As the two lady birds chatted, a small circle of would be suitors surrounded them at a respectable distance - young men (and some not so young) all wishing a dance, most with the Swan Queen but some with the Sparrow Maiden. As forlorn and hopeful as their postures and what could be seen of their visages might have been, they found themselves thoroughly ignored as the two young women found some small common ground. 

For the Sparrow Maiden’s part, she had become rather shy and humbled once the dance was done. It was as though some lever had been thrown to change her from the brazen and confident woman that had danced to the shy and embarrassed girl that now stood before the Swan Queen. Seraphina lead their conversation, with the Maiden replying modestly to any question or comment laid before her. When asked for an introduction, her sparrow beaked masked look up at alarm at the black feathered Queen; large, innocent eyes looked out the eye holes as if in worried fear.

“My partner… Your Majesty, I will introduce you as you ask, but… I fear I may be doing you no favors.” She glanced to where the slender figure stood upon the stairs, his weight against the bannister as he surveyed the crowd with a combination of curiosity and amusement. The golden fiddle was safely tucked beneath one arm. The Sparrow Maiden shuddered briefly as she stared up at him. “As for who he is… I do not know. But I fear he may be the Devil Himself to bring me to dance as I have done, Your Majesty.”

Having said so, the meek Sparrow Maiden led the imperious Swan Queen away from their disappointed swains and suitors. The males looked on in sorrow as though the light of the lives had just been snuffed to leave them pining in frustrated and futile darkness. Yet as the girl moved towards the Cuckoo, something about her once again changed. That same lever had been flipped back once more. Her meek and mild mannered steps evolved into something more confident again, her walk becoming a hip swishing sashay as she placed one delicately slippered foot before another. Chin held up high, back straight and shoulder back as though to make the best of her womanly attributes, the Sparrow Maiden was quite the wanton by the time she eased up to The Devil Himself. Even the curtsy she made before the dark lord of chaos was scandalous. Her lips twisted in a seductive and knowing smirk as she bent over, the coppery feathers about her breasts exposing the depths of her cleavage. “Your Majesty,” she drawled to her dark feathered better, “May I present to you The Lord of Mischief, The Cuckoo Incarnate… The Devil Himself. My most dark and dear lord? Her Majesty, the Queen of the Night and of Beauty… the Swan Queen.”

The Cuckoo masked figure smiled broadly at the introduction, standing one step above them both on the marble casement. In a fashion that was a twisted parody of fatherly affection, the man ran a hand slowly about the Maiden’s hair and around her jaw to cup her chin. The effect on the Maiden was nothing short of electric. Her eyes closed and lips parted as though in ecstasy at the feeling of his touch, her head lolling into the curve of his palm affectionately. “Go, now. Leave her black-feathered Majesty and I to talk,” the Cuckoo commanded softly, “Do as I brought you here to do, and you shall earn your rewards, my Sparrow.”

Somewhere deep inside of herself, Feather was appalled and fascinated by the feelings being stirred within her. She had been raised to be a good girl, a moral girl. Now she felt unfettered, as though every secret desire and longing she had ever had and denied herself had been unleashed. Yet she smiled sweetly all the same and nodded. Without another word, she bowed to them both and departed off into the crowd, headed directly for the knot of young men who had gathered themselves so hopefully behind them.

The Cuckoo, on the other hand, remained calm and collected. There was no overwhelming sensuality about him in the least. In fact, he appeared to be a rather ordinary if somewhat mischievous character in the devil’s disguise. And the voice from behind the mask? There was no doubt that it was none other than the strange minstrel with his stranger manners and ways. He greeted Seraphina with a smile more genuine, nodding his head in an acquiescing recognition of respect rather than a full and proper bow as was required by law and custom. Whether the Baron’s daughter or the Swan Queen, Seraphina would outrank a mere vagabond! Only now that vagabond was the Devil Himself, and he bowed to no one.

“Your most gracious Majesty,” he drawled dryly, “You dance quite marvelously. A little stiff perhaps for my tastes, but you know what they say: courtly dancing is but a pale imitation of its countryside origins .” 

Were his word meant to mock her thoughts? And how had he known them? The answers to those mysteries laid behind his mask and his soft smile, unspoken. Instead, he held up an arm with elbow crooked for her to take. “Will you walk with me upon the balcony, your Majesty? The moon light is lovely tonight, and would be lovelier still should you add your beauty to it.”