Powerless

6. Factional Ripples

Sir Drothe's dinner party was just as Hadrian expected: utterly boring.

Hadrian had arrived ten minutes ago in the large foyer of people, somehow feeling that he was late when he was notably on time, in fact a minute early. Lord was it crowded. Even though Criesard Faction was known to throw the best social gatherings, he still couldn't understand why people were so enthusiastic. It was a bit of a bore for his tastes, and had Drothe not mentioned that interesting bit of information a few hours prior, Hadrian would not even be here, let alone clean-shaven and wearing a decent suit.

Reclining alone on his chair at his own table and sipping red wine he had procured from a waitress moments ago, Hadrian recalled Sir Drothe's words with a smile.

"I would advise that you not to make a terrible impression of yourself, no matter how greatly social gatherings bore you."

Of course Drothe himself was an impeccable sight. As the host of the social event, the man was currently standing on a slightly raised platform, exchanging formalities with the Scientum faction's leader. He was dressed to his prime with a blue uniform coat with gold embroidery, black velvet lapels, cuffs and collar. His waistcoat and pants were of the deepest buff, his black stock immaculate, side arms pristine, topped with the finishing touch of gold buttons on his coat that were stamped with the silver serpent of the Criesard Factions symbol.

But Sir Drothe was far from the most decorated person tonight. All around, women in ornate dresses and men in fine cut suits were pouring into the ballroom-like complex, adorned with the crests of their factions on their breasts and the hairpins of their families in their hair. Their voices oozed into the incongruous mix of clinking silverware and tempered laughs.

A high class event indeed. Not one attendee was below a class three family, save for the Independents who did not belong to any family—one being himself. He glanced around searching for his other fellow kinsmen. It seemed that the amount of Independents was scarce, but he was still pleased to know that some were here, and more, in fact, than previous years: a courtesy to the changing times, of course. With the kingdom modernizing, the authority of the families had also become more decentralized, so people actually could survive alone without reliance on Family membership, though it was still terribly inconvenient.

As Hadrian's eyes sifted past people, he suddenly noticed something strange. The Monitum Faction was not here, a group that usually provided the most attendees for social events. He frowned.

Hadrian tilted his head. The Monitum Faction was the largest and most powerful faction of the four major ones ruling this kingdom, their position second to only the king. However, they had recently been losing some political ground to the Criesard's growing power, so maybe, did they forgo their attendance because of their recently tenuous relationship with the Hadrian's faction?

Bah, too many speculations, not enough evidence. Hadrian glanced at his watch and shook his head, deciding to leave the topic of interest alone for the moment being. Now was too early to make any assumptions. It had only been about ten minutes...

Wait...only ten minutes. Upon that realization, Hadrian groaned. It seemed that a very long time had already passed—too long for his liking—and he was supposed to endure this for what, three hours?

It wasn't that he hated associating with people; he loved conversation in fact, intelligent banter and all the benefits that came with the stimulation of his intellect. He enjoyed giving speeches as well, but this—standing in a room filled with decorative peacocks and exchanging formalities for half an hour before digressing into the minutest of decent conversation? Nope. Not appealing at all.