"Introducing Catherine, daughter of the Earl of..." I tune out the information about myself the rest of the court is getting. Unsurprisingly, I know who my Father is. Or I do so long as Mother didn't have something she needed to tell me.
I walk up to the podium at the top of the room and stand there for a moment, just like we did in practice. After a moment, I dip into a curtsy and then float down the steps to join the line of girls at the bottom. This is where we'll stand until the dancing begins. I can't wait for that to happen. I'm bored beyond relief with all the standing and waiting. It's so dull, and almost as if they don't expect us to start fidgeting.
I scan the room for faces I recognise. Most of them are vaguely familiar. Despite the fact this is us being introduced to society officially, we've lived most of our lives here, and I've seen almost everyone around at one event or another. Vampires aren't as numerous as humans, and most of our rank know one another.
My eyes catch with those of a young man. Well, I assume he's young. There's barely any way to tell someone my age from someone my parents', especially from this distance.
He smiles at me, and I rush to look away, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.
Without even realising it, my eyes stray back to him. His dark brown hair is neatly cut, without the length a lot of the older vampires still prefer. I think that puts his age within a decade of my eighteen. He's not looking my direction any longer, filling me with a pang of regret. It's not often I get to practice the art of flirting, and there's certainly a challenge to doing it over this distance.
Eventually, the last girl is announced and the room erupts into chatter.
I do nothing but wait. Tradition dictates that one of the men around the room will ask me to dance, and that, no matter who he is, I should say yes. Sometimes, I hate traditions. They force us into moulds which aren't meant for us.
"My lady," someone says, drawing my attention.
My heart skips a beat as I recognise the man I've been looking at. Is he talking to me? Or to Rebecca standing next to me?
"May I have this dance, Lady Catherine?" he asks.
Oh. Me. He actually wants to dance with me.
"Most of my friends call me Kitty," I respond without thinking.
An impish smile stretches over his lips. "And I'm your friend?" he asks.
"If you want to be." Is this flirting? Suddenly, I'm not so sure how it's supposed to go, even though I've known my entire life. I've never felt so foolish in my life.
"Then please may I have this dance, Kitty?" He holds out his hand.
I appreciate his attempt at pretending I have a choice in the matter. We both know I don't.
"Of course. But I do believe it's customary to tell someone your name before dancing," I suggest.
The corner of his lips lifted. "You can call me Benedict."
"Is that what your friends call you?" I tease, finding my confidence a little more.
"I'm more used to Lord Ferrybridge," he admits. "But for a beautiful woman, I believe my given name will suffice."
I stifle a laugh. "I'd hardly call myself beautiful." I take his hand and he draws me into the space cleared for dancing.
"I think our friendship will work better if we don't lie to one another, don't you, Kitty?"
"Lie, me?" I press a hand against my breasts, drawing his attention there effectively. It's amazing how easy that trick is.
"You know you're beautiful."
"A woman's beauty isn't just on the outside," I counter. "Her intelligence and wit are both equally important."
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't answer me. Good. I don't want the kind of man who bawks at the mere suggestion that women have minds of their own. They're fools. And not ones I want to spend any time with.
Benedict steps into the line of men, allowing me to join the girls in the other line. I glance at the rest of the dancers, noting which gentlemen have asked which of the debutantes to dance. A couple of them have been asked by older men, no doubt encouraged by their Fathers.
Oh. Father.
I quickly scan the room, looking for him to see his reaction to who I'm dancing with. I've never heard about a Lord Ferrybridge before, but that doesn't mean anything. Father's only ever taught me to memorise the very elite. No one else matters in his eyes.
The music starts, and the men bow in unison. On our side, we dip into curtsies, starting the dance in a traditional way. I've heard that this is borrowed from the way the humans dance at their court, though I haven't been, so I have no way of being sure.
I let the music flow through me, and start performing the practised steps. We all know the steps, we've been taught them many times over the years.
I brush my shoulder past Benedict's, which is a little naughty of me. We're not supposed to touch during this part of the dance.
My feet move as if they barely touch the floor. I suspect the humans aren't quite as able to do anything as elegant as we can. The advantage of having superior speed and balance.
Each member of the dance claps in unison before we spin around and press our palms against that of our partners.
The look Benedict gives me as we turn in a circle sears me straight to the soul. I don't want to think about it, lest I end up with my heart broken. But something tells me it's almost too late.
We separate, and I miss his touch, instead having to dance in a circle with the other girls. I try to keep him in my line of sight, even though I know it isn't the smartest thing to do.
It only takes another turn for us to end up partnered again.
"If you don't stop looking at me, rumours are going to start," he murmurs as we come together, then part.
My cheeks flare red, but I'm not about to let him win the verbal spar. "How do you know I am if you're not doing the same?" I ask as we pass one another again.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me.
"It's difficult not to when you're the most beautiful thing in the room." He steps up behind me, taking each of my hands in his and spinning us around in the steps of the dance. It's almost provocative, which is usual for these kinds of dances.
"Only the room?" I raise an eyebrow, even though my back is to him and he can't see me. "I think your flattery needs work."
"Perhaps you could spend some time teaching me what that is." He pushes me away, and I spin out, my skirts flaring along with all of the other girls'.
We press our palms together and move inwards. "It's very presumptive of you to think we'll be spending more time together." I let a flash of something that definitely isn't innocence enter my eyes.
His devilish grin is all I need to know he understands what I mean.
"You won't be able to resist spending it with me," he responds.
The dance ends, pulling the two of us apart.
I sink into a curtsy, as Benedict and the others bow. Disappointment floods through me at the end of the dance. As custom dictates, I won't be able to dance with the same man twice. It's a silly tradition, but one that has to be kept for the debut ball.
In the moments before another man approaches, I scan the room for my parents. Both of them seem engrossed in conversations with people I vaguely recognise. That seems to be about right. I'm mostly ignored so long as I'm not useful.