after all. Maybe he was off fine-tuning the details of our escape.

  The low, pulsing music started and Philippe guided me into position, where I would dance with the other women. A hush descended upon the crowd when he, along with the other men, left us to dance along the fringe of the stage.

  The music changed to a slightly more hectic rhythm. The other dancers commenced their moves, but I remained frozen in place.

  They danced fluidly, but their faces strained when they saw me not moving. Butterflies fluttering around a motionless slug.

  Sweat trickled down my back. I willed myself to move, but couldn’t.

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd. People were probably debating whether my lack of dancing abilities reflected on my queenly potential.

  Lauren’s face suddenly flashed inside my mind, and for once her features were true and distinct.

  Move your arse, Miranda! If Aiden can handle a stinking dungeon, you can handle this dance! The Lauren of my imagination was right.

  The music turned chaotic, and while the other women were hurling themselves around the dance floor I whipped my body around in a circle and threw myself in. The fact that I was at the centre of them all meant I was somewhat shielded from the crowd. When the music came to a grand halt, signalling the arrival of our partners, my hands flew to the heavens, my face contorting into real pain; but I wasn’t thinking about barren underwater civilisations. I was thinking about my family and how much I wanted to go home.

  The crowd gasped at our collective agony, and a sense of pride radiated from deep inside my heart. Despite how embarrassed I felt, we, as dancers, had made these people feel.

  I crumpled to the ground, my breathing heavy, while I waited for Philippe. For some reason I started to think about Marko and the way he’d touched my hand in Frano Tollin’s room. My thoughts were interrupted by a gentle stroke of my hair.

  I raised my head.

  Philippe stared down at me with glazed eyes and, although he’d performed this dance almost a hundred times with me in rehearsal, I was certain something new reflected within him: a passion that I’d never noticed before. He was a good actor, but the smouldering look he was giving me was so acute it unnerved me.

  I took his hand, and he drew me up and off the floor before wedging his torso against mine. Just to be this close to a man, to feel every groove and lump of his body while he bore his eyes into mine, was uncomfortable enough, but to do it in front of a massive crowd while other dancers performed sexy moves around me was completely unbearable. The low, throbbing music made it even worse.

  Breaking away from Philippe’s severe stare, I looked to where Marko sat, and my stomach lurched when I saw Robbie standing by his side. He stood stiff, in a guard’s pose, but from the way his face was positioned I could tell that his eyes were following me.

  My face burned more than humanly possible. If I’d had a brother then this is what it would have felt like to have him watch me pull sexy moves.

  The music changed, and my stomach swirled like a washing machine. I knew what was coming. I glanced at Philippe, whose face gleamed with sweat, his lips half open, his eyes imprisoning mine. He was preparing for the kissing scene, the scene I’d vehemently protested during rehearsals. In the end we’d agreed on a single peck.

  The music tapered off and died just as Philippe leaned in. I stiffened and kept my mouth in a straight line while his slippery lips moved over mine like a couple of warm slugs.

  Finally, after what seemed like eternity, we parted and bowed.

  There was a prelude of silence before thunderous applause exploded into the air. Philippe squeezed my hand in his and leaned in to my neck, his moist lips brushing against my earlobe. ‘You were fantastic,’ he whispered, his breathing laboured from the dance, ‘I do hope the true king’s baby will visit your womb soon.’

  Urgh. I shuddered. His words were like a disgusting, slimy worm slithering in my ear. My skin crawled and I leaned my head away, tugging at my hand until it slid from out of his sweaty grasp.

  I repeated his words inside my head and stared at him.

  ‘What do you mean by true king?’

  His smile was as smooth as an oil slick. He leaned forward.

  ‘I merely hope you and the king are with child soon.’

  I jerked my head back from his and swallowed down my vomit.

  The crowds, still cheering strong, started chanting an upbeat song in a language I’d never heard before, and then the rice hit me—raw grains tossed into the air to rain down on us.

  My lips curved upward into a wide smile, and I quickly forgot about Philippe’s disgusting kiss and his odd choice of words. The people of Marin had accepted me—these strangers from an underwater city. They hadn’t laughed at the chubby girl trying to dance, as I’d dreaded they might. I giggled with the other dancers as we tried to shield ourselves from the raining rice. The mood was infectious.

  Marko stood to applaud, as did Sylvia. Robbie simply stared ahead. Judging by his set jaw, he was unhappy about something. I hoped it didn’t mean what I dreaded.

  He’s just worried about getting caught…who wouldn’t be?
I told myself.

  Inside the dressing room everyone was in high spirits because Sylvia had just popped her head around the door to announce that we’d all been invited to a royal feast and dance in the ballroom. I found myself riding the wave of excitement, almost forgetting for a moment that I was captive.

  Not bothering to wait for the guards to escort me, I rushed along the hallway and into my bedroom, heading straight for the wardrobe. Jeans and a jumper just wouldn’t do for a ball. I flicked through a myriad dresses, wondering which would be appropriate.

  I’d never been to a ball before. I’d asked this one guy from my English class to my year eleven ball, but he’d kept on wanting to know what Lauren was wearing and if we were travelling in the same car as her, so I dropped him a week before the big day and stayed home watching The Big Bang Theory re-runs.

  Eventually I decided on a floor-length aquamarine dress with an empire waist—very Atlantis-ish.

  Feeling pretty chuffed with myself, I closed the wardrobe doors, but jumped when I found Philippe standing right there in my room. He was still dressed in his leotard and was completely drenched with sweat, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  ‘Philippe, what are you doing here?’ I asked him nervously. When my eyes skipped to the open door, he loped gracefully towards it and kicked it shut with strong dancer legs. Where the hell were the guards?

  ‘I came to personally thank you.’ He stalked towards me, his lean, wiry chest heaving with each breath.

  I backed away. ‘Thanks. But it should be me thanking you…and Stephanie.’ My voice came out strangled. I waved the dress in the air. ‘Let’s get back to the dressing room with the others. We don’t want to be late for the ball.’

  ‘Nobody noticed me leave. The guards are busy with a disturbance in the crowd,’ he said, chuckling smugly.

  ‘And we deserve a bit of time out, us two star dancers.’ He danced towards me, his feet light and quick. I backed up until the cool, stone wall pressed into my back.