Zvan had a strange dream while he was on the kitchen floor. Perhaps it was part fever, or something more. Normally he did not remember his dreams, if he got enough deep sleep to even have any. But this time he saw very clearly his mother and father, beckoning him from the entry way of a large stone room. Now, his mother had always been a bit rotund for a cheetah, but his father was tall and lean, and Zvan took after him clearly. They both wore some clothing, mother in a cooking apron with her dark brown hair in an untidy bun, his father was in a strange robe, one which was open on the full front, but draped all the way to the floor on both his sides, yet Zvan could tell his tail was able to move about without much cloth over it on the back.
His father stood with a serene, patient and somewhat regal expression on his face. His mother, with her smiling muzzle offering him her hand. Suddenly Zvan took it, in the dream, and was carried as though he was an infant into the big stone room. It was brightly lit, but from no particular place since he didn't see any windows. He swirled around as if they were dancing, and then his mother set him on the floor. "Your father has something important to say, you listen well to his words."
Zvan nodded, and in the dream his father was much taller than he - Zvan was still a child when he'd died after all, it was the only way he remembered the man. His father knelt and whispered words, but Zvan didn't quite hear them. He was still somewhat confounded by his odd look - he looked... He looked like royalty, he looked regal in a true sense, not arrogant like Jlean and his sons. As though he had a proud heritage and was confident in himself. But try as he might, Zvan couldn't make out what he was saying, and wound up crying in his sleep - wondering what was going on. He wanted to ask for the words again, but he couldn't, nothing came out.
When his father rose again, he put on a strange mask. His father nodded once more, took his mother's hand and they vanished into a bright light.
The afternoon sun pierced the open windows of the kitchen, and suddenly Zvan was awake again. How long had he been here? His shoulder and whole body ached terribly but it seemed he hadn't been asleep all that long. Perhaps two hours, since he'd collapsed?
He sat up carefully, wincing with his arm dangling out of its sling. He could see a smirch where he'd fallen - it was the first time he recalled getting anything dirty with himself. He'd been crying, that was it, and ... the tears dropped from his eyes to his dirty muzzle, onto the ground. Something interrupted the bright orange sunlight briefly, it might have been a bird but it was quicker and ... closer?
Zvan turned carefully, and saw in the window there was a creature, something like... a bird? No, it wasn't but it was something he'd never seen nor had any words to describe.
It sat on the windowsill and watched him, head tilted slightly with the beautiful lacy frills dancing in the sunlight. But then, Zvan saw in the corner of his eye the list of things he was expected to do - only a third complete. His heart wanted to break, or race, or leap from his chest. How could he do this now? How could he possibly even escape further injury? If he didn't complete these things by tomorrow when they got back, he'd surely be beaten to an inch of his life - or more, because he remembered this time, the warning that Jlean gave him. If only he'd recalled it earlier.
Bitterly he picked up the list, and turned away from the window. He had work to do.
"You should rest instead," said the creature in an oddly bright voice. It was the voice of sunshine dancing on snowflakes. Which seemed exactly what this creature was made of. Or perhaps moonlight. Either one.
"Di...did you just speak? To me?" Asked Zvan with hesitation. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Or maybe he'd hit his head much harder on collapsing to the floor. Maybe he had a fever and was hallucinating.
"I did," it said, head tilted. "You are exhausted. Get some sleep. I will see about these things you need to do. Why do you not fight back when he hits you?"
"... How do you know about any of this? What are you?"
"I will explain later, for now, you should find a place to rest. You have a ball to attend, after all, and you've got to be feeling and looking your best."
With that, the creature lept into the air and fairly vanished in what appeared to be a puff of glitter. Zvan wasn't sure what to do. He was now positive that he'd started hallucinating, after all there were no such talking creatures out there. Were there?
Maybe in a weird book, perhaps in a fairy story. But this was real life, not some fancy tale!
He walked upstairs because something attracted his attention, and there he saw several ... pieces of light? Light it seemed that danced on the air, like dust motes only a hundred times bigger. They were coming from Ohrn's room, where he peered in carefully.
Ohrn's room needed to be painted. But that meant the furniture needed to be moved, covered, and paint brought in. Buckets from the shed outside walked in of their own accord.
"I'm dreaming," Zvan muttered. He swiped his left arm across his face to clear his eyes. He expected himself to be standing in a plain room, with no ... dancing furniture. Certainly not furniture which rearranged itself and paint which applied itself to walls.
And dried, almost instantly, he noted.
It was magic. Perhaps he needed to believe in magic more. Because every time he blinked, he expected there to be something more mundane happening before him (ie: nothing) but instead he saw the same event unfolding. The room was bright and smelled of fresh paint, the furniture carefully moved itself up to the walls which were quite dry and safe to touch. The bits of light fluttered into Jharn's room and did approximately the same thing.
Zvan swallowed once or twice, blinked, and found his head gently turning back and forth in a little shake. "No, this isn't... happening." He breathed. "I ... magic doesn't exist, it's not real. I just know I'll be killed for this, I'm asleep on the kitchen floor and probably bleeding internally."
"No you're fine, you need to get that arm fixed, though," said the little white silver creature, who'd appeared on top of one of the light fixtures on the hallway wall. It tilted its head again, lace and sunshine crinkling around its neck. It seemed to be wearing a mask of some kind, but if it was, it wasn't anything other than a perfect beautiful one.
"How can I fix it? It's broken, my shoulder hurts so." Zvan finally broke inside, finally gave up fighting the magic. He sighed, his shoulders both going limp and his hands fell to his sides. He started crying again. "Everything hurts."
"We will fix it," the creature said. Whoever this 'we' was, Zvan suddenly looked up to see them. More bright lights, only this time, since he was crying, he couldn't see that they had shapes within, almost like tiny firebugs, but they were hardly bugs. He closed his eyes, and felt as though all the weight in the world had been lifted from him. His shoulder mended, perhaps for real. Perhaps. Maybe there was magic.
"We'll get you cleaned up, you're in need of a bath!"
"I'm not allowed to take baths, they say I am always to be dirty." He muttered.
"Then they will certainly not know you when you're there!" It chittered and Zvan didn't have the energy to protest. He did worry - hard. What if his step-brothers and father saw him? He would have to...
Wait.
"Wait, what?" He opened his eyes, shook his head and tried to wave away several of the little glowing sprites. "You ... I can't go to the ball, it's late already! I don't even know where the castle is! And I have nothing to wear, no wig or anything. It's ridiculous! I can't--"
"Of course you can," said the flittering creature. "Her invitation was for all the young men in the land, was it not?"
He looked down, it was true, the invitation wasn't just directed at his brothers. It had perhaps been delivered to every household in the land? Then he could go, even if he wasn't supposed to leave the house.
How would they know? Movement caught his eye, and the little glowing dustmotes were busy in the hall fixing a banister rail that had been scuffed. Another bunch of them were on the roof, while a third group was busy with the most openly impossible task downstairs of removing 'all the cat hair' from the furnishings.
They were cats. What else kind of fur would there be embedded in the cloth? Yet there was a growing pile of cat-floof, discarded hairs from years worth of his stepfamily sitting on the couches and chairs. (Zvan had barely sat in any of them himself, he wasn't allowed.)
"Sleep now," the flitter bid the young cheetah. Zvan stumbled over to the library, where he dropped into a deeper slumber than before. Bathed in warm light, healing quickly, he was also being tended to by the cleaning spirtes. They combed down every piece of fur on him, lifted every hair on his head, made his whiskers gleam. They polished his nails, which were a bit broken and worn, and put soft salves on his damaged paw pads. When the sun had almost vanished under the horizon, Zvan was awakened by a slight tingling sensation.
"There you are, all better," said the flitter. Every time Zvan saw it, it was in another place in the room, usually high up or clinging to a surface that creatures ought not to be clinging on. "Well, stand up, you need to see yourself. Come come. We found a mirror."
"I'm not-- Allowed," Zvan said, protesting a little more strongly because they were leading him into Jlean's chambers. "I cannot go in there, I can't, it's forbidden. Even Ohrn and Jharn don't go in there."
Again the flitter tilted its head, and then gave an odd little shrug. "Well then we will bring it to you."
The mirror apparently wheeled itself out into the hall, and Zvan stood before it in some amount of shock. He'd never seen himself, at least not like this. He'd caught glimpses of his reflection in pots and pans, water, or shiny dishes but they weren't meant to show you details. If anyone saw him now, the only possible way they might recognize him would be his eyes, which were still sad and sullen though bright evening-sky blue.
There was not a speck of dust upon him, from head to tail tip. His ears, though wary at first, started facing forward. They had spots on the back, his markings were vibrant against orange-buff fur, small spots on his arms and legs, tear-marks on his face. He didn't quite know what to make of himself. Only he said, "I can't stay like this, when they come home they'll know."
"Don't worry," the flitter said, "though you will have to speed home, you're a cheetah. You will not need any cart or carriage - but you must return before the first dawn's light. When you get home," the flitter continued even though now there were bits of cloth floating in the air toward Zvan and he accepted them placed around him like decorations on a cake, "you must head to bed immediately. Do not dally. Sleep as much as you'd like, and don't worry about their breakfast. But do not mention anything you've done this day."
"How could I, I barely believe it myself..." Zvan said. "You've healed my arm," he said in wonder, moving his hand up over his head and putting on the red and white vest which complimented the wrapped white colored skirt which went around his waist. He had a pair of bells on his tail, which made delicate noise and perked his ears. On each hand he had gloves which covered only his middle finger, to his elbow, made of what looked to be red netting. In his long black hair, he sported several feathers but no ostentatious wig. Finally around his neck was a fluted soft material collar, in white. He thought he looked quite dignified. Now... how would he possibly act in front of the Queen and her daughter?
"Be fleet. The ball will start soon, everyone will be there, and do not forget what I said. Be home by the break of dawn." The flitter warned. Then was gone in another puff of glitter.
Though cheetahs weren't known as long-distance runners, Zvan knew that he could run fast. But ... how fast? And where? He felt good, physically, he knew he had to run. Where to? To the east, into the hills and through a pass. Beyond it was the Queen's castle. So out he went into the evening, with the bright moon above to guide him. He ran faster than any cheetah ever did into the town, and past it in a blur. He could barely see the landscape but knew where he was headed somehow.
Up through the pass, without breaking into a hard breath, Zvan ran. He spotted the brightly lit castle, surrounded as it was by dozens of carriages and carts, caravans and steeds. He sped into the castle grounds, they were wide open and welcoming. He was sure that someone in the courtyard spotted him, but he slowed down around a corner and arrived to the wide steps up to the castle itself without panting. He made sure that all of his 'finery' was still with him (it was) and not a bit out of place. Because the whole day had been a bit dreamy, Zvan just accepted that this would be the way it is, held himself taller than he'd ever stood, and walked into the ball.
Though he was nervous, it didn't look as though anyone else was absolutely calm here either. Every available man in the country had been invited, and there were a goodly number of ladies waiting dance partners already. Zvan had never attended anything like this in his life, though he'd read about a few fancy dress parties in the books he was forbidden to touch. There was a gigantic banquet table running the entire length of the main hall, and apparently people were meant to pick up a plate and enjoy their food while milling about. It would be ridiculous, he realized, to have a sit-down dinner with this many people.
Was he hungry? Zvan felt as though he should be - he'd hardly eaten in months anyway, so he was used to the feeling of light-headedness. But there was food, good food, and lots of it. People walked by him eagerly munching on cake, roast, pastries, and steamed vegetables, so Zvan decided to find a plate and dig in. If he looked a little over-eager to eat, it was nothing compared to a few of the rather rotund guests who apparently did nothing but eat at their well-appointed homes. He didn't stuff himself, but he did gobble down a whole game hen, two servings of potatoes and carrots, and had one slice of the single most delicious chocolate cake ever made.
He found a restroom, cleaned himself up, and happily accepted a little mint from one of the servants who stood in the room. It wouldn't do to have garlic breath when meeting dignitaries, now would it?
And then he entered the ball room. The place was at least three stories high, the ceiling in the castle was much higher and clearly had further floors to it, but this room was gigantic. Oddly, though there was no good reason as it looked nothing like the simple bright stone room of his dream, Zvan was reminded of his dream walking into the room.
Fineries decorated every surface, though they were not so ostentatious as a church or a bigger kingdom's. It was more pretty and functional than just dazzling, lace fell from the ceiling in long drapes, and shone with bits of glitter when the lights hit it. There were gas lamps here, placed cleverly near windows which would allow the smell to pass - and not smoke up the place. Perhaps... it was ... a bit of magic? Everything was bright, white, almost without shadows. Where was all this light coming from?
Tables dotted the edges of the dance floor, large round tables with heavy white cloths over them, and matching chairs of ivory and lace were were dozens of people sat. Zvan estimated there were a thousand people in this room alone, the kingdom was all here as his little flitter friend advised.
With his belly full, and feeling lighter than he'd ever (was it that much dirt on his fur? was it just the pressure of living with three horrid men? who could say?) Zvan walked toward the dance floor, and was immediately brought up short by three young ladies. A boar, a giggling songbird, and a ferret girl, all dolled up with fancy skirts and glittering lace around their necks, came up to him.
"You'd like to dance?" Asked the boar, "would you dance with me?" He started to raise his hand if not to offer her a dance then to protest, but was interrupted by a jostling form.
"No, me! He's looking for someone more delicate!" Said the ferret, "isn't he?" Zvan's eyes widened a bit, and he pursed his lips, now he had to choose?
"He doesn't need to dance with either of you when I'm here!" Said the bird girl. The trio of girls (none of them perhaps older than thirteen) began bickering among themselves.
Struck by the absurdity of this, Zvan smiled brightly and said (quite off the top of his head), "ladies, ladies, the night is young and I would dance with each of you, but I've barely even arrived! And look there, a pair of young bucks much stronger and more handsome than myself just arrived. Surely they'd be able to take your hand with more confidence."
While the trio looked downcast at first, this was a ball- there were two young deer who'd come from the edge of town, there were ample opportunities to dance with whomever they chose. While they were chittering to one another, Zvan slipped into the mass of dancing folk.
The orchestra played a fast-moving, upbeat tune that Zvan faintly recognized. It must be a popular song, something one of his step-brothers came home whistling. Before he knew it, Zvan was dancing with an ostrich lady, much older than he. He wasn't sure where to put his feet, and the woman laughed a few times at his fumbling dancing, but they both enjoyed it immensely. The tune changed to a more sedate song, people changed partners, Zvan wound up beside a pretty ocelot girl. She was very shy, much more shy than he ought to have been, and he even considered stealing a kiss from her, but he realized that might be in very poor taste. Her mother and father were nearby, he could tell by their appraising look at him when they passed each other in the swirling dance.
So ... people... thought highly of him? This surprised Zvan so much he almost choked. When that dance was over he begged out off the dance floor and went to the side of the room where large windows were opened to a balcony overlooking the courtyard below. Here it was darker and cooler, lit by torches and a few candles. Glasses of water were everywhere, refreshed constantly by the castle's diligent staff. Zvan helped himself to one, and thought hard about what would happen next.
He heard something that made his fur stand on end, Jlean's low sly voice. It wasn't near, he was a third of the way across the room inside, talking to someone who might have been royal. From outside on the balcony though, Zvan casually looked over the dancers. There was Ohrn, with an otter girl, and eventually he saw Jharn who was scarfing down another plate of something and looking like he'd already had a few too many glasses of wine.
It was indeed a good thing they would be stopping at the inn at the edge of the hills before coming home.
Zvan looked back at Jlean, who might have offended the tall zebra-woman he was talking to, for she had a strange wary look on her eyes. She walked away from him and he took it in stride, moving on to another woman - he was at least keeping to people more his age - and starting up another conversation.
But something about the way he kept looking toward one part of the room made Zvan wonder: what was he looking at?
It wasn't him, he hadn't been recognized in the slightest, he was just another arrival. No, it was... a pair of canines, some kind of hound if Zvan's haphazard education could be trusted, with long narrow noses and frilled ears, long necks, and slender bodies with fringed thin tails. One was a fair buff color, while the other a mottled mix of red-brown-black-gold.
The Queen and her daughter.
Zvan checked where Jlean was again, and noticed with distress that he'd made his way halfway across the room toward them. The women remained aloof and polite, but did not dance with anyone just yet. The night was young still, Zvan was somehow sure that they would start sometime.
And on an impulse that he was never quite sure where it came from, Zvan strode back into the ball room, and across the floor toward them. He deftly avoided all the dancers, even though this new song was brightly playing and lots of people were being tossed up into the air by their partners. He could see in the corner of his eye as Jlean was still making his way toward the pair himself. There were at least three young men of varying species before Zvan in a kind of greeting line, but he moved in behind them and waited his turn. He came to the Queen first, cautiously bowing (low as he was used to doing for Jlean) to her and seeing the little crook of a smile form on her long face.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, I never expected to be here." He said, honestly, and she nodded.
"This is a pleasure indeed," she replied, for some reason. Her eyes had dwelled upon Zvan, but he didn't realize why - and would not for some time. "This is my daughter Dvrinne, perhaps she will like to dance with you, she's denied it to so many," she said in a pointed way toward her daughter, who deflated a little.
But Dvrinne looked up at Zvan with a tilt to her head, and almost made him laugh because like most canines, her eyebrows were quite expressive. "I... I would like to dance, if that would please you mother," she said without glancing at the older woman. Zvan caught a little wiff of suprirse from the Queen, whose own eyebrows were more under control as any royal with experience ought to have.
So Zvan took the girl's hand, delicate it was and at the end of a long slender arm, and escorted her to the dance floor. Before they reached it people were stepping out of their way, and Zvan leaned in a little to whisper, "I don't know how to dance very well, I'm afraid," to which Dvrinne giggled.
"Neither do I, but I think we'll learn pretty quick."
Zvan grinned, and they found their place on the floor easily. People did come back to dance, but the pair were offered a little more space, no one crowded and no one tried cutting in. When Zvan and Dvrinne passed in a swirling daze where Jlean stood (joined now by one of his sons) Zvan could see the pure hate on his face. But he hadn't recognized the cheetah, no - he would have never allowed a moment to go by if he had. Zvan felt another weight lifted off his shoulders, and picked up the princess when the other dancers did so, set her down deftly like they did. By the end of the song everyone clapped for them - and both young dancers bowed and clapped in appreciation.
Over the course of the night, Zvan and Dvrinne danced two more times, though she did finally start accepting offers from others. She must have been a bit worn down by the end, as was the orchestra, and guests were starting to bid the ball farewell. It was well past midnight, but nowhere near dawn, and Zvan took a wild chance.
"Would you like to go outside, there is water and a nice breeze," he asked the princess.
"I would love to," she said, a bit out of breath. Together they headed to the balcony and just stood quietly together. Zvan watched her without staring, something he'd been quite good at at home. He had to know where everyone was, what everyone's mood was, without establishing eye contact. To do that was to be beaten. So he did have a bit of trouble meeting the canine's eyes, when she turned to look up at him.
She was perhaps fifteen, about the age that any princess was to be married off. But why would the queen want just any man to come to her daughter and ask her hand in marriage? Wasn't it up to princess and counts and earls to do that?
"So... what is your name?" Asked the princess, and Zvan went cold. If he told her his real name he'd be sought out - and known, that was a risk he just couldn't take, or more likely, wasn't ready to face.
"... Izzy," he said after a bit, "it's ... more of a nickname, but no one ever calls me by my name." He wasn't really ready to lie to her like this, it felt bad. But, he did recall faintly when his father was still alive, being called that. It was such a distant memory, but a good one. He kept it near to his heart after remembering.
"I ... kind of like that," Dvrinne said, "my mother calls me Davi sometimes."
They made small talk, but it was clear that Dvrinne was exhausted by the evening. "You should retire for the night," Zvan suggested. "It's been a very long day, probably longer for you than anyone." Except him, maybe, he thought.
"You're right, I just wish I ... didn't really have to do this all. It's silly. I want to marry someone but I want to marry because I love them."
Zvan blurted out, without thinking, "that may be why your mother invited everyone in the kingdom instead of just a few princes," and saw her face change from tired to bemused.
"You know... I think you're right. My mother loves me, she didn't really force me to do this, but she said it might be a better way than stuffy meetings with men I won't like."
"Then your mother is a blessing," Zvan said. "For she allowed me to meet you."
Zvan, still holding the girl's hand (they had never quite stopped holding hands even after exiting the dance floor) raised it to his muzzle and gave her fingers a light kiss. "I should go, myself. I wish you good dreams, princess."
Without meeting her gaze, Zvan bowed low again, and walked casually but with purpose away.
His heart was pounding by the time he got past the banquet table, which was still being pounced upon by hungry party goers though it was all but gone. He'd ... he'd kissed the princess' hand? He'd talked to her?
He had interrupted Jlean in line once to do it! The puma gracously bowed out, turning to speak to a hedgehog lady in waiting, but he could tell that Jlean had plans he'd thwarted.
Good.
Zvan heard Ohrn's voice slurring out commands to the coachman that had blocked their carriage with his own, and Jharn was all but passed out on his brother's shoulder. Standing off by the side of the wide steps, gazing westward, he saw Jlean stalk out of the building, chide his sons, and whip at the coachman who hurried to move the cart so they could leave. If Zvan's memory of the blurry trip here was to be trusted, the inn was about halfway between the castle and their home. He began walking slowly away from the ball, still hearing music in fits and starts, but even some of the dazzling lights were being put out now. It was time to go.
The carriage passed him and he looked at it calmly. Maybe he was exhausted, or perhaps he just no longer cared whether he was to be beaten in the morning. He had run out of worry. The thing left in his heart was hope.