❝ when she looks into his eyes, she feels the gripping temptation to tell him all her darkest secrets; the names of the men she has killed, but she learned a long time ago that the only people who can keep secrets are resting in overgrown graveyards...
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Violins and mixing voices echo through the hall. Even outside—in front of the closed door which leads to an ornate and meticulously planned birthday celebration—there are twisting garlands decorated with tulips and orchids. The King spared no expense for his best friend's daughter, his future daughter-in-law, if his plan comes to fruition. If this is what a simple birthday party looks like, Calliope can't even imagine the wedding.
For an odd reason, her stomach is tight with nerves. Calliope hasn't worn a dress since her first few days in Camelot. She's grown accustomed to her routine with the knights and patrolling and guard duty, but this feels like an entirely new realm. Like a maze set out before her and every turn is a dead end. It just feels wrong to be a guest at Lady Victoria's party because of everything that has happened between her and Arthur. Calliope crossed a line there is no coming back from, and she doesn't regret it exactly—she just can't see a way through. This situation between the three of them can only end one way. And none of them will get out unscathed.
A few years ago—even maybe one year ago, Calliope wouldn't have cared about Victoria at all. The assassin has always been the type of person to go after what she wants and damn the consequences, but things have changed. Now, when she looks at Victoria, she gets this nauseous feeling in her gut. Guilt.
Calliope wipes her sweaty palms on the material of her midnight-colored gown. The way the light catches on the skirt makes it look as if the dress is the night sky itself, adorned with sparkling stars. The bodice is thin, hugging her chest with loose straps around her shoulders, and a single slit near her right leg allows for easier movement and some relief from this summer weather.
The theme of the party is brighter colors, but Calliope feels most comfortable in black. It reminds her of her armor—of her favorite dagger, which by the way, is strapped to the inside of her thigh. Of course, she has to be prepared for anything.
Even though this dress is far from her usual attire, it wraps a sense of confidence around her. A safety that's familiar and warm. She's entering the belly of the beast, a pit of royals and judging eyes, especially from Victoria's father who has come to the castle for his daughter's birthday, but Calliope can find relief in this one unchanging color. It gives her the needed nudge to place her hand on the door and pull it open.
There's a sea of pastels, spinning skirts and extended arms of gentlemen to ask their fancied Lady to dance across the polished floors. A reflective chandelier with crystals like raindrops hangs above the gala. Moonlight trickles in from the long, open windows, speckling the floor with changing shadows, and shining gold sparkles from the head table, where every piece of silverware is probably more expensive than Calliope's dress. An array of fruits and decadent desserts lines a side table, people grazing and gossiping amongst the steady rhythm of classic instruments. For a small moment, Calliope just takes it all in. How the hall looks bigger than normal, but smaller all the same due to the sheer number of people at this event.
