Doves and Peacocks

As soon as he is awake, Aleigh finds himself standing at the dressing table. He stares himself in the face, briefly lost in a daze, before the details clear and he realises that his hair is a messy mop from the night’s sleep and that the dressing table is only involved at a later point in his morning routine.

Still he makes a vigorous attempt to comb down his hair, dismayed at his unkemptness.

Meeting the servitors in the parlour, Aleigh follows them into the dressing room where he is seated before the mirror. He watches them style the curls over his brow, brushing out his locks and combing them into a loop of ribbon. It is an underappreciated, and ephemeral, art form: their efforts will come undone by mid-afternoon.

While they bring him his waistcoat and briefcase, he occupies himself with his own nitpicking, combing strands of hair into place. He isn’t excessively vain but he does often take the pains, partly out of habit, to make himself look better.

Better, however, never seems to be enough these days.

At the Central Circle School there are several dressing rooms interspersed throughout the towers.

Aleigh immediately makes for one when he arrives, dodging through the morning crowd with quick strides. He finds the room already populated by three schoolmates, none of whom he recognises. They, however, recognise him--as they always do--and they offer him bows of the head, although the two at the mirrors are too occupied to allow him priority.

He finds, when he comes before the mirror, that flying has stirred much of his hair out of place and wrinkled what is visible of his shirt: he carefully adjusts both, the back of his neck tingling at the stares he sees in the mirror. Before he has to endure any more of their unwanted looking he walks--as quickly as he can without appearing anxious--out of the dressing room.

As usual, Aleigh continues to receive glances and looks as he returns to the classroom. He can never quite tell why they are staring, but a few of those are undoubtedly the looks of appreciative appraisal, which he does his best not to feel flattered by.

“You look nicer than usual today,” says Aperio as Aleigh arrives at his usual seat. “And that’s saying something.” Aleigh nods. “Are you attending something today?” He shakes his head, attempting a look of nonchalance. “You’re trying to impress someone.”

He blushes at this suggestion and tilts his head noncommittally. “I may be.” Aperio chuckles.

This habit was drilled into Aleigh from the day he made his first public appearance as a royal together with the rest of the Luzerno family. The memory carries the sharp tang of chilled breezes and he can barely forget standing on a balcony before the Candle Plaza as a child, the powder making his face feel too tight.

He dresses well because it is his duty to, but also because he has the right look to exploit: golden hair, pale skin, litheness now maintained by riding and swordsmanship practice. Thus it was that he came to fear exposing his own candid ugliness, thus that beautification became a reflex.

Ruthenia marches in ten minutes after the chime of the clocktower, her shirt, her hair and her manner as unruly as it must have been when she woke up this morning. When she first bursts into the classroom, Aleigh immediately finds he cannot avert his attention. That seems to be Ruthenia’s effect on everyone around her, but he tries his very best to look elsewhere, and soon finds his gaze anchored resolutely on the cover of the textbook on his desk.

Two classes later, he is more than pleased that she approaches his desk as soon as the clock chimes tea break. She grins down at him, and feeling her gaze upon him causes him to reflexively brush his hair down with his fingertips.

“Come on, get out of your seat,” she announces, gripping his shoulder. Aperio is watching, and giggling behind his palm. He helplessly nods and stands as instructed, tossing his head slightly so that his hair lies draped over his shoulder--well, he is of the opinion that it looks better that way, but the tiny effort seems all but futile when he turns to find her already leaving for the door.

Every now and then, someone takes the care to remind Aleigh that few people’s looks suit their stations better than his. And while the various hungry looks he gets have become largely an annoyance, it still flatters him a little to be paid compliments.

However, it would appear that none of this meeting-Astran-beauty-standards will help him with the matter of Ruthenia Cendina. No matter what new grooming choices he makes, he can never extort a compliment from her, not even a brief look of surprise. It becomes a chore to entertain the fawning of schoolmates and palace residents, when those same traits they adulate are obviously not sufficient to interest the one person he cares to.