I smacked his shoulder. “This wasnotmy choice, I’ll have you know! I look hideous! No one is going to take me seriously in this! I look like a child my mother dressed up!” I hissed, nearly toppling over as I leaned toward him. Peytor’s hands reached out to steady me as laughter fell freely from his lips.
“Stop that!” Jaclyn called from the room. While she was a servant, shewas Mother’s servant and her words carried weight. Inevitably, anything we said today would be reported back to Mother.
Oh well, I’ll deal with her disappointment and wrath tomorrow,which will undoubtedly come in the form of “how to write a proper thank you card” or some other lesson.
Peytor wiped his eyes as he fought to contain his mirth, a few wayward chuckles still appearing. I crossed my arms and pursed my lips.
“Are you quite finished?”
He wiped his eyes once more before taking a breath and composing himself. “You sounded like Mother.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, well, you would too if you were stuck in this monstrosity and had to entertain suitors for hours while also watching what you said. All. Night. Long.”
“You got that talk too, then?” He sobered immediately. I gave him one curt nod as he took my arm in his, leading me down the hallway and out of our private suites. The night’s festivities would occur in the formal ballroom. Mother always planned everything to the most minute detail, including the timing of my “grand entrance.”
Gag.
Peytor and I would enter after all the guests were in the ballroom, something that had clearly already occurred as we were able to walk through the manor in relative quiet, not a soul to be seen.
While we’d grown up attending high-society functions and parties, I’d never attended one so grand and ostentatious, let alone one just for me. The thought of the attention made my stomach drop and I clung a bit harder to Peytor. Somehow, he knew—he always did—and he squeezed my arm in encouragement.
Peytor pulled my head from my thoughts. “I, luckily, don’t have to dance with the Warlord.”
I gasped at the blatant and flippant use of the derogatory name the rebels used for Lord d’Refan, but Peytor continued speaking like it was nothing.
“So, hopefully, if I keep myself distracted with booze, food, and women, I’ll be able to avoid him all night.”
I shot him a look.
“Don’t call Lord d’Refan that . . . name. We’re allied with him, and if hehears you call him that . . .” I shuddered at the implication and felt him tense under my hand before rolling his eyes. When it was clear he wasn’t going to respond, I continued, “And I’m not sure Finian will appreciate you being occupied with women, Peytor.”
“No, he won’t. But it’s expected of both of us and is a role we must fill”—his eyes met mine—“tonight especially. And you let me worry about Lord d’Refan, sister.”
I squeezed his arm affectionately as we descended the stairs. I sympathized with my brother. I’d never had the opportunity to feel for someone what he clearly feels for Finian, and I’m not sure what I would do if I were in his place. I sighed at the travesty of it all. It really seemed like they were going to be forced apart for one reason or another, and I didn’t envy his future, especially if Finian wasn’t in it.
We spent the remainder of our walk in silence, our footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Everyone was either at the ball or preparing for the party, so our home was relatively empty. All too soon, we reached the corridor that housed the formal ballroom, the elaborate doors at the end were flanked by a variety of guards and butlers. I quickly scanned and saw both our house guards and that of Lord d’Refan, though only one of the Mages from earlier today was standing outside. I reckoned the others were posted around the ballroom.
Peytor stopped walking and pulled me to face him before placing his hands on my shoulders.
“If you need a break tonight, come find me,” he said, voice serious but soft.
I smiled tightly at him. “Thank you, Peytor. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Hope is sometimes foolish, Ell. It’s better to be practical.” His voice was sad, and I couldn’t help but think that he was speaking more about his own troubles than about tonight’s party. I softly cupped his cheek before kissing the opposite.
I dropped my hands at the same time he dropped his from my shoulders, and I grabbed them before squeezing in loving solidarity.
“I will enter first, then Max will let you know when it’s your turn.”
“Okay, Peytor,” I sighed, “let’s get this over with.”
Peytor gave me one last searching look before dropping my hands fullyand striding to the doors. He gave a curt nod to Max before facing forward, his own version of armor perfectly in place. Tonight, he would be the heir of Hestin, the perpetual bachelor looking for the next Lady of Hestin.
I slowly approached the doors after they closed behind Peytor, waiting for my turn and slowly donning my own armor.
I straightened my spine, elevating my chin slightly. My hands clasped my gown on each side, pulling it up off the floor an increment so I could walk without tripping. I would be guarded tonight; still sunny and kind, but guarded. I loved my family fiercely and would do what was necessary to protect them, even if it meant lying to the most powerful man in Elyria. One who’d taken a keen interest in me this morning. I shuddered at the memory of his gaze before pushing all thoughts of Lord d’Refan aside.
It was my birthday, after all, and I deserved a bit of fun.
