A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Fifty-One

            The day of the dance. After the first court performance, Mawar drags me behind a screen in the hallway, carved to form patterns of tasteful, polished vines. Hidden from view, the shadows of the false vines tattooing both our faces from absence of light, we switch masks and change from court attire into our dance costumes. I don Zahra's simple, roughhewn topeng mask, thick eyebrows drawn over oval eyeholes, fangs protruding from pouting lips. I exchange the flowy kebaya for a garment of batiktrousers. Mawar takes the dancing mask that was custom-made for me in her hands, sighing as she runs her thumbs over the curved edges.

"Well?" I mumble, speaking through the mask as I fasten the trousers, hiding my dagger into my waistband. The costume comes with swords, but the edges are blunt, meant for show and not actual fighting. "What are you waiting for?"

"It's just the mask is so beautiful." She marvels, running her fingers over the gilded paint, the gold leaf and crushed rouge. "I don't know if I can wear this."

I sigh, trying to channel some semblance of patience. "Here." I take the mask from her fingers and fasten it round her carefully piled-up hair. "There, now you're just as beautiful."

She pauses as I help her rearrange her costume. "Putri..."

"Yes?"

"You don't like me, do you?"

I pause, just as careful. "Of course, I like you."

"No... like with Zahra..."

I have to stifle a laugh. I'd wondered what she made of the whole affair. The Empire could be a little laxer at times when it came to who chose who in relationships, especially after our own Emperor took a male consort. But here, it must've been an anomaly. Though Mawar was very gracious, she was still a little concerned.

"Yes, I like Zahra. I like you too, but not in the same way as Zahra, you understand?" I reach for the false swords, grinning beneath my full mask, amused even if she cannot see it. I muse over how I can explain this best without scaring her off. "Just because I find myself attracted to Zahra and the Sultan, doesn't mean I have to be attracted to all girls and boys. Do you understand?" I pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. "I like you too, but as a friend."

"Oh." I hope that's a smile I hear in her voice. When she turns to me, it's with the gold-white dancing mask, with high cheeks and an exaggerated, edged smirk. High brows of perfect surprise, and pouting lips complete her regal ensemble. "Do I look like a princess?"

I press my own mask down further, snatching up the costume swords as the baggy clothing settles over me, obscuring my hips and chest. It makes me feel powerful, a force instead of a flicker, no longer constricted by clothes, court manners, or what I'm supposedto be.

"You look like you." I tell her, exhaling as we step out from behind the screen.

"I could say much the same, putri."

With that, we head out towards the reception area. A soft breeze bringing in the scent of jasmines and rain. And seated on his throne, amongst esteemed emissaries' gifts and platters heaped with food and fruit, is the sultan, dressed in a costume similar to mine if much fancier.

Harto.

I step in amongst the other male dancers, all prepared with costume swords at the ready. Mawar had me run through the steps ahead of time, a simple set of martial moves, not too dissimilar in comparison to what we did for imperial patrol.

But one of the other dancer's costumes is slightly wrong, too wrinkled and untidy. And his mask, it hangs down his face, like it wasn't carved for him.

I try to move closer to the outsider, but the gamelans' song has already started. The sultan joins our masquerade, and the man with the skewed costuming moves farther away from me in the swirling commotion.

Whoever he is, he must want the Sultan. I complete a low, sweeping kick, raising the sword until it's perpendicular to my opposite, outstretched forearm. And I will stop him.

Slowly, I make my way closer to the intruder.

Before it's too late.

***

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