Chapter Two
Twenty minutes later Lois slowly unbolted the multiple locks to her apartment door, stepped inside, snapped on the lights and closed the heavy door behind her. Her mind was still dazzling from dancing with the Man of Steel. Forget Fred Astaire, move over Gene Kelly and the young tap dancer Savon Glover, the last son of Krypton *truly* danced on air!
After Lois dropped the heavy briefcase, she giggled and began to dance and pirouette about the living room with childish glee, humming the same romantic tune Superman had sung to her. She felt cherished and innocent, like a lady of the nobility from the times of Regency England, attending an Embassy Ball. It was a rare emotion and one cheerfully embraced.
Eventually she stopped dancing in front of the fish tank. The tiny multicolored occupants were watching; their hungry mouths agape. Seeing them, she sighed quietly, it was time to leave youthful fantasies behind and feed the fish.
Once her pets were attended to Lois began her evening routine for bed; a quick vanilla scented bubble bath, to rinse off the perspiration of her walk through Metropolis on yet another humid summer night, followed immediately afterwards by a brisk towel-down and then rubbing soothing rosewater lotion over her body. The last vestiges of tension from tightly coiled back muscles evaporated.
Lois went to the bedroom and opened the lowest drawer in tall wooden bureau. Inside were sleeping clothes made of either cotton, silk or satin. She pulled out a lovely soft, white cotton nightgown with lace appliqués of pink and light blue thread. The gown’s downy fabric felt like a sinful caress as it easily slid over her skin, until it touched her toes; the nails polished a dainty seashell pink. The garment was utterly dreamy, just what Lois needed.
She was still too keyed up to sleep, and so entered the living room to put on some soft music - the fluid strains of classical music being light and gentle - and then made a cup of chamomile tea, brewed from tin branded with the name Taylors of Harrogate; a brand that was only made in England. Clark had given her the tin last week, making her a cup to calm her down after Superman had rescued her from a stakeout which had gone horribly wrong. She took gentle sips, enjoying the mélange of flavors as they flowed over expectant taste buds.
After twenty minutes of listening to the light and airy strains of classical music and drinking tea, Lois felt tired enough to finally go to bed. As she snuggled between sheets that were cool, fresh and scrumptiously inviting, she thought again about the romantic film seen last weekend and the deep impression it had made. Superman had called her ‘my lady’ just as the princess’ true love had done in the film. She stopped for a moment, where had the tune he had hummed come from? Was it possible he had seen The Queen’s Consort?
Did … did Superman believe love could exist between himself and a Terran female?
If so, was she to be that fortunate woman?
So many improbable questions, yet for now, far too many for a tired mind to contemplate. Her mouth opened with a wide yawn and, soon, eyelids heavy with exhaustion began to flutter. Before Lois realized it, a deep, restful sleep had claimed her. Her last thoughts were of Superman’s powerful arms around her waist and oddly, Clark’s voice whispering endearments softly.
Dream Sequence
The herald’s voice rang out to the crowd gathered below, “My Lords and Ladies, the moment we have awaited. I present to you, her Royal Highness, Princess Loysa!”
The scene in the ballroom froze into utter stillness for a tiny march of heartbeats. A respectful hush fell over the crowd. The beautiful, young Princess Loysa of the country of Metpolria arrived at the great White Ball. She stood at the top of palace’s grand staircase, swathed by carpeting in a royal blue so deep, it seemed almost purple. The lavender hued gown she wore was made of the finest Chinese silk; the hem was embellished by tiny roses, embroidered with lavender and silver threads, perfectly suitable for a young princess about to have her engagement announced to the Royal court. Her mask was also lavender and silver, topped with orchid feathers.
Below her stretched the vast ballroom, adorned with tea-lamp wall sconces and boasting a cathedral ceiling that held substantial candle chandeliers, which were supported by grand white columns made of smooth plaster, modeled after ancient Grecian design.
Against the walls on tables covered with snowy white linens laden with exotic fruits, meats, pastries and drinks were great aqua blue vases filled with magnificent bouquets of flowers, their various scents mingling into a heady perfume, tantalizingly spicing the air.
Stunning colossal windows allowed the guests to look into the world famous gardens of Metpolria from which those same flowers had been gathered. King Samuel had ordered that the large outdoor torches be lit to cast illumination onto the grounds in order to display the garden to guests and visiting dignitaries alike.
Over two hundred members of the nobility and dignitaries from five different countries awaited her descent. The ladies scented and clothed in superb gowns so colorful and shimmering they were almost iridescent – like jeweled butterflies. The pampered daughters of the elite who looked up to the Princess were attractive - even pretty. Their makeup and hair were done in the very height of fashion, yet try as they might; none were as captivating and as beautiful as Princess Loysa
In stark contrast the gentlemen were bedecked in coats of somber, dark broadcloth and variously hued waistcoats set off by crisp white shirts with expertly tied curvats. Although this was a masked ball, none of the participants wore costumes, merely elaborate masks to add a sense of whimsy to this festive gathering.
Normally Loysa would be keenly excited and look forward to the joviality of the evening. But now she was on display to not only the elite of Metropolia’s society, but that of Northumbria’s as well.
This Ball was unlike any other and she needed to play her part to perfection.
At the far end of the ballroom were her parents, King Samuel and Queen Eleanor seated patiently on their thrones. Standing by her father’s side was the man whom every person in the kingdom presumed would be her future husband; Crown Prince Alexi of Northumbria. He was of good height, with a strong body, typical of a man who rode horses and was active within his country’s military. His hair was curly and dark, but his eyes were different, deep pools of blue, the shade of which she had never seen before.
Many of the elite had expressed their tacit approval of the match, stating she was fortunate to have such a fellow to stand by her side. Life would never be uninteresting.
There was a perfectly good reason for such expectation and approval; tonight her father would announce her engagement to Alexi, which made the White Ball not just an event, but a state occasion. She should be thrilled; yet a pinprick of anxiety, even a little trepidation chased through her body whenever the older man stared at her. Lord Alexi was not a terrible man; indeed he was handsome, sharply intelligent even kindly. Precisely the sort of nobleman King Samuel had wanted his only daughter to wed, and thus seal the treaty between their two countries. He was entirely suitable ….
Yet he was not the one she secretly desired to spend the passing years with.
Surreptitiously scanning the room, she searched for the one face in that gleaming assembly who meant the world to her. Where was her childhood friend, Sir Kaldar of Kent? After a few seconds the search was abandoned, he was nowhere to be seen. She needed to walk down the grand staircase before the courtiers sensed her unease. With confidence born from years of training to be a lady and future Queen, she placed one dainty foot, clad in a lavender colored silk slipper on the first step.
When she reached the bottom as if on cue courtiers and servants alike parted from her like the opening of a large book. They bowed and paid homage as she strode past, their faces more of a blur now than from the top of the staircase.
A bubble of panic welled up as she drew closer to her parents and Lord Alexi.
At the edge of her vision, she spotted a man in a gray mask whose movements and agile form were as familiar to her as her own. The breath caught in her throat and she almost cried out his name in happiness. Kaldar! His attire for the White Ball was fitting for a man of his rank; an expertly tailored black wool coat, tan pants, white waistcoat and perfectly tied cravat, but she detected by the rigid set of his shoulders, that he was ill at ease. Suddenly she noticed the petite blonde woman, her face concealed by a golden mask with thin white ribbons trailing down the sides, standing closely - perhaps too closely - by his side.
Despite the mask, she realized it had to be Lady Ileana Dupree, one of the lesser ladies of rank within the court. Many a sharp-eyed matron had speculated she would be a perfect love match for the gentle young man. Loysa was fully aware that, although the two had known each other since they were children the only thing they held in common was their birthplace. Since the arrival of Prince Alexi and his entourage, Kaldar had been seen frequently in the lady’s company. Had their relationship changed? The tiny bubble of panic was replaced by concern. Was that why she was standing so close to Kaldar?
Her legs stiffened as she watched Ileana possessively take the crook of Kal’s arm, stand exquisitely on tiptoe and whisper in his ear. His face, despite the gray mask, normally so open and cheerful became serious and closed as tight as a fist. He bent down and whispered something to Ileana and then quickly departed, leaving the young lady standing alone, now her shoulders were tense.
Witnessing such an intimate exchange between the couple, she wanted nothing more than to discard the shimmering lavender gown and flee from the Ball. The low sound of voices filled her ears; observers had noted her hesitation. Immediately duty and training forced her silk bound feet to continue walking towards her parents, towards her future throne and the man she would soon wed.
Finally she arrived in front of the dais, walked up the steps and curtseyed to her parents. Her father said, with concern in his voice,
“Are you well child? I thought I saw your steps falter.”
Blinking, her dusky eyelashes fluttered, “Oh no. It’s just the excitement of the evening …” She glanced at Lord Alexi, who had extended a hand to her and smiled. Obediently she stepped up to the dais and stood by his side.
“Ah that is perfectly understandable, my dear!” King Samuel smiled jovially with a nod to his wife. He stood and in a clear voice said, “My lords and ladies, assembled guests of Metropolia and Northumbria, I welcome you! Please partake of food and wine and then to the floor and dance!”
High above the dancers’ heads, in the gallery, skilled musicians stuck up a lively waltz that was currently in fashion. Several eager courtiers moved throughout the candlelit room to find their respective partners and, with a swish of rich fabric and the sounds of happy conversation, energetically took to the floor.
Prince Alexi was the picture of courtly manners as he bowed deeply and said, “May I have the honor of this dance, Loysa?”
She was slightly taken aback at the use of her first name without the title coming so freely, but adhering to protocol she curtsied and said, “Of course, my lord.”
His thin lips formed into a genuine smile. “Loysa, we are about to be engaged, and soon after will be man and wife. Surely you can call me Alexi … in private?”
“Yes, my … Alexi.” She felt foolish and very immature; with a mental shake she looked at her future fiancé and said, “You are right, please call me Loysa, for I have no simpler name.”
“There is nothing simple about you.” His blue eyes danced with mischief as he led her down the dais stairs. Together they entered the dance floor and joined the enthusiastic throng. Loysa did not speak, but let her years of dance training take over. Their movements were smooth, but at times hesitation, on the princess’ part, ruined their footwork. At one point the slippers nearly got tangled in the gown’s hem.
Embarrassed by such clumsiness she apologized, “I am sorry, Alexi. My dance master would be very disappointed in me.”
His dark blue eyes shined, “It is not a concern. Tonight is a night unlike any other we have experienced. You have every right to be nervous.”
“But you are not?” She asked, doe-like eyes looking at him with astonishment.
His soft lips barely swept her bare neck. An extremely risqué move which she hoped neither of her parents noticed. He whispered in her ear. “Ah such innocence is a treasure! Soon, Loysa, we shall share a ‘dance’ that your dance master could not teach.”
The tiniest of gasps escaped past her lips.
***
A tall man dressed from head to toe in black appeared at the top of the staircase at the height of the dance. With the athletic control of an expert swordsman, he stepped with effortless grace down the great carpeted staircase and moved smoothly through the crowd of courtiers, foreign dignitaries and busy servants.
Some of the Metropolia’s doyennes studied his form with their up raised monocles, following his fluid movements, and realized he was not someone of the court, but a stranger. They murmured enthusiastically among themselves and were eager to learn his identity. In their exclusive world it was tactically understood that such a man, if unattached - and if he was of royal blood - was suitably eligible for marriage to one of their daughters.
***
The stranger ignored the quiet undercurrent of whispers and rampant speculation that followed his wake. Besides his unknown identity, it was solely that a properly groomed gentleman did not appear in public all in black. It was most definitely not the fashion. But here he was; breaking an unwritten rule. Once the music ceased, he stood apart from the spectators, watching and waiting for a chance to brazenly shatter another.
His sharp brown eyes were concentrated on the couple; she in lavender and he wearing a crisp uniform of Northumbria’s army. She was ravishingly beautiful with thick, dark brown hair, piled high on her head. Despite the festively plumed mask he would know her anywhere. The diamond jewelry that adorned her sparkled like white fire. Their nation demanded that she marry a man he knew she didn’t love. Much as it pained and angered, him to the depths of his heart, he must stand by and allow it to happen. Still tonight, for this one true time he would hold her in his arms publicly.
“Loysa, my friend, my love and my life, after tonight nothing between us will ever be the same again.” He murmured to himself.
***
The music stopped and Princess Loysa looked up at her partner, still embarrassed by their intimate exchange moments earlier. “Alexi … please, it is warm in here. Could you bring me a small glass of lemon punch?”
“Yes, of course.” With a tiny nod of his head, Prince Alexi walked towards one of the refreshment tables.
The dark stranger approached Loysa just as the musicians struck up the tune for a waltz. He bent down close to her right ear and whispered formally, “My lady, will you honor me with a dance?”
Loysa whirled around and gazed up at the somber man before her. In his black attire he seemed like a warrior about to enter a very different battlefield, not one of steel and gunpowder, but of the heart. His name escaped her lips in quiet surprise, “Kaldar?”
He responded, keeping his voice low, “Yes, my beloved. It is I.”
Responding in kind, she said, “What are you doing? Why did you change your attire?”
“To conceal who I am. It was the only way to dance with you without the elite asking questions.”
Looking about nervously, at some of the diplomats studying them with disappointing looks, Loysa said, “They are asking questions. It is one thing to dance with an old friend, it is quite another to dance with a stranger garbed in ebony.”
“Just so, after tonight it will not matter.” He extended his hand and against her better judgment, took it. Their fingers entwined and immediately they fell into unison, Loysa and Kaldar danced with spirited, flawless steps, in time with the strains of music.
Several people stepped back as the princess and her mysterious partner moved with an elegance unmatched by any other couple. It could not be argued that they made a strikingly attractive pair.
If any in attendance recognized Kaldar, the gentle scribe who was usually quiet and self-effacing were stunned into silence at his boldness. Like a warrior clad in light-weight armor, he defied his king and all the council to satisfy the fondest desire of his heart: to publicly hold in his arms the woman he loved.
Loysa for all her attention to duty, honor and decorum danced with Kaldar in a passionate style which was sorely lacking while on the floor with Alexi. The girl who descended the lushly carpeted grand staircase had vanished, to be replaced by a woman who chooses to live by a different set of rules - if only for one simple waltz.
As the slash of ebony and wisp of lightest lavender pirouetted around the vast ballroom floor, with the flickering candle chandeliers illuminating every step, nothing, not the gossiping courtiers observing them with keen eyes, not the musicians playing exquisite music in the gallery nor even Lord Alexi, could pry her eyes away from the handsome masked man holding her in his strong, firm arms.
Unfortunately not everyone was enchanted or approving of the dancers’ display. The collective ire of Northumbria and Metropolia’s councilors could not be ignored.
Leaning over the king’s said with a growl, “Eleanor, who is that young man dancing with our daughter?”
His wife smiled behind her mask, practicing her own brand of diplomacy, “Someone who is not afraid to show our daughter how to *truly* dance. She is so nervous around Prince Alexi, the girl stumbles over her own feet.”
He responded with a hint of anger, “She is embarrassing her fiancé! The council and I have gone through great lengths to procure this treaty and the marriage is the final piece.”
Patting her husband’s hand she said soothingly, “Oh Sam, the announcement has not been made yet. Please, leave Loysa alone and trust her instincts as you have always trusted mine.”
He sat back, mollified for the time being, and then growled again,
“Very well, my dear ...”
The musicians ended the waltz and moved into a spirited and rather popular reel. Several of the younger people caught up in the excitement, forgot about the princess and entered the dance floor. Loysa and the mysterious stranger moved off to the side, away from the older participants questioning eyes.
Kaldar bowed deeply, his voice was formal, “Thank you for dancing with me my lady, I shall hold the memory always.”
Seeing his pained expression and knowing she was the cause of it, Loysa grabbed his hand and held him fast. “Why? We have always been friends, why should now be any different?”
He looked down at his feet, the long black eyelashes almost lying on his cheek. “It would not be proper for a scribe – even one of noble linage - to be seen spending so much time with the future Queen. We must realize that the joys and irresponsibleness of childhood and youth are finished; tonight our good King shall announce your engagement. That is something I cannot bear to witness.”
“Oh.” The word escaped her lips like a single teardrop. Her lower lip began to tremble as the realization of his words resounded in her ears.
“Loysa, please don’t cry,” he whispered sadly. “Please, come with me.
I have wanted to speak with you in private for days, but your time with Prince Alexi prevented me.”
“Yes. Please, before Alexi returns.” The bravado she had displayed during the waltz had not yet faded.
With those words he propelled her across the room and through one of the tall glass doors leading off into the garden’s freshening embrace of cool night air. They held hands and walked across the garden to a secluded place only they knew. After a moment, they found themselves behind a large shrub, away from prying eyes. Kaldar removed his frockcoat and draped it over Loysa’s shoulders to ward off the night’s chill. They sat on a heavy bench made of cold Etowah marble, hewn from mountains in the south. Even in the dim light of the torches, veins of blue, black and hints of salmon could be seen streaming through its gray surface.
“Leaving is not my desire. But how can I defy the wishes of your father, mother and the Council of Lords? How can I remain here and watch it all happen? To stay means doing something impossibly rash and perhaps plunging our nation into war. After your engagement is announced I … I must away to my ancestral home in Kent. Ileana and her mother shall accompany me. She has been a source of great comfort to me these last few weeks.” He hesitated, took a deep breath and continued. “We are friends … good friends. There are worse companions to share one’s life with. After the bans are read, we shall wed at high summer.”
They sat in silence as the surprise of his news settled into her brain. Gentle night breezes flowed about them, carrying the scents of moist earth and lush flowers. Strains of music reached their ears, coupled with the sounds of crickets, the sounds made a strange but soothing melody. Nonetheless Kaldar knew time was of the essence, he must act swiftly before some meddling aristocrat or worst yet, and
Prince Alexi intruded on their last private moments together.
He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a white handkerchief trimmed with heavy sapphire thread. With anxious care he unfolded the scrape of fabric to reveal a pair of matching gold signet rings with an onyx stone fitted in the center.
“I wanted gold bands with onyx, but, the resemblance to wedding bands would be marked. The master jeweler, Lazar suggested something unique, but not so different that it would raise suspicion. These rings will serve as a reminder that my heart is ever yours.”
Loysa nodded. No matter what her parents and the council may decree, these rings this would stand as a silent acknowledgement of their love.
“All I shall ever do as a woman and as Queen is to make you proud.”
Kaldar’s hand trembled as he removed one glove from her slender, left hand and then slid the small ring over the third finger. She did the same with his ring. Their eyes met, he took her sweet face in his hands knelt down and softly kissed tender lips tasting their sweetness one last true time. A thousand unrealized thoughts, dreams and hopes were lived in that lush moment; the dances never shared, the children never born. So much sacrificed to keep a nation secure.
Gradually, with the deepest lack of enthusiasm, they separated from the embrace and rose from the still cold marble bench, Loysa returned Kaldar’s frockcoat, who with slow movements, reluctantly put it on. She replaced her glove, concealing the ring. He took her small hands in his larger ones and gave them a light squeeze. His gentle brown eyes examined every inch of the cherished face before him.
“If for any reason my help is needed, please send the ring and I will come.”
A quiet, nervous laugh escaped her lips, “May I send it tomorrow?”
The question went unanswered.
They walked towards the double doors leading back to the Ballroom in companionable silence. He opened one of the doors and allowed her to enter first. A blast of from the crush of bodies inside was overwhelming, especially after the garden’s cool, refreshing breeze.
Alexi stood by the door, his expression unreadable as his keen blue eyes moved from Kaldar to Loysa. He remained silent, acknowledging something of an intensely personal nature had passed between his future wife and the man in black. Instead, he bowed to Kaldar, turned to Loysa and said, “My lady, come, your father is about to make the announcement. He stepped between the couple and took Loysa’s arm, together they returned to the king and queen.
“Loysa, who was that gentleman?” Her mother asked, softly.
Trying unsuccessfully to remain calm Loysa bowed her head and whispered, “No one in particular … ”
Queen Eleanor lay a consoling hand on her daughter’s shoulder, with a clear voice that brooked no subterfuge she said, “Kaldar has always loved you, as much as you have loved him. This marriage cannot be easy for him either.”
“Mother …”
“Prince Alexi is a good man. He is not the one you love, but in time perhaps love will grow, as it has between your father and I.”
“As you say, but is it possible to love so deeply twice in a lifetime?”
“Possibly, but only if Alexi and you both work to make it so.”
She sighed, “Than I will place myself in Alexi’s hands and pray some portion of my heart will become his.”
Eleanor’s face shone in relief, “Well spoken my girl. Words of a Queen! Now, let us attend to your father’s words.”
Loysa stood by as her father called the assembled guests to attention.
“My Lords and Ladies and honored visitors from Northumbria. We are here this evening to officially announce the engagement of my daughter Princess Loysa to Crown Prince Alexi!”
Thunderous applause broke out among the assembly as the Prince held up for all to see a ruby ring surrounded by diamonds set in a gold band. He walked over to Loysa, removed the glove on her right hand and placed it on the third finger. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. Over his bowed head, several feet away, Kaldar watched her for a moment his dark eyes shining with unshed tears.
Then, gradually he turned away from the dais and walked towards a petite woman wearing a golden mask with thin white ribbons trailing down the sides. He bowed, extended his arm and together they walked out of the ballroom. For the sake of appearances, Kaldar never once looked back.
It was all Loysa could do not to watch as Kaldar’s departure. Her heart breaking just a little more with each step he took ….
***
Lois bolted upright in bed and cried out. “No! No! Kaldar don’t leave!”
A torrent of thoughts raced through her mind. Why would Kaldar allow the woman he loved to marry another man, no matter how kind? Why on earth would he run away to his estate with a woman he didn’t love? Why was Kaldar dressed in black and wearing a mask when he danced with Loysa? Was it a secret identity to keep Prince Alexi and others from knowing who he was? This dream was a weird melding of The Queen’s Consort and her own wretched love life … or lack thereof.
Clark.
It was time to see Clark. Lana may have been his high school sweetie, but the woman was most definitely not kind. She couldn’t allow her best friend to make the biggest mistake of his life! Plus … there was something more to it than that. Something she had hidden from for too long. She loved Clark Kent, a mild-mannered reporter who until Lana came along, had only wanted the very best for her.
She didn’t want Superman, because although the memory of their whimsical dance-on-air would stay with her forever, the Man of Steel was a charming one hundred percent fantasy he lived above ordinary men. She needed a man who could deal on a regular basis with supermarkets, not super villains.
Lex Luthor, her other ‘possibility’, was a billionaire who gave to numerous communities around Metropolis and throughout the world. But he did not strike her as a man who ever gave much of himself. If that were the case, how could he give anything to his wife?
And that left Clark. But not as some second-rate ‘consolation prize’, but as the ‘victor’, the only one who fulfilled all her needs, hopes and yes - dreams.
Clark needed to know how she felt about him and she also needed to apologize for the cold way she had been treating him since Lana showed up.
Quickly she jumped out of bed. Without thinking about the hour, and with almost maniacal energy, she pulled on jeans, a light cotton shirt and comfortable walking sandals. After running a brush through sleep-tossed hair she grabbed keys and purse and bolted for the door.
A half hour later after parking the Jeep, that wild energy still coursed through her. Eagerly she climbed up the metal stairs to his apartment. Just as she raised a hand to knock, Clark’s voice could be clearly heard through the glass door.
“No Lana. We discussed this already; relocation is out of the question. My place is here, your place is …”
A small, cry of pain escaped from Lois’ throat, drowning out Clark’s words. They were discussing relocation. Together! That could only mean … No. He couldn’t be leaving. It was too horrible a thought to consider. She was going to lose her best friend!
But … he’d said that his place was here … in Metropolis. Maybe he wasn’t leaving. Her heart lightened for a moment, until she remembered his next words. Lana’s place was … by his side. Was that what he had been continuing to say? Did that mean …? Had he proposed, and this was their discussion about … future living arrangements?
Despite the humidity, a cold realization slid through her stomach as sharp as a sword’s blade. So, that was it. Clark had proposed, Lana had clearly accepted. She had indeed lost her best friend! Tears filled up her eyes and almost blindly she sat down on the grated iron steps and began to weep. Memories of happier times came and went with frightening speed. How could she have been so stupid and let the best thing that had ever happened to her slip through her fingers? This was so much worse than the dream could ever have been!
But then resolve, like a brick wall firmed her mind. No way was Mad Dog Lane backing down and letting Miss Dairy Freeze win. Not without a fight! Not until revealing how deeply she loved him. She stood up and went back to the door and began to pound so hard on the wood and glass door that the frame began to shake. “Clark Jerome Kent, open this door right now!”
TBC
Last edited by Morgana; 12/29/15 02:39 PM.
