The Ball #2
Chatter now fills the room, but I hear murmurs of Strae, Cashir, and Immen like an afterthought. I watch Tevares curiously, but he shovels bite after bite into his mouth with a determined single-mindedness.
Then, I feel the weight of eyes on me. I look to the banquet table, where the whispers suddenly seem very pointed. As if there’s not more interesting things to gossip about in this room. Feisal leans over to whisper something in his father’s ear, and Farras chuckles, his grin sly.
Before, the quiet mockery would have made me want to crawl into myself with shame. And for the first time since coming home, I realize the full power of not giving a fuck.
“Hey, Alix.”
“Hey, what?”
“You want to make a scandal with me?”
Alix half turns in his chair, grinning at me over the silver rim of his wine cup. “Absolutely I do.”
“Then feed me a bite,” I say.
Alix’s honey-colored eyes flick towards the clucking hens on the dais before his grin widens.
He sets his cup down before he spears a piece of roasted eggplant with his knife.
He rests his elbows against the table before offering it to me.
I smirk as I lean forward, plucking the morsel off with only my teeth.
The uptick in volume of Cashir chatter nearly makes me roll my eyes. Predictable.
“Want another?” Alix asks as he holds out a bite of lamb and saffron rice balanced on the flat of his knife.
I gladly open my mouth before Alix sets the blade between my teeth. I’m careful of the sharp edge as I close my lips, sucking the knife clean. Alix’s eyes darken as he watches me, but I’m abruptly snapped out of it when Arlon mutters, “Easy, you two.”
Alix flashes a cheeky grin as he twirls the knife deftly between his fingers.
I hide my smile but pick up my own fork.
I can’t cause too much of a scene too quickly without it reflecting poorly on the delegation.
But as I look around at the gathered guests, too many agendas are being discussed, too many other alliances and whispered deals, for anyone but the Shykhdar to pay attention to me.
After dinner, dessert is presented in the form of a sweet cheese pastry drizzled with sugar syrup, and rose and milk pie made with dough as thin as parchment. As the music starts to swell, some people move towards the windows and across the wide room to mingle. Tevares, however, makes for the door.
It’s a shame. My Immen is rusty, but I’ve started honing it again while listening in the alcoves. And mutterings of the Crown Prince have been particularly juicy.
God, Cancassi has rubbed off on me. But I’m sure there will be plenty of time to talk with the Immen prince. For now, I turn my attention to the room.
The mood shifts as Shykh Tereman descends the dais with his eldest daughter to dance.
Others follow their lead, and it’s no surprise that Lavleen is one of them.
Samira has two left feet, but Lavleen was always a dancer, even when she was younger.
Now, she has one of Shykh Tereman’s younger sons in tow as she leads him onto the dance floor.
“Care to dance?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at Alix.
“Not a chance,” Alix says. “You want to scandalize your admirers on the dais for the right reasons. Not have me break your toes on accident.”
I can’t stop a laugh at that. “You’re no fun.”
Alix smirks as he deftly snatches the knife from beside his plate and slips it under his belt. His voice smolders as he says, “Find me later, and I’ll remind you how much fun I am.”
Under my skirt, my cock twitches. I intend to, but the night’s still young. For now, I get up and mingle to watch and listen.
To my surprise, Arlon finds a spot beside Captain Thora and the other guards who lurk around the edge of the room. Even more of a surprise is when King Thermilious goes up to Lavleen, bows gallantly, and asks her for a dance.
“Ever since he caught sight of her during the welcome dinner, they’ve been making eyes at one another.”
Samira’s voice carries from the other side of the pillar I’m leaning against. Per our father’s orders, we can’t be seen talking directly to one another, so I hide my smile behind a sip of wine.
“He seems smitten with her,” I say as I watch them sweep across the floor. Thermilious isn’t the best dancer, but he manages to keep up with Lavleen. It’s easy to see that she’s the one truly leading him through the dance, though.
After a moment, Samira asks, “What do you know about him?”
“Not much,” I admit. “My only dealings with him have been during this trip. He’s young. Nineteen if I remember right. But he’s wise enough to listen to those around him.” My chest aches as my thoughts immediately drift to Dom. “Seems to be a common trait among Strae men - listening.”
Samira gives a small laugh. “How novel.”
Lavleen’s shy smile starts to open up as the two of them dance. In spite of all of his finery, Thermilious doesn’t look like a king now. He looks like a teenager who’s finally getting a chance to talk to the woman who caught his eye.
They make a pretty picture. Lavleen is wearing a gown of sapphire blue to Thermilious’ azure.
Like maybe the King asked to be sure his outfit would match hers.
Thermilious leans forward to whisper something into her ear, which earns a delighted laugh from Lavleen. It makes the young King’s smile widen.
“Lavleen could certainly do worse than a king,” I say, though it’s still strange to realize that my little sister is of marrying age now.
Samira risks a glance around the pillar, and the worry eases from her brow as she smiles. “I think you might be right.”
A familiar smug voice cuts through my pleasant mood. “So, you’ve finally decided to show your face?”
Samira quickly ducks back behind the pillar as Feisal approaches.
He’s dressed in a flowing tunic and black fahrits, a mustard-yellow scarf draped artfully over one shoulder.
The delicate gold chains around his neck are a nice contrast against the dark fabric.
His wavy hair is perfectly coiffed, but as usual, that smirk mars his otherwise handsome face.
“And with how quickly I drew your focus, I’d think you were looking for it,” I say. “Are you coming over to gloat? Don’t worry, you haven’t been subtle.”
Feisal comes to lean against the pillar beside me. Samira’s skirts whisper to my right to stay out of his sight.
God forgive the earful she’s about to hear.
“I only did as commanded. Your father and the Shykhdar wanted you home. I delivered.”
“You nearly delivered my corpse,” I say airily. “Though I’ll bet you just got confused. In your line of work, I’m sure slit throats are often a sign of success.”
“That was an accident.”
“Is that remorse?” I ask, feigning shock. “Sounds like you haven’t recited that emotion in a while. You should practice it more.”
“I mean it,” Feisal says, and the edge in his tone surprises me. “I didn’t mean for you to be harmed. I needed you here, not dead.”
I hum even as I consider him. A short silence passes before I ask, “Why do you need me here at all?”
“You have been away for some time,” Feisal scoffs. “I told you. Your father ordered it.”
And it’s damnably hard to say no to the Shykhdar. We’re both thinking it, but it goes unsaid.
“Well, congratulations on being such a good little hunting hound,” I say. “Your father was just appointed to his seat, right? He must be so proud to have raised such a fine pup.”
Feisal sneers. “Better a hound than a tramp. At least I’ll fulfill a greater purpose when I take my father’s seat.”
Anger like fire burns through me. As if creating actual magic is some trifling thing next to a Shykh’s seat. But I’ll show him what magic can do.
“What’s power when you’ve never experienced pleasure?” I say as I pull away from the pillar to face him square. “What’s a hard, uncomfortable seat compared to a warm, hard cock?”
Feisal’s eyes grow wide as I step towards him, a flush darkening his cheeks. I smirk as I put a hand against the pillar beside his head, leaning in close. “I love what I do, Feisal. Can you say the same?”
He’s struck speechless for only a moment before he gathers himself. He steps away from me and collects his composure, rearranging his face back to neutrality before he gives me a shallow bow. “Have a wonderful evening, Olbric. We’re all so glad the prodigal son has returned.”
I glower at his back as he retreats before I down the rest of my cup in one go. Like magic, another appears in my hand from the shadows.
“So, that was...” Samira’s voice trails off.
I scowl. “I told you - the full story of Feisal will require at least one bottle of wine and a couple of hours.”