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A Peace Offering
The twenty-third of December arrived quickly, and with it came the annual Midwinter Ball.
I had vowed not to return to the willow again, at least not for a while. With nobles and socialites flocking to the castle in droves over the past two days, it was not hard to do. And, with an increase in teas and social gatherings I rarely had any free time to even consider a hike to the lake to begin with, though with each passing day I felt the pull to escape the confines of the castle walls growing. But, I had always prided myself on my self control. And if there had ever been a time to practice it, now was that time.
Besides, I only needed to make it a few more days until the castle would empty of all guests once more, and life would be back to normal. Or whatever I should call my life now, because 'normal' no longer seemed to quite fit.
Then, with luck, the foul mood I couldn't seem to pull myself from would fade. Somewhere deep down, I knew that my mood had little to do with our numerous guests. But, a girl can dream.
My hair had been tugged on and set in so many different styles over the past couple of days that it would no longer lay flat without aid, but that fact did nothing to dissuade Ava from descending upon me again when the time came to prepare for the Midwinter Feast. I sat patiently on my stool while she braided and pulled on my hair, then went to work on my face.
Almost exactly an hour and a half after she had arrived, Ava was disappearing back through the servants corridor, leaving me standing before the mirror. I was wearing an elegant lilac gown, that clung tightly to my waist, before flowing softly to my heel-clad feet. There were little silver flowers embroidered along the seams with tiny pearl centers that seemed to follow the halter neckline as it rose up my chest and wrapped delicately around my throat. My hair was pulled into a tight bun atop my head, with a chunk in the front braided back and wrapped around the base of the bun. My makeup was done in neutral shades with glossy pink lips, and a simple silver and pearl tiara sat atop my head.
For no clear reason that I could ever discern, other than simply for the dramatics of it all, the alpha and beta families never entered the ball nor the preceding feast without being properly announced and adequately gawked at. This year was no different.
The massive dining hall was filled to the brim with tables and people, but I ignored them all as I made my way to my assigned seat. The king and queen would be entertaining dukes at a table of their own with Franco's parents, raised up on a dais. Franco and I were banished, as we always were, to the table closest to the dais, where we would be doomed to spend the entire meal maneuvering polite small talk with whatever upstarts had managed to score such seats of honor this year.
To say I was keen for this portion of the night to be over, would be an understatement.
I slid wordlessly into my spot at the head of the table, with Franco already positioned to my left. I glanced briefly around at my dining companions, but chose not to be the first to engage anyone in conversation. I only recognized three of the seven faces staring back at me. To my right, in a position of honor, sat Prince Michael of the sovereign human kingdom within our borders, though he was the first to turn his attention from me. For once, I was grateful for the animosity between my mother and his father, simply because it meant he was unlikely to look at me again, much less start a boring conversation. On Franco's other side sat Carmine Asaro, who sat wedged between the soon-to-be beta and his sister, Carina. Their family resemblance was nearly uncanny, and I found myself quickly looking away before his blond curls and bright blue eyes could remind me of someone else.
Someone I shouldn't think of.
Beside Carina, sat a young man with black hair, finely dressed, even for this crowd. On Prince Michael's other side, sat another unfamiliar man, though I could immediately sense that this one was human as well. From his clothing, and position at the feast, I discerned that he was wealthy, but his baby blue eyes and dimpled chin were completely unfamiliar. On his other side sat a boy and girl aged somewhere in their mid-teens who I assumed to be siblings based on their matching bright, auburn locks. The seat directly across from mine was empty. All in all, they didn't appear to be the worst dinner mates I had been assigned in my life.
At least all of them were within a decade of my own age.
We had only been settled for a few minutes before half a dozen panels in the wall swung open and servants swept into the room, clad in their silver and black uniforms. When one of them, a young woman with sparkling hazel eyes, set a bowl of soup before me, I thanked her quietly with a smile. The table ate in silence for a moment, and I used the time to study the strangers sitting around me. I had found long ago that you could learn quite a bit about somebody in these kinds of situations by watching the ease with which they navigate the many rules of proper dining room etiquette. DId they double check that they were using the correct utensil? Holding it correctly? New money, regardless of how expensive an etiquette instructor they had, almost always had a nervousness to them, as if they were experiencing some kind of imposter syndrome. Like they might be labeled a fraud at any moment and kicked out of the event. It took decades for my mother to shake her own unrefined tendencies.
Old money, on the other hand, navigated these functions with an ease that you, quite simply, had to be born into.
If I had to guess, I would say that the blue eyed man beside Prince Michael was some kind of nobleman he invited along. There was a confidence to him, that came with being born into a position of power, but also an edginess, as if perhaps he was unused to being surrounded by so many non-humans.
The siblings on his left, however, I would wager were rather new to these settings. I could tell by the way they gawked at the twin crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, reaching sparkling fingers down at the feast-goers below, each one containing over two thousand of the glittering stones. And, by the way they whispered and giggled amongst themselves as though the entire experience were something they never expected. They were likely the children of some kind of scientist or engineer, or perhaps even a farmer who had come upon a bit of luck.
The black-haired man beside Carina had a cockiness to him that implied that he had been rich for some time, but he was missing the delicate refinement to his manners that indicated nobility. He was probably the son of some wealthy merchant, though it was impossible to know by sight what wares he dealt in.
Franco dragged me from my silent evaluations, "Lord Borgese must already be well into his cups," he muttered under his breath, so silently even I could barely hear him, "he looks ready to fall asleep in his soup at any moment."
The corner of my mouth twitched up, and I looked to where he indicated. Sure enough, sitting beside a rather sour looking Lady Lucia, sat Gino Borgese, chin resting unceremoniously atop a fist propped up on the table.
Okay, maybe not all with noble upbringings hold so strictly to the rules of proper etiquette, after all.
I snorted, equally quiet, "I would drink too if I had to dine with that particular crowd."
He couldn't hold his chuckle in, and the attention of the entire table suddenly turned to the two of us.
A servant came to the rescue before either of us could think of something lame to say, sweeping in and clearing away the empty soup bowls, returning moments later with our salads.
With the awkward moment behind us, Franco's attention turned to chatting idly with Carmine about the latest model of military transport. Carmine was only two years younger than Franco and I and the two of them had always gotten along very well, a fact I found myself resenting in times like these when I needed Franco to help ward off unwanted small talk with others around the table.
I briefly made eye contact with the black-haired man, before quickly looking away. I eavesdropped on Franco's conversation for a time, until the boredom from the topic became nearly overwhelming. At some point, the red-headed siblings, who I learned were named Don and Marci, joined in. It turns out, their father had invented the engine used by the new transports that burns fuel at half the rate of past machines. This sparked a string of questions from both Carmine and Franco that left my head spinning, though the siblings, to their credit, answered most of the questions easily.
When a servant came to clear away the salads, I saw my opportunity to distract Franco and took it, leaning in to whisper, "Lady Baldoni seems to be overcompensating for Lord Borgese's lack of enthusiasm."
I watched his eyes search the room until they found who they were looking for. Rigina Baldoni was speaking rather animatedly to a not-so-willingly captive audience of her table mates, eyes wide, hands flying in emphasis. He chuckled again, "Perhaps an espresso shot too many?"
I smiled in response. The servants returned, placing the main course before us, a juicy steak filet accompanied by an assortment of vegetables, drizzled in some kind of gravy-like sauce. When they withdrew once more, Franco leaned over to whisper to me, though the words were not at all what I expected to hear, "He hasn't stopped looking at you since we sat down."
My eyes immediately shot to the end of the table where the man with the black hair sat, but it was not him looking back at me. It was the man beside Prince Michael whose baby blues met mine, giving me a glimpse of the unfiltered curiosity and fascination swimming in them before he broke first and looked to his food. I wasn't sure what to make of it.
"I think he's quite taken with you," Franco said, voice light, "Shall we make a wager on whether or not he will ask you for a dance tonight?"
I really wasn't sure what to make of that.
The tension between Franco and I had been dying away since the night of the raid, but we still hadn't talked about what happened, about why things couldn't be the way they used to be. And I still didn't have any idea how to answer any questions he might ask. But now he was casually talking about another man flirting with me. Was this some sort of peace offering? Could I be off the hook with him so easily? No questions asked?
A small part of me was a little hurt that it was so easy for him after everything we had been through, but mostly, I was just relieved. "Are we..." I hesitated a moment, "good?" As friends. The words hung unspoken in the air between us, but I knew he understood, anyway.
He gave me a sad smile that somehow managed to break my heart and bring me comfort all at once, "Yeah, Giules," he said, "we're good."
~*~*~
Let me know what you think!
I had to go back to work this week, so unfortunately the second chapter for this week will most likely be posted in the next few days instead of tonight, but rest assured, it is coming!
Thanks for your patience!
Xx Ren